Personal Narrative : What Were The Best And Worst Parts Of Your Day?
“What were the best and worst parts of your day?” My mom asked my three sisters and me at dinner. “Being here with my family,” we joked. It wasn’t an acceptable answer for either part of the question, but past age five, I couldn’t even answer with that sarcastic response, because my whole family wouldn’t be together again. I now long for that nightly moment.
I was an ignorant five year old Kindergartner making up names for scooter tricks that I wasn’t landing. I was at the last place that I’ve called home and meant it. Summer approached. The leaves turned fully green on the trees. The world was my oyster. I could do anything, aside from land my made-up scooter tricks. I knew my three older sisters would be coming home from school at 3pm. I knew that when I got home from Kindergarten that morning, my mom would greet me and make me a snack. I knew my dad would be home for dinner, or so I thought.
As I played on my scooter, my dad opened the front door of the house carrying a box with a few items showing, not neatly packed, out of its open top. I was too busy trying to pull off a “180-flabberjaw-flippinback,” the trick my dad told me he could do, to ask questions. He didn’t hesitate. He walked directly to his car, put the box in his back seat, turned the…