Personal Narrative: My First Mcdonald's Humburger

The memory of my first McDonald’s hamburger is still fresh in my mind. I can easily recall the way that the acidic pickles overpowered my senses, how their pungent fragrance wafted through my car and invaded my clothes. I can feel the soggy buns disintegrating atop my tongue, so unlike any other bread I have ever had, and the meager patty crumbling between my teeth. These flavors and textures are memorable because they were novel, because I was not raised on such hamburgers but tried one for the first time during a recent family car ride home from Canada. My parents were puzzled by my desire to consume a food that they had always regarded as taboo. My rationale was this: I do not eat the hamburger because it might be delicious or good for me.

My parents did their best to fuel the flames of my natural desire to learn because, as a homeschooler, I did not have the strict schedule and resources of my public-school-going peers. In order for homeschooling to work I had to be self-motivated. My school days became about the things I wanted to learn, about the books I wanted to read and the pictures I wanted to draw. With no television, I was forced to use my imagination for entertainment. I wrote stories, visited science museums, had pretend sword fights in the woods with my friends, and learned how to play the cello. My Dad taught me to make music with a guitar and a piano, my mom taught me how to use pencils to turn three dimensions into two, I taught myself how to see meaning in poems and literature, and I learned my math facts by playing games with my family. I joined an alternative education community to study Japanese and writing. At times I took trips to art classes and yoga studios, or went to my Dad’s office and browsed law books while simultaneously growing tomatoes on his windowsills. Not once did I have to sacrifice my natural curiosity to finish my homework or stay up late to write an essay. I had freedom to educate myself and explore my