Personal Narrative

650 Words2 Pages

The difference between the way I looked at the world when I was a child, and now at 36 seems pretty stark at first glance. I was innocent and ever hopeful, I believed the world was out to do me good, simple as that.
Events that contradicted my ideas of the basic fairness of life would eventually be explained, that was what growing up meant to me: at some point I would be seen as worthy enough to be given the key to understanding what was going on.
Adults in my life seemed to know the answers, their indulgent smiles radiating a sense of having things figured out. I took a lot of comfort in the belief that adults had a kind of natural superiority that I also would attain with the passing of time.
Whenever I experienced something confusing and awful the conclusion I would come to would be that someday it would make sense; I would know the reason behind the presently inexplicable agony. …show more content…

Every summer I went to California to visit my Grandparents. My Grandmother would always buy me a pair of patent leather tap shoes, a most prized possession. That year I chose white ones. When I got home, I hurried to settle in so I could run over to my best friend's house to show her my incredible shoes. She opened the door, looked down and saw them. Her response to the sight was to lift her foot and then press and grind her dirty boot heel down onto the top of one of my shiny perfect white shoes. I looked down at my foot and the shoe had deep grimy scuffs laid across it, the perfection gone forever. I was stunned, so horribly amazed, that I had no words to say,only a loud howl while I crumpled to the ground. She was sorry for it, and looking as if she was taken by surprise at her own behavior. She sat down by my side trying to comfort me. I kept asking her why but she had no

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