Personal Narrative- Bonding Experience with Mom

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Personal Narrative- Bonding Experience with Mom

Summer was coming to an end, the night air grew brisker and the mornings were dew covered. The sun had just started to set behind our home; my father would be home soon. I walked into the kitchen only to be greeted by my mother cooking dinner. She stood there one hand on her hip, her one leg stuck out at her side, knee slightly bent, stirring the pot holding the spoon all the way at the tip of the handle. She looked as pissed off as could be. My mother always felt she could be doing a million other things besides cooking dinner. We sat there talking until I heard a familiar soft rumble in front of our house. The rumble was accompanied by my father fidgeting at the front door. His old noisy Bronco always made his presence known. He plodded down the hallway into the kitchen to greet my mother with a peck on the cheek. After one more quick stir she plopped a hot pad on the table followed by a pan of sliced meatloaf in sauce. The smell of the meat, potatoes, and veggies filled the kitchen instantly and the family gathered around the table. The meal was a typical one in our household, my mother who had a million other things to do that day, including having her own personal time did not feel like cooking a twelve course meal. However, my father who always came home expecting steak did not see the meal as appetizing as the rest of us.

When my father blew up at my mother we were all expecting him to. The argument of "I want steak" and "I was working all day" was common in our family. I immediately took my mother's side like I usually did because no one in our family appreciates or respects what she does. My father would later grow to regret what he said and apologize. Tonight was different though. My mother usually took my father's comments in stride knowing he really does not mean what he says. But, this time they both exploded at each other and my mother ended up running out of the kitchen upset, retiring to her room.

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