Personal Narrative Essay: Personal Aspects Of Road Trips

1567 Words 7 Pages
Road Trips
Starting in Chester County and snaking its way through the continental US, our family van would make frequent stops at gas stations with odd exteriors and restaurants that claimed to have the largest steak in Texas. We’re natural tourists. All things campy, tacky, and over priced, our family has picked up as souvenirs. Acleptic items were always the first to come out of the suitcase raving home. Singing santas, seashells with googly eyes pasted on, anything and everything my grandmother would threaten to throw away upon seeing it. I took up my mother’s habits of nervously hoarded emergency band-AIDS, and those that read California in a curly font, were all the more appealing to me.
On top of this, I don’t believe in hotels, but
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Birthday parties, sorority rushes, charity banquets, and the like, have all, despite the good college try, remain supremely inferior to weddings. During weddings and talent shows, I find myself thinking the same thing, regardless of the trainwreck going on in front of me; It takes a lotta guts to get up there and do that. I do think that weddings are inherently embarrassing. Saying you love someone in front of God and your fiance 's weird cousin, is exactly what makes my throat tight and my toes sweat. Graduations parties, family reunions and funerals don’t have this element of humiliation, and it’s this element of deep discomfort that makes weddings authentic. Sorority rushes have this element also, along with the kind of excessive drinking that happens at weddings, but they almost never happen in churches. I happen to be a fan of the stained …show more content…
The idea is that when someone is very ill, before they die, there’s one Last Good Day where things will be calm and clear, and then every day leading up to their death is just the prelude to The Last Bad Day. The Last Bad Day is much, much worse than The Last Good Day can ever be good. But I have to hear about The Last Good Day so frequently, that I fear that the people who say it think it’s their love child, conceived and birthed in some spectacular fashion. And I don’t believe in The Last Good Day. The real last day, where I was happy with my father is back in the Spring of ‘94 when he sat with me and my infant son under a tree and he told me that he loved me. That was the day I stopped being angry at him and mom (they didn’t talk to me for 3 years because of my Actual Love Child Born and Conceived in Some Spectacular Fashion and how I wouldn’t get married) and stopped looking for an apology. That was the real Last Good Day. No day in a hospital where the nurses stay at bay or he can walk again will be anywhere near the closure I received years

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