Personal Narrative Essay: Growing Up In My Backyards

As a child, my family and I would vacation in a rented summerhouse on the southern tip of Block Island. Vacation time in “The Block,” as we called the island, was my favorite time of year for many reasons. As a boy who grew up in the concrete jungle of New York City, there was nothing more exciting to me than having access to a grassy backyard to play in and explore. The backyard of the summerhouse was something everyone in my family enjoyed. I recall countless hours of playing outside with my parents, or watching them sit on the deck from a distance as I laid in the grass, which I did a majority of the time. Year after year, the backyard created new memories and learning experiences for me. As I grew up, I begin to realize that the backyard was far more than just a pretty view for the family to look out at; it was the starting point for many educational tools I have today.

“Alright here we are,” My dad would say, as the family would exit the car and walk up to the stone steps of our Block Island Summer house. The house was a colonial style build, as so many Block Island homes are. The white door at the top of the steps stuck out boldly among the houses dark exterior and large windows. As the front door would open, my eyes would meet with a long

I ran out to the middle of the lawn and waited for my dad’s instructions. “See Cam step and throw,” he would repeat. I recall throwing the ball left, right, and everywhere else, except to him. He would chase the ball all over the lawn and return the throw back to me, and I would try again. As discouraging as it was, he never gave up on me and worked patiently with me until I threw the ball to his chest, over and over again. He was so proud of me once I got the throw down; the smile on his face said it all. From that day on baseball had become my favorite sport and the catch on that lawn lead the way to a long baseball career for