Personal Narrative Essay: My Memories From My House

Where you live isn’t just a building, it’s a part of our memories. I have had many memories inside my house but also other places. Our place of living affects the way we grow up and who we will become. That’s why for my assignment I chose my memories from my houses and other places I went to use. The first house I’ll be talking about was in Harrison and it was a small trailer park. I had to share a room with my brother because my room and the other bathroom had mold in it. The playground with a merry-go-round and my dad spinned us, we all hung on for dear life while me cousin Nana chucked off it. In said park there was a tree that I could easily climb, I would sit on it and feel the cool breeze. During the winter my cousins came over and I told them a scary story, my older cousin Ambree was scared before she caught on and helped me scare the younger cousin Nana. The story was that during a snowstorm if you say footprints in the snow it was a monster trying to get you to go into the snowstorm so it could get you. It would say your name in order to trick you into believing it was a family member calling for you. Nana was terrified and later on I realized it matched the description of a Wendigo.

There was another story to tell and it was one-eyed Willy, the story went that once upon a time there was a boy with an alcoholic father,

Paul, otherwise known as the ghetto, on Magnolia Ave. and Pane St. If you entered the house through the front door it would bring you straight into the living room. Even though we didn’t use it as often it still has a fair share of memories. One of the funniest memories to take place in the living room was when my friends and I were planning to survive the zombie apocalypse. We were all holding some form of weapon, I was holding a bat and my friend Savanna was holding a broom, when my dad abruptly opened the door causing us to scream and point our weapons at him for five to ten