Narrative Essay On The Glass Castle

As I rested on the cot that serves as my nesting place with my Hello Kitty blanket, enjoying the comfort of the soft cool throw and the downy pillow, the dim illumination from the moon through the window was just enough to spark my imagination and get my brain racing with all the words that came out of my mother’s mouth as she read me a bedtime story. Not only was I enthralled by the stories, but there something about her familiar and shockingly pure voice that made these constant storytelling experiences more valuable. Someday, just someday, I envisioned myself doing the same with my children. However, I never thought that I would be doing this in my Junior year.

It was the winter of my Junior year. My mom recently found out that my grandfather

was very ill. My grandfather lived in Bangladesh all his life; hence, my mother has not seen him since the last time she went to Bangladesh, which was nearly eleven years ago. Because of his severe condition, my mom decided to go to Bangladesh for a couple of months. She decided to leave us to go to a country that was eight thousand miles away. She decided to leave me with all the responsibilities. She decided that I was mature enough to handle “adult” responsibilities.

Originally, I was not happy with this at all.

For three months, instead of being focused entirely on my studies and my social life, I had to to look after my two siblings and do all household chores while my father was at work.

One Friday night, I was sulking in my room looking at my bookshelf and mentally lamenting about my injustice until I saw my favorite book “The Glass Castle.” I decided to sit down on my bed and read this to myself with my Hello Kitty blanket over me. After reading a couple of pages, I looked down at my blanket and remembered all the times my mother would read to me at night. Since I was like a mother to my siblings when my mother went to Bangladesh, I decided that I would read this book to them. After all, one of the many responsibilities a mother has is to make sure the kids are enjoying their time.

I ran up to my sibling’s room, grabbing my blanket on the way, and perched myself on the edge of their bed and began to read aloud. It was an entirely different experience reading the words; I was able to truly appreciate the beauty of the language and depth of the characters in a way that I missed before. Sharing my favorite story was even more special. My siblings smiled, just a little smile at first, but the smile grew as it pressed their cheeks up and slowly revealed their teeth. Finally the smile reached their eyes, lighting them. in that moment, we were all filled with

happiness.

Reading to my siblings gave me another perspective on my childhood memories: my mom's. I'm sure there were other things that she would have rather been doing than reading children's books to me. Every night, she was there with a book, reading the words that so delighted me. I chose to do the same with my younger siblings.

I realized that adulthood is more than just superficial demonstrations of age. Taking the time to share an experience with another and truly loving every moment of their enjoyment is adulthood. While taking care of my siblings have allowed me to experience the stereotypical "adulthood" things that mark my transition to adulthood, I now understand the true adult concept of putting someone else's happiness before my own.