Revelations
2024-2025 Personal Narratives
Embedded Files
Revelations appear to us in different ways throughout various stages of life.
This page is dedicated to those light bulb moments.
A Soldier's Life
Personal Narrative by Yovanny Ponce, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
Lately, my room feels different. Not because anything big changed in it, but because I’m about to leave it. In just a few days, I ship out for Army Basic Training, and honestly, that thought hits harder than I expected. It’s wild to think that a couple of months ago, I was just another high school student counting down to summer. Now I’m counting down to something way bigger than boot camp. And with each day that passes, it’s getting more real that I’m not a kid anymore.
I signed my Army Reserve contract back in December. At the time, it felt exciting but unreal. MEPS was serious, but I still had so many months left at home. I remember standing in that room, raising my right hand during the oath, and thinking, Wow, I actually did this. My mom was waiting outside after, and I could see in her face that everything had changed, even if I hadn’t fully realized it yet. Now, I definitely feel it.
Every time I hang out with my friends or sit down at the dinner table, part of me thinks, this might be the last time I do this for a while. It’s like I’m in this weird in-between phase. My friends are still talking about video games, parties, and summer plans. I’m nodding along, but in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about what it’s gonna be like to wake up at 4 a.m. and get yelled at by a drill sergeant.
I started packing already. My room used to be full of "stuff" like hoodies, posters, and random things I’d collected over the years. Now it’s just a neat pile of Army paperwork, plain socks, and a packing list taped to the wall. The more I prepare, the more I feel myself stepping away from the person I was. I’m not leaving just on a trip, I'm leaving to become something completely different, but a soldier.
I used to think growing up was something that just happened when you turned 18 or graduated. But I know now, it’s more than that. Growing up means realizing you're responsible for your own choices. It’s knowing you can’t just rely on your parents to fix everything. It’s making a promise to yourself and others and sticking to it, even when it’s scary. I’m not gonna lie, part of me is nervous. I know boot camp is going to push me in ways I’ve never been pushed before: physically, mentally, and emotionally. But I also know this is something I chose, and I’m proud of that. I didn’t get forced into this. I wanted it. I wanted to prove to myself that I could handle it. That I could grow up, even if it’s a little sooner than everyone else around me.
I haven’t even left yet, but I already feel different. More aware. More focused. More ready. And even though it’s hard saying goodbye to the stuff and people that feel familiar, I know it’s time. I’m stepping out of my comfort zone and into something that’ll change me forever, and I’m okay with that. So yeah, this is the moment "it" got real. The moment I realized I’m not a kid anymore. I’m leaving home not just to wear a uniform, but to become the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be. Strong, reliable, and ready for whatever comes next.
Relocation to Self-Discovery
Personal Narrative by Elijah Bunter, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
My time in the “Nation of Freedom’s” capital (Washington D.C) was by far the farthest I've ever been from myself. Although I was 13, still developing the mind of an independent being, I never had a major choice to make without my parents doing it for me.
But let’s backtrack.
My family, which consists of my mom, my dad, and my little sister, who is one year younger than I, had been living with my grandma for about two years due to a flood in our last apartment. And while I had the mind of a literal mushroom, I'm pretty sure it was the effect of unexpected financial stress on our family from being displaced from our home due to the flood. After two uncomfortably long years sleeping on my grandmother’s recliner - and staring at the same golden bordered Last Supper painting while going to sleep - it was about time to move out and find our own place to call home.
I grew up in a Christian household. Going to church every Sunday, getting baptized, “do not do this”, “it's not the way of the lord” household. While this didn’t bother me when I was 5-9 years old, I started to feel resentment towards this sentiment as I grew older.
Throughout my elementary school days, I was never an “average boy”. I didn’t do “average boy" things. I don't play sports. I don’t watch football. I began to sense concern for my family as I never felt comfortable around a “regular boy”: the sports player, sports watcher, and the cat-caller. I found comfort in having female friends. I didn’t have to act hard. I didn’t have to play rough or be questioned about who is on what team, knowing that stuff didn’t interest me, I would be left stuck looking clueless and be laughed at. I felt safe with my female friends, and without pressure to be something I'm not.
I would always get called a plethora of derogatory, homophobic slurs since I only had female friends, but I didn’t think that was a bad thing. I didn’t know what “gay” was, and that being me wasn’t seen as normal by other people. I was just a sweet boy trying to be himself. Even around my family, I would get judged by the way I act, and the way I talk; so hearing the news that we were moving south to North Carolina was like a greedy businessman finding oil to dig up. I knew that getting away from a negative situation would allow me to be myself without judgment.
