Personal Narrative: My Dad

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“I have three hours before lacrosse practice, so we should get to work right away,” I mention to my younger sister Kyla as we walk away from school to go visit our dad for the day. It’s sunny out, which would be nice for most people, but for me the heat is just irritating as we speed walk up a big hill. We walk two blocks before my dad’s apartment building is in sight. The shade from the maple trees start cool me off as I prepare myself for a lot of cleaning. My dad has been slowly losing his eyesight from diabetes, and at this point he can barely see our shadows in the right lighting. Kyla and I try to visit once a week to help out around his small apartment, which usually includes his laundry, mail, bathroom, and vacuuming. As we enter the parking lot Kyla bumps my arm with hers and asks, “Did you bring quarters for his laundry today? I hate when we count his change and come up short.” I’m not a fan of …show more content…

He has caramel colored skin with a bald head and a goatee. I assume he’s the Robert my sister just mentioned and say hello. He smiles and waves back at us. My dad’s soft familiar voice finally comes in, “I was just telling Meadow and Robert about that time I hitch-hiked in Arizona, and slept in the ravine.” I chuckle in response as I think back on the events of this specific story. My dad had a crazy life. I already know we’ll be spending the next three hours listening to his stories and lectures. Being a college professor would be a perfect job for him, because you could literally give him any topic and he’ll spend hours talking about it. Experience is all he has as a blind sixty-year-old man, and he definitely shares them when he has the chance. Robert comes in the conversation chuckling, “Yeah man, I would’ve shit myself if I woke up to a snake in my

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