Personal Narrative Essay: The Life Of My Father's Life

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The year was 1990 and I was at the tender and ambitious age of nine years. I am the youngest of

three with a two-year gap between each sibling. My two older siblings, Jason and Jenni, were

partners in crime during those youthful days. The three of us grew up on acreage that was shared

amongst my father’s siblings and his father. The shared property, also known as, “The Family

Plot,” mainly consisted of thick brush and pine trees. With enough exploration, one could find

domains of magnolia groves and giant oak trees that stood majestically alone, spaced perfectly

apart, and free from the entangled thorny vegetation. I can remember waking up early on

summer mornings, something I never manage to do on school days, running down the
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I knew it was a lost cause to present such a request, but this was

a routine that I would often play out with monotonous consequences. Finally, home, I was ready

to strip off my Sunday’s best and run free through the lawn. The summer wind in my face and

soft green grass beneath my feet, I was ready to eat some crawfish. As I made my way through

the adults to get a good look at some Mudbugs, I noticed something was wrong. My father was

anxiously trying to light the burner as my uncle turned the gas knob back and forth. The crawfish

and I were ready, but the boiler was not. I, more than obnoxiously, pleaded that it was time to

eat. My mother made some preliminary snacks, but that would prove insufficient. I attempted to

steal a few live crawfish and was quickly discovered and promptly relieved of my prize. I was

determined, and I knew of another place that housed crawfish, other than the lime green baby

pool. The ditch running along the wood line was a go-to spot for collecting all sorts of critters,

especially crawfish. Focused, I grabbed the fishing net and recruited Jason to help in my
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