Personal Narrative

The lights were blinding. Through the dense crowd, I made out the title of a stadium that proclaimed for all to see the name given to me, my father and those before him. I never knew my Uncle Tom that well, but I knew enough to realize what a blessing he was to all that knew him. Surviving the Vietnam War gave Tom a new perspective on life and a sincere appreciation for each new breath he was allowed to take. He never had been all that religious, but having this second chance at life compelled him to invest more time in God. He packed up his things, moved to the dirtiest part of a city most of us associate with glamous, and became a Saletian Brother at East L.A. Catholic School. He intended to improve the lives of the underprivileged Hispanis community by educating them and instilling the same gratitude for life that he learned at a much greater cost.
I never knew the particulars of his life until it was over. A throng of grown Hispanis men stood weeping in front of a commemorative slideshow, visually confirming the impact one man had. They took turns shaking my family's hands, but little did they know, one member was missing. My Uncle Pete has a far less inspiring story.











I'M NOT DONE, NOT EVEN CLOSE