Descriptive Essay About An Elevator

When I was little, I remember being deathly afraid of elevators. I always thought for some odd reason I was eventually going to get stuck in one and die. My grandpa had moved into an apartment complex that of course, had an elevator. My mom and I would visit him every Saturday and I always dreaded it because of the torturous elevator ride that would lead us to the third floor where he lived. The salmon colored walls and the lime green carpeting always gave me a rush of nerves since I knew I would be forced to ride the ‘elevator of death’ as my dad would call it to tease me. My mom, although was always the one to comfort me. I can recall one time in particular when I was seven when the two of us were about to load onto the elevator; it was in the middle of winter and my mom was wearing her favorite red pea coat and a pair of navy blue gloves she still avidly wears despite if it is winter or not because of her cold hands. I remember I burst out into tears, and my mom grabbed my tiny hand and pulled me on. She told me to take deep breaths to calm myself down and made me ride up and down on it five more times. It definitely helped because the

From an early age my mom started noticing tendencies of anxious behavior in me, and always took adequate action. For example, I would especially experience separation anxiety when I would have to leave for school in the morning. It got to the point to where in kindergarten my mom walked me into my classroom every morning and had to sit me down in my seat. She would pack us kids into her old suburban and drop everyone off except for me at the front entrance of the school. My mom would grab my hand and lead me to Ms. Devine 's classroom located in the back of the school. She would kneel down, tilt my chin up and say, “Have a wonderful day, Goob. I’m always up the hill and across the street, I love