I am sitting in my room, eyes puffy and red from trying to fight back my tears. The Hundred Greek Names Project is due tomorrow. Although the name makes it sound like there are only 100 essays to write, there are actually one-hundred eight, and I am on number eighty-five. Not only that but the rain outside is not helping. It is only making me want to quit and go to bed even more than I already do. I look around the room and take a deep breath. I do not have time to breathe. I am sort of in a time crunch. Yet I also know that if I do not take a moment to relax I will get nothing done. My walls are splotchy from years of my room changing (well everything except for the walls). As I scan the room something catches my eye - a little puppet toy from when I
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In fact, saying goodbye was more of a monthly routine. Most of the times he left I do not remember. I remember being filled with sadness when he left, loneliness when he was away, and happiness when he returned, but there is one trip that I remember a little better.
I was going to be turning three soon and I knew that once I turned three I would have to stop sucking my thumb. I was quite the Daddy’s girl when I was younger. At the drop of a hat I would do anything for him. I wanted to surprise him and make him proud of me. The perfect chance came when my dad had to go to Europe for a week.
A man in a black car came to pick up my dad and drive him to the airport. The man was tall, yet ample in size. The driver came inside our house to use the bathroom before the journey ahead. We all took our turns saying farewell to our father. Once all of the crying and hugging was over and my dad had left for the airport, I made an oath; “By the time daddy returns, my thumb will have broken up with my mouth,” I proudly exclaimed to my mom.
The week was a struggle. I felt that the most common word told to me was “thumb” in a stern voice followed by my
In fact, saying goodbye was more of a monthly routine. Most of the times he left I do not remember. I remember being filled with sadness when he left, loneliness when he was away, and happiness when he returned, but there is one trip that I remember a little better.
I was going to be turning three soon and I knew that once I turned three I would have to stop sucking my thumb. I was quite the Daddy’s girl when I was younger. At the drop of a hat I would do anything for him. I wanted to surprise him and make him proud of me. The perfect chance came when my dad had to go to Europe for a week.
A man in a black car came to pick up my dad and drive him to the airport. The man was tall, yet ample in size. The driver came inside our house to use the bathroom before the journey ahead. We all took our turns saying farewell to our father. Once all of the crying and hugging was over and my dad had left for the airport, I made an oath; “By the time daddy returns, my thumb will have broken up with my mouth,” I proudly exclaimed to my mom.
The week was a struggle. I felt that the most common word told to me was “thumb” in a stern voice followed by my