Personal Narrative: Where My Childhood

840 Words 4 Pages
Where My Childhood Lives.

Where do most people go in their minds when they think about their greatest childhood memories? My mind always wanders off to Grandma’s house in Mountainburg, Arkansas. It was a palace of wondrous sights, smells, and great memorable deeds.Grandma's house was always a place to make the greatest childhood memories with the people I loved. Not only was it a soft, welcoming, and safe place of comfort but, it was also a place to feel wanted, appreciated, loved, and most importantly a place I could call home. As a child, I thought Grandma's house was like a dream house. It was extremely immense! The kitchen was at the front of the house. The plexiglass, tan trimmed, windows covered a majority of the beige colored walls.
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Its white paint was stained and chipped from the horrific weather and temper tantrums thrown on it. It was basically the foundation of the house. No matter the weather or tantrums, The memories of her holding onto the white rail with her left brittle hand and waving with her dainty right arm as my family left was a tradition of saying goodbye, never knowing when the last time would be just that, and it will always be the highlight of the home. Heading out of the kitchen was a single step down into the living room where we spent most of our time. Directly to the right was a grand piano where I “learned” to play the songs I wrote as I punched randomly selected keys. To Grandma’s ears, it was a melody but to anybody else, it would have sounded like nails on a chalkboard, only with no rhythm. The main focus of the living room was Grandma’s beautifully stitched, floral-patterned sofa. The three cushioned seat was the heart of our memories like our Bible studies and grown-up conversations. Her words linger in the walls encouraging me and my older sister Emily that she was going to be just fine and she still had all the time in the world with us. The words of her clearly stating she was 84 years “young” instead of “old” dance in my head the way I used to dance in that living room with …show more content…
She never could go a day without her coffee. She said it’s what kept her hair so white and it was a blessing to have it, even when she lost her smooth long, thick, white, curly locks, she still brewed up her coffee. The potato soup was always being cooked up because it was my favorite. Her house was also a place of discouragement like knowing the pain of my Grandma's heart after me finding the lump on her breast after accidentally nudging her in my sleep, or listening to her breathe while sleeping only ever so faintly and shallow in the middle of the

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