Personal Narrative Analysis

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We were decorating a tree at my mom's last night in a style that can best be described as a blast from the past. As I looked at old ornaments, I began to remember past Christmases and one in particular stands out.

When we moved to West Texas, I was 6 years old, my sister was 14 months younger. We arrived at Christmastime with my mom to a pretty much empty house. The movers hadn't arrived with furniture and my dad had been unexpectedly called away on business. But my intrepid mom was nonplussed, fixing peanut butter sandwiches, telling us holiday stories and tucking us in with her for the night in a bed made of blankets on the living-room floor. The next morning we walked to a nearby strip mall to buy a carton of milk, a very small Christmas

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