length: 398 words 1.1 double spaced pages rating: red free personal narrative playground memory looking back on a childhood filled with events and memories, i find it rather difficult to pick on that leaves me with the fabled warm and fuzzy feelings. As the daughter of an air force major, i had the pleasure of traveling across america in many moving trips. Stood on the edge of the grande canyon and have jumped on the beds at caesar’s palace in lake tahoe. However, i have discovered that when reflecting on my childhood, it is not the trips that come to mind, instead there are details from everyday doings a deck of cards, a silver bank or an ice cream flavor. It was late in the fall in merced, california on the playground of my old elementary school an overcast day with the wind blowing strong. The wind was causing miniature tornados we called them dirt devils , to swarm around me. My friends called me over to the wooden playground surrounded by a sea of mulch chips.

An unannounced game of tag started and we found ourselves weaving in and out of the wooden fortress and the trees that surrounded it. My shoe became untied and i took a time out to tie it with a method that no one uses here. While waiting for everyone to line up, i looked up at the trees that line the walkway.

They were strange looking things, like overgrown red spiders that left traces of their pollen if you touched them. In the summer, the playground would be covered with these flowers, which meant more insects. The line has started moving, which meant it is time to end the day with more math tables and spelling quizzes.

Memory, narrative, identity harry felt as though the memory of it was eating him from inside. He had been so sure that his parents were wonderful people that he had never had the slightest difficulty in disbelieving the aspersions snape cast on his father's character. Hadn't people like hagrid and sirius told harry how wonderful his father had been? hellip for nearly five years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort, of inspiration. Whenever someone had told him he was like james, he had glowed with pride inside.

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the order of the phoenix 575 576 there is nothing like waking up to a loud buzzing alarm clock at four in the morning to go duck hunting after you just got home from a football game at midnight. I have been hunting ducks since age eight and plan to do it until my body can no longer take the late evenings and early mornings. I roll out of bed and look at the time, hoping that my clock lied to me and i can sleep for another hour. Quickly i find out, to my dismay, that my clock is in fact not wrong, but right on time. I reach for the snooze button, but decide against it knowing that my grandpa is probably outside already eagerly waiting to go.

I roll out of bed, walk downstairs, and into my dad’s room where i discover that unlike me, he hit the snooze button. He always takes a shower, though i don’t understand why he needs to smell good in a duck blind. Today we will be going to tilson creek, a spot that has always proven to be filled with birds. I pack the days’ food and drinks into our cooler and head to the entry way where i see my coveralls, boots, hat, and gloves waiting for me on the table. As i open the safe my nose tickles as the sweet smell of gun powder discharges from the safe. I grab my benelli nova shotgun and my box of shells and head to the end of the driveway where my grandpa has been anxiously waiting, for the past twenty minutes.

I load up the gear and hop into the back seat as i watch my dad hobble out of the door in full gear. Looking out the window on our way to the creek i see nothing but pure darkness, an almost calming effect. First memories of oneself can be easily confused with fabricated memories made by looking at old pictures, movies, and hearing stories related to ones personal history. This is the case for me: i have seen so many home movies, heard so many stories, and seen so many pictures about my early childhood, i dont know for certain what is my first memory in actuality. since i cannot pinpoint my first memory exactly, i will unfold a series of memories which were the earliest in my childhood. I remember at night looking through the large glass windows of our living room at the huge pine trees and douglas fir trees, which brushed against our white fence. The trees would sway sometimes violently in the wind, as it was common in seattle at night. I would watch the trees dance, believing to see many frightening and strange shapes forming in the dark, as if the trees were alive in a conscious way.

the trees would shift into the types of monsters my imagination dreamed up. I would tell my mother about the shapes and forms, but as a common mother would do, she tried to calm me down instead of play along with my eerie fixation. I was curious, as most children are, about the texture and form of the body we are given at birth. From an early age, i had four operations: two open heart surgeries, and two hernia surgeries.

I would feel my scars which climb up my chest and travel near my groin as if they were landscapes, burned into skin until age would fade them away. Besides scars, i would relish over the smallest of particulars about my eyes, which have hazel lines shooting out from the pupils. I would examine my life state through my eyes: i could see how i was on the whole through them. My hands were also a point of curiosity for me: my left hand is significantly smaller than my right because of surgeries. It will guide you step by step through the process of finishing your assignments without stress, while also managing your time.

Narrative Essay About a Memory Text

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