Personal Narrative: My Grandma Macs House

When I was about five years old, my parents ' got divorced. My dad moved back to the state I was born in, while I stayed with my mom in Arkansas. Every once and awhile I would have visits with my dad, he would come pick us up and take us back to Iowa. I mean, I understand now why my sister and I had to spend time with my dad there. But then, I was 5 and all I knew is that daddy wasn’t around for the past month. I was without a doubt, the biggest mommy’s girl and I hated having to leave her. I would cry all the way to my dad’s. The one place that I always loved being in Iowa, was my grandma Macs house. See when I grew up, I grew up in a really small town and on a farm. You could literally walk all over the place, with no care in the world.
In the small town that shaped a lot of my childhood, there was a yellow house on the corner. On the outside there was always flowers up the walkway leading up to the stairs, and a black iron railing lead you up to the front door. When you walked in, you walked right into the living room and straight through was the kitchen. When you walked into the living room, you would see her chair in the corner she had a blue pull out sofa, and another chair in the corner. Her big old retro TV sat on the other side of the room that led …show more content…
As a young kid and having to travel back and forth between my parents houses, in different states. Her house was my safe place, it was my comfort, and a place I could go to no matter what. This house means more to me now, then it did as a child. From making mud pies in the dirt, to playing hide and go seek in the back trees. To sitting at the breakfast bar and making cookies and talking about our day. I would do just about anything to go just have one more conversation with her at the breakfast bar. Her house is probably my most favorite place in the world, although I can no longer go there or see her every day, the memories can last a