Personal Narrative: From Bus To Highland Memorial Cemetery

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If I had a ticket in my hand, I would take the next bus to Highland Memorial Cemetery in Weslaco, Texas. At this resting area lies Miguel Vallejo, my grandfather, my papa, my hero. Throughout my life, my papa raised me because my parents were not yet ready for the commitment of a child. My papa was a kind and hardworking man. He had rosy cheeks and rough hands from working in the field.His laugh could brighten a dark room, and he taught me to be kind to all and to never stop striving for something I want. When I moved to Harlingen to better my education, I was sad to not live with him anymore but visited him every weekend.My education became a goal, and he sat with me late at night helping me with homework and my studies. When I was in 7th

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