Before actually moving to North Carolina, my mom was constantly going back and forth from D.C, and I just thought that it was because she was visiting with friends. While yes, she visited her friends in Roanoke Rapids and Fayetteville, she was also considering moving somewhere in the state. Being that my mom has lived in D.C her entire life, I feel as though she was conflicted being so far from her family. But every day, there was a new kid who was shot, every day there was a woman robbed, and she wasn’t going to let her children be around any of the things she had to endure growing up in the city.
And for that, I applaud her.
My mother is one of the strongest women I know. My father had a seizure that caused him to lose his ability to comprehend and retain information, and he was then diagnosed with Lupus. Dealing with two kids and my dad was not easy. I couldn’t imagine being in her shoes, and for that, I owe her my entire life. I felt like moving was a chance for a new start for us all. In my life, God knows how my mom felt because of all the things she went through growing up and all the things she sacrificed for my sister, my dad, and me.
The transition from my home state to a new state was both terrifying and, at the same time, glorifying. It was an overall change of environment, which took me a while to get used to. The first-ever teacher I had in this new state had the strongest country accent that I've ever heard. Being from up north, I felt the sound to be unbelievably obnoxious.
It felt like nails on a chalkboard hearing it the first month, and difficult to listen to. But I then realized that he couldn’t control it, and I would be hearing this accent from more than one person. I just gave in.
But despite those very minor inconveniences, I felt at peace. I was greeted with unexpected silence, despite the sound of cicadas and crickets. I grew fond of the quiet green fields surrounding my home, and not looking at the same brick buildings all the time, and the ridiculous traffic that was there every single day, which would make you late if you were trying to be on time. I was outside now more than ever, based on the fact that it was the first time my family was in a place that wasn't surrounded by oncoming traffic. My mom wanted my sister and me to get out more because of all the space and opportunity to have fun. Albeit the hottest summer of my life, the bees and mosquitoes took me out. But now that I look back, it was worth it to accomplish all that made me who I am now.
The friends I made at P.S. Jones Middle School in Washington made for a smooth transition to a new school. They made me feel comfortable in my skin and helped me discover myself. I was more than comfortable enough to be myself at school, a young black gay teenager who had people around him who accepted him. But at home, it was the complete opposite. Remember the Christian household that I spoke about at the beginning of my writing? Not all Christians approve of homosexuals, including my family. This is why I gradually grew resentful toward this mentality.
For two years of being openly gay to my friends and at my school, I was not comfortable at home. I felt that my mom wasn’t going to approve of me and would disown me due to her beliefs in Christianity and homosexuality. So, because of that, I tried so hard to hide it from her. But everyone knows that moms know their children by the back of their hand, so hiding it was almost impossible. My family’s Christian faith made me hate being myself for years, made me feel that being myself was disgraceful, and made me pray every day that I could change and be like everyone else.
However, through growth and maturity, I gained confidence, and with that, I began to distance myself from the church and its negative and bigoted teachings. Why would I be a part of something that made me constantly doubt myself and made me feel less than, because it influenced how other people feel about people like me? I realized that it’s okay to have a personal and unique relationship with God. That being true to yourself is more important than anyone’s idea of who you are.
It wasn’t until my tenth grade year of high school that my mom and I had an open conversation about my sexuality. I don’t know what it was, but all the years I thought about having this conversation made my heart burst out of my chest. I didn't know how she would react, how she would respond, if it would affect the way she loves me. I put off having this talk for years and avoided it, but when the time came, it felt as if an elephant stepped off my chest. Hearing the words, “I would love you no matter what,” released an abundance of worrying, stress, and doubt in myself, my sexuality, and the countless questions about the result of my relationship with my mom and me. I am beyond grateful for how much she loves me. I know that not every homosexual boy or girl has that type of unconditional support, and that hurts me to think of it.
Washington, North Carolina, will forever have a special place in my heart. This town made me find peace in myself. It has been a part of founding my personality and the discovery of what I feel is an amazing individual. No matter where I end up, I will always remember this town as a building block in the growth of my person. This town has helped me develop an incredible bond with my family in many ways, and I feel it will forever be necessary to ignite the fire and passion within me today.
I hope that teenagers like me who grow up around extremely religious or prejudiced people realize that we aren’t the odd ones. We aren’t a problem that needs to be fixed. We are still people who deserve the same amount of respect and acceptance as anyone else. I hope people get the opportunity to go through a similar journey to find acceptance of and love for their true selves, like me.
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Cancer
Personal Narrative by Ryan Jones, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
I’ve done something most people think is impossible.
At the first day of summer workouts, I was excited for my freshman year and especially my second year of football, ready to build on my hard work from last year. I took things slow while weightlifting the week before, I was in the down position of my front squat, and I felt a sharp pain in my knee. I thought it was nothing to worry about, something that would go away within a week, but when that first practice was excruciating, the next was undoable. I went to the doctor as the pain was getting worse by the day, they took a couple of X-rays, and told me there looked to be fluid in my knee. I was excited about a speedy recovery and getting it drained, the doctor said they’d call us if there was anything else to worry about.
