Grandpa’s House The bell had rung announcing the end of the day in a high pitched shrill. Children were released from the school building. I was one that was forced to wait to walk home, but now it was my turn to stampede out the door. My grandparents lived a little over a block from the school, and since my dad worked up in Mason, and couldn’t come and pick me up from school, I walked. Some days, though, I raced things. Today was one of those days. I felt the dirt that layered the concrete grind underneath my tennis shoes. The track was traced by the clean cut dusty emerald fans that the wind was forcing to cheer. My opponent and I were lining up. Me and the Dumont mail truck. I hear the garble of the engine coming from behind me, and with the wind on my back pushing me forward, I run. The chill air stung my lungs as I eyed the deep blue United Postal Service insignia. It moved slowly through the corner of my eye and I began to run. I sensed the bumps in the sidewalk through the bottom of my tennis shoes. My lungs stung from the brisk air that I had been breathing in quickly. My calves started to burn. I felt my backpack prodding my back pushing me forward. My eyes followed the crimson taillights on the back of the truck as they speed ahead of me. I slowed back down to a walk as I realized that the race was tipped …show more content…
We’ve emptied out the house, leaving behind the painting of the 101 Dalmations with my ‘modifications’ Grandpa encouraged me to create with marker on the walls. We went through the boxes, finding memories, like the coffee can, wrapped in construction paper and tape. Without them here I can’t go back to that house. I can’t create more memories with them, but I can reflect. I’ll always have those memories to look back on when times are low, but I won’t mourn anymore because they are in a better place, watching what I’m becoming. The house and them will always hold a special place in my heart, and my
My breath was heavy as I was sprinting from them. I could hear them on my tail. But the only this that was racing through my mind was “I have the book.”
Peanut dust in the air, shells on the ground, country music blaring overhead, and workers dancing around, Texas Roadhouse is known not only for its delectably delicious food, but also its friendly environment and excellent customer service. It is a restaurant I would definitely recommend to people of all kinds from those looking for somewhere to hang out with friends to a family looking for somewhere to celebrate a birthday or other special occasion or even two people looking for a place to have a casual second or third date. Texas Roadhouse is a popular restaurant, so our small wait (no more than 15 minutes) was nothing to be disappointed about. We got to enjoy the restaurant’s simple wooded look with a variety of wall décor representing Virginia schools. We also got to participate in their traditional birthday “YEE HAW” celebration twice while waiting.
As we were packing boxes for our new cottage our family seemed more distant than ever, it was like everyone had lost the sunshine in their life. We had just left our home and had moved into our small old cottage, but it was better than nothing, I couldn’t hear the echoes of Dad any more this made me feel like a part of me was lost and would never return.
When I smelled the damp air the dark clouds drifted over me in the sky. As I watched as cheerful kids played on the jungle gym and the swings at recess, I noticed the mulch was darker than usual. As I was waiting by a bench for the whistle to blow,which was the sign for everyone to come in, I heard a scream from a whistle, from the monitor. As I lined up in my class, people passed by me rushing to their line. I watched one by one as people ran inside. The wind bristled my hair as I finally could walk inside.
The third maddening buzz of my alarm woke me as I groggily slid out of bed to the shower. It was the start of another routine morning, or so I thought. I took a shower, quarreled with my sister over which clothes she should wear for that day and finished getting myself ready. All of this took a little longer than usual, not a surprise, so we were running late. We hopped into the interior of my sleek, white Thunderbird and made our way to school.
I cried as we locked up the house for the last time. I felt like we had just spackled, primed, and painted over my childhood. I felt as if my identity had been erased, and like the character in the song, I had lost myself. There was no longer any physical evidence that I had ever lived in, much less grew up in, the house.
As I got comfortable, there was a sound of an engine working harder, and the sound of gravel getting crunched under 5,000 pounds of metal, and wheels. I felt a bump then everything smooths out. I looked out the shiny widow, and as I do, I see yellow strips fly by. I smell of overcrowding, and hear my brothers and sisters arguing. I look out through the icy window, and see a blanket of darkness slowly fade away into the morning, then my hot breath clouds the window into a white fog. As I wrap my hands around the cold water bottle, and twist the cap I feel it breaking off, and hear the cap rip off. I tasted a taste of sweet water, there was a feeling of the dryness in my mouth melts away.
And it seemed like after we moved, everyone else moved away, too and way farther than we did. Some to the West Coast, others to the East Coast, and our grandparents would move between here and Guam (and even Louisiana for a time). The parties happened less frequently, I recognized fewer people, and everyone always had a place to be. Even now, this house doesn’t feel like home. It’s empty, it’s someone else's place and we’re just living in it. Yet, that encourages me to hope for something more than this, dream of someplace better, strive to go places other than this and form bonds like the ones we had with the cousins we drifted
Rolling into her driveway, I knew there would be food ready for me to eat. She always had the best food. My mom didn’t like what she fed me all the time, but she didn’t try to stop her. Who could say no to your grandma? My grandma spoiled me all the time, and I loved it. There is no one else I would rather spend my time with than my grandma when I was a kid. My grandma Van Es is someone I love with all my heart because she was my babysitter, the lady with the food, the grandma with the sleepovers.
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
My breath was steady, but my heart was erratic. I could feel sweat on my brow from the blazing sun. My thoughts too incoherent to hear the official, but I did notice my fellow runners already in their starting blocks. I quickly fell to my knees and pushed my bright orange spikes into the green blocks. I took deep breaths trying to grasp my nerves. My knuckles turned white from pressing them into the track keeping myself steady. All my hard work was being tested, and months of training all came down to one race. “Set!”, the official shouted into the deadly silent stadium. Muscle memory kicked in, and my left leg seemed to have raised at its own accord. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth visualizing the race in my head. I
As I look back on my childhood a great number of memories hide in my mind; sleepovers with friends, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, eating ice cream are but a few. The one memory that doesn't hide is of the postcard perfect house that I love and adore. From the hearty cattails and rose brown apple trees to the grilled cheese, this place reminds me of my childhood fun but also the love that my whole family shared. The red brick house and its surroundings will keep my memories forever.
As a young child, at the age of 9, I have always been in the care of my grandmother because my parents worked from eight in the morning until around seven or eight at night, so after school my, grandmother and I would spend quality time together. It was only me and her most of the time because my older sister always had practice for some type of sport. My childhood was memorable due to my grandmother, so there wasn’t much I couldn’t be happy about. We usually got along very well, but everyone has bad days so it seemed pretty normal for us to “disagree” with each other. She was in fact my best friend, I could never hold a grudge against her after one of our arguments.
When I think back to the days when I was a child, I think about all of my wonderful childhood memories. Often I wish to go back, back to that point in life when everything seemed simpler. Sometimes I think about it too much, knowing I cannot return. Yet there is still one place I can count on to take me back to that state of mind, my grandparent’s house and the land I love so much.
As I walked I let my eyes close and my feet feel the groove in the gravel. My mind, still asleep, dreamt of breathing. The lining of my father's old coat escaped inside the pockets and caught my fingers, which were numb from the cold. I would have worn gloves but the sun would be unbearable later in the day. The clouds would rise over the mountains and disappear and the birds would slowly become silent as the heat settled in. But for now it was just cold. I tried to warm my neck by breathing down the collar. It smelled like diesel and sweat.