Personal Narrative: Forty-Three Beach Park Road

Eleven years, four months, eight days, and thirteen hours. That is the day and time when my unspoiled life changed. The day that I no longer was able to view the world through the clouded eyes of a child, but through the clear eyes of a young adult. Countless people miss these moments in their lives, however I was fortunate enough to pin it down to the hour. The hour that my father informed me that I was leaving the only house and life I ever knew and move into not only a different residence but a different life. A life that would be difficult to transition into although would ultimately bring my family and me closer together.
Forty-three Beach Park Road was everything a child could ask for. A house that was only thirty-seven steps away from …show more content…
My father somberly walked through the door after work and asked to speak to my brother, sister, and me in the living room. Thinking it was a classic “who did it” situation we were all quick to profess our innocence. Little did we realize how innocent we all were and how fragile that could be. My father calmly explained that we were going to be making a number of changes, and that he no longer would be going to work every day due to “layoffs”, and that unfortunately, we were moving. “It’s for the best” he kept telling us, and “this is just a new adventure” however when his smile didn’t reach his eyes as I’d always known, I knew that my life was forever …show more content…
My dad informed us that we were going to be living in a two-bedroom condominium now and I was obligated to share a room with my sister. Our days quickly turned from playing to packing and wisely picking out our utmost prized possessions to bring with us since there wasn’t space to bring them all. I hastily uttered farewell to over half of my stuffed animals, books, and games. Every time I cried my dad reassured me that it was simply time for another little girl to play with them. I wasn’t able to bring my lavender dresser that my dad had painted for my seventh birthday, that perfectly matched my light pink walls, since I would now have closets instead, and there was simply no room for a dresser with me and my sister in the same room. The four weeks passed by and before I knew it, I had cried farewell to the only home I had ever known. My safe haven where I took my first steps, lost my first tooth, and the kitchen where I baked my first batch of chocolate chip cookies for the school bake sale. I murmured goodbye to our private beach where I learned how to swim like a fish, and cried for hours after being stung by a jellyfish, a pain I would have graciously welcomed at that time if that meant having my life and house