Personal Narrative-Racism

One beautiful, sunny day, when I was about 9, I was sitting around, reading a book in my room, when somebody knocked on the door. I jumped, startled, because I had been reading a rather mind numbing book, and I was about to nod off. I opened the door, and my dad was standing in the doorway, wearing khaki pants and a blue collared shirt. "Do you want to go fishing with your cousins?" he asked, looking around at the current state of my room and trying to hide his disgust. I glanced around my room as well, but unlike him, I saw nothing wrong with it. I knew where my bed was, and my baseball cards, and, well... that's about it. I pushed those thoughts out of my mind, and I remembered the question. Doing this, my face face lit up, as …show more content…
And then it dawned on me. A deep, wretched thought that was tearing my mind away from possible success. "Wait a minute..." I realized. "I have no idea how to fish!" "It's okay I'll teach you," my dad offered, and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay!" I smiled, racing to the car. I sprinted out of my room and dived into the car, hit my head on a seat, and groaned in pain. But I was too excited to mull over it too much. In the car ride over, I was also too nervous to do much, so I just sat there. But that was too boring, so I decided to start a conversation. "So, dad, how do you fish?" I asked. I was feeling distracted though, so I stared out the window at the grassy meadows that flanked either side of our car. "Well, first of all, you grasp a button or lever on the fishing pole, and you swing the fishing pole behind you, and thrust it forward. As you are doing that, release the button or lever," he explained. "Thanks," I replied, but I still couldn't concentrate, so I stared at the prairie that was basking in the glow of the sunlight's rays, and there were plants of all different shapes and