My Small Town Analysis

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Elizabeth SoldwedelMrs. McWatersEnglish 101 21 September 2017Diagnostic Essay Most of my memories I made in my small town were only about unexciting school and dumb sport related things, nothing I can remember built character or could teach someone something about me. Throughout most of my childhood in Oregon, my parents were always busy working, and I hardly saw them. I became extremely independent at a young age and never relied on them for anything. The only time we were together was when we took our trips a few hours down south to Pasadena, California. I looked forward to this trip every year; it was not only where I was able to be with my parents but I also got to be with my grandparents whom I loved so much.In contrast to my life in …show more content…
The environment made me feel so nostalgic for things I haven’t even experienced. Maybe that is why I loved this home so much, I could be whoever and use my imagination for a short time in life. I would lay in my bed at night with pure happiness knowing that where I was I didn't have to worry about a single thing and that I was surrounded by the right people. The katydids sang loud at night and the hot California days would quickly fell cold and the air would blow through my shutters as I would try …show more content…
Some nights when I couldn't fall asleep I would sneak out of the room and go accompany my grandfather in the living room. While still listening to the katydids sing their songs, I would sit in my special green patent leather chair which was right next to the window of the living room. It had a perfect view of the kitchen, breakfast parlor, and foyer. I would sit there cuddled up in a blanket with my grandfather beside me in his wheelchair. It was such a small and simple moment at the time but now looking back on my childhood, that memory of us being together in the same room is one of my favorites. My grandfather usually watched the 12 o’clock news on the old box television that had been through more wear and tear than a working man’s pair of blue jeans. Even though it was late and I was tired, I always looked forward to the way my grandmother would come in and turn the television off and how my grandfather would get upset. Instead of making me go to bed he would call me over to sit on his lap and he would tell me stories of football, war, and some of his most favorite memories. My grandfather had been struggling with Parkinson’s for about 30 years at this point and was paralyzed and could hardly talk, but I always gave my full attention and listened to every word he

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