Narrative Essay On Baby Blue

As I lay on the couch, I ask myself the question that probably plagues so many teenagers today: “Should I go and get myself a pumpkin spice latte?”. I have the ability to go out and get myself one, so perhaps I will. This sense of freedom doesn’t come from the immediate rights granted to me in the Constitution; I get my sense of freedom from Baby Blue. Baby Blue is what I lovingly refer to my truck as, it may not be a light shade of blue as the name would suggest, but it is a vibrant blue, and I actually consider it my baby. A Ford F-150 that replaced my families rusting Ford Ranger about two and a half years ago, has become my ticket to a life of freedom. From school, to work, to hanging out with friends, to running errands, and even to Starbucks for that pumpkin spice latte, it has opened the doors to a world of immediate gratification and doing things for myself. When I turn the key and hear the engine kick over and start up, and grip the leather, stitched steering wheel, I feel the sense of adventure and unlimited possibilities. I am in charge.

Even after getting home from school or golf practice, when it would seem natural to rush inside to the warmth and comfort of my home, I often find myself lingering. There wouldn’t appear to be anything about the gray interior that would make a person think twice about taking a few steps into their house and lying down on a couch, but that truck is home to me. There are better recliners in my house, but that drivers seat is my seat. There are better speakers in my house, but the slightly blown out speakers, from having the music a little too loud just a few too many times, are my speakers. Even with 195 countries in the world, I would never choose a single one over the USA. Likewise, even with billions of cars that there are in the world, nothing could make me give up my