You're never expecting THE call.
It came two days later. I'd never seen my dad unable to speak, gagged by his tears. He couldn’t get anything out, but I love you. My mom's the one who told me the difficult truth. I went to the UNC-Chapel Hill Cancer Hospital for the biopsy. By this point, the pain in my knee made it too painful to walk. They gave me a drug concoction of things I thought only addicts on skid row had. By the time they wheeled me back, I could barely speak, lying on my back, staring into the lights. I was bound to the bed, but the walls around me were coming at me like waves. The confirmation came the following week: I had osteosarcoma, and it had already spread to my lungs.
It was devastating to know for a whole year I would not be able to walk, that I’d never be able to play school sports again, that I’d miss an entire year of my life at home. Most importantly, I thought I was dead; I wanted a good obituary, so I promised to have a good attitude about everything, to never make the job of the people saving my life hard, and to always smile. My bell-ringing letter would say I made true on that promise; I rang the bell, so everything would be normal. Right? I skipped talking about the loopy, pumped full of drugs dummy I felt like during the part of the cycle everyone seems to know.
People forget to talk about the body dysmorphia of not knowing who the slender skeleton standing in the mirror is. Praying you can go to bed and gain that weight back, being mentally disgusted with what they did to my leg, knowing it's dead, but still having to drag it around to walk. Dreading having to tell people "no" because I physically could not go out with them. Crying myself to bed, asking God why he took so much from me. Having to see a psychologist to stop the thoughts of dying, and trying so hard to look good in front of others, so they would not worry about me.
The hardest was thinking I was done, then being blindsided by having to take an experimental oral chemo to have a chance of “curing” my lungs. I've been on it for two years. My doctors said that only one other kid and I have been on it for this long, as the trial study was only for six months. which is a thing people don’t get about cancer is that it doesn’t just end at chemo. You continue to fight it for the rest of your life. You feel the effects for the rest of your life. You struggle to adjust to your new way of life. You have trouble integrating back into your "normal" life. You are never the same.
Everything isn’t bad about it. You get a love for life you can’t lose, and a love for just being on Earth. You learn to spend time differently, you learn to connect differently. Emotions are easy to talk about after having to talk about how to survive death every day of your life, being emotional 24/7, having to hold back tears, or watching my parents do so. The free Hornets experience from Make-A-Wish Foundation was nice too: I got my favorite player's signature, and I was on TV for the national anthem. But the most important thing I got from it was a thoughtful outlook, a sense of humor, and some pretty good cancer jokes.
Sometimes "Blood" Isn’t Everything
Personal Narrative by Taylor Grant, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
Family isn't blood. "Family" is the people who support and love you unconditionally. It’s taken me sixteen years to realize this.
When asked in my AP Lang class, “What family member has had the most significant impact on you? What did you learn from them?” I sat and stared with a blank expression, struggling to comprehend what was asked. I searched for the “right” answer, knowing there wasn’t one. Panic set in as I began overthinking the depth of the question.
What does it actually mean?
Is the impact supposed to be positive or negative?
How much am I supposed to share?
Am I allowed to talk about more than one person?
I then realized that there are many possible interpretations of this question, and mine writes my testimony. Your parents are the only people, from a societal perspective, required to support and love you forever. However, this is only a dream for me. As a child, my mom constantly reminded me I was an “accident”. Coming from my mom, that cut deep, but I knew it wasn't her. It came from her, but I’ve never known my mom sober. Drugs made her who she was. Men constantly came in and out of the house. Having to introduce myself to so many different people should mean I have good social skills, but the truth is that isn't always the case. I became quiet and closed off to everyone around me. I started to spend more time in my room, sleeping or watching TV.
When I was younger, my mom lost custody of my sister and me a few times, which resulted in me staying with my grandparents because my dad was working out of town. My grandparents were my superheroes. During the time I lived with them, my uncle still did too. My uncle and I have always had a close relationship. Some nights, when he would come in from work, he would bring ice cream home and find me standing at the door staring at him, wanting him to share. He always gave it to me. I was too young to remember, but now my grandparents joke about it.
My grandparents always show up for me.
My uncle does too.
It wasn’t long after my mom got custody back for my sister and me that she started dating a new guy, whom she eventually married. During all of this, my dad got into some trouble and went away for a little while. Also, during this time, my uncle announced he was getting married. I was happy for him because he was happy.
Fast forward to the wedding, it was great. My future aunt was amazing. We were very similar. We had the same favorite color, favorite chocolate, and we liked a lot of the same things. After the wedding at the reception, I remember being upset and hugging my uncle, not because I was upset he was getting married, but instead because I thought I was losing our close relationship. I didn't know what the future would hold, where they would move, or if they'd have time for me anymore.
These days, I'm back living with my Grandparents. My mom isn't around. My dad is not physically here, but he is emotionally. I don't doubt that he wants the best for me. I know he’s busy “redeeming” himself and working to earn a living. I know he loves me. He may not know who I hang out with, what shampoo and conditioner I use, or what my favorite food is, but he shows me every day how much he believes in me.
My grandparents gained the reputation of “The Team Grandparents” because they show up to every game or match to support not only me, but the entire sports team. My grandma prints the rosters and spends time learning everybody's names. They cheer on the team with a bag of jelly beans in hand. They support me through everything, no matter what. They give me everything I need and most of what I want. I do tend to get upset with them at times, not because they make me mad, but because they have to be the disciplinarians, and they can’t say "yes" to everything anymore. They've had a huge impact on my life.
My aunt and uncle have also made one of the greatest impacts on my life. My aunt recently cancelled plans to help me get ready for prom. They both take off from work to come to my games. They invite me on every trip they take. They make me feel loved in everyway.
My aunt is like a mom to me. She braids and curls my hair. She is always there for me when I need someone to talk to, she has shown me what a "mom" is supposed to be. My little cousin is lucky to call her his mom, but I’m even luckier to have her as an aunt.
I believe family isn’t always blood; your parents aren't who give you life, but rather they are the people who show up and make an effort. I'm lucky to have my family. I'm lucky to have a dad who would do anything for me. I'm lucky to have my grandparents teach me right from wrong as well as give me endless opportunities. But, I'm even luckier to have my aunt and uncle who love and support me like my parents should.
My grandma said it perfectly, “No matter what, no matter where, we will always love you.”
A Journey of Hope: My Invitation to Georgetown
Personal Narrative by Payton McGhee, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
It was just another average day. I had just returned home from school, my mind still processing the day’s events. As I walked through the front door, I noticed an envelope lying on the kitchen table. It was addressed to me; my face expressed confusion and curiosity. I could tell it was something important, something more than just a bank summary or junk mail.
I hurried to my room, my heart racing with curiosity. Sitting at my vanity, I carefully opened the envelope, the anticipation building with every flap I peeled back. As I unfolded the letter inside, my eyes widened in disbelief. It was an invitation to attend a medical program at Georgetown University! I could hardly contain my excitement as I read through the details of the workshops and activities that awaited me in Washington, D.C. from June 22nd to July 1st. The thought of earning college credits while exploring my passion for medicine and health care felt like a dream come true.
But as I sat there, a wave of skepticism washed over me. This opportunity was incredible, especially considering my struggles with ADHD. Understanding lessons in class often felt like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. I constantly battled with self-doubt, questioning whether I was smart enough or capable enough to succeed. The invitation felt like a validation, a sign that maybe I wasn't as lost as I sometimes believed. I wondered if the admissions team had seen something in me that I often overlooked— my determination, my passion, my resilience in the face of challenges.
Without a second thought, I ran out of my room and into the living room, where my mother was seated. “Mom, you won’t believe what just happened!” I said, practically bouncing around. Her eyes lit up as I shared the news, and I could see the pride showing in her smile. I hugged her tightly, both of us overwhelmed with joy and excitement for what this opportunity could mean for my future.
Later that evening, I called my boyfriend, eager to share the news with him and his family. “Guess what? I got invited to Georgetown!” I said, my voice filled with enthusiasm. They were just as thrilled as I was, and I felt so grateful to have their support, as this could be a new adventure for me.
The only issue left was the tuition fee of $5,000. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, so I called my dad to discuss it with him. “Dad, I got this invitation from Georgetown University in DC, but there’s a tuition fee,” I explained. I could hear the wheels turning in his mind through the phone. After what felt like an eternity of discussion and planning, he reassured me that he would help cover the cost. Relief washed over me; knowing I could go made me feel like my heart was going to explode.
As the days passed, I could hardly contain my excitement. I began to envision myself walking through the historic halls of Georgetown wearing my scrubs, surrounded by other motivated students, soaking in all the knowledge and experiences the program had to offer. The workshops would not just be an educational experience, but a chance to connect with like-minded peers and professionals in the field of medicine. This invitation was more than just a ticket to a program; it was a stepping stone into my future. I felt a sense of purpose within me, and I can’t wait to begin on this journey. The curiosity of what is ahead filled me with hope and excitement, and I knew that this was just the beginning of something incredible.
In compliance with Federal Law, Beaufort County Schools administers all education programs, employment activities and admissions without discrimination against any person on the basis of gender, race, color, religion, national origin, age or disability. Any website concerns may be brought via the following: aklakowicz@beaufort.k12.nc.us
Washington High School 400 Slatestone Road Washington, NC 27889
Washington High School 400 Slatestone Road Washington, NC 27889
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