Personal Narrative-Thomas Longwoods Acting Classes

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"Thomas Longwoods Acting Classes, they 're in Montgomery Valley now, I want to sign up" I tell my mother as I hold the sheet infront of her face. " Acting.... why? " She says, squinting her eyes to read the words while my baby sister Ronnie starts to nuzzle her head in to my moms neck. " Because its my drea-" Ronnie starts to spit up and mother jolts to the washroom before I can even finish my sentence. I lift the registration form and crumple in into my palms. My eyes start to feel a tingling sensation as tears trace down my long lashes and my cheeks. Since this is not my first attempt in asking for something. Dance, soccer, saxophone, were just a few things my mother has rejected me from doing. Although, a bit had to do with…show more content…
Not mine. Mom wouldnt think of something for me. She wouldnt speak , nor spend time with us anymore. She was either in or out of the house with a new uniform or hat which piled up on the coat rack. I had to admit. I hated it. Her absense made me feel like she hated me. I woke up an hour early this morning , just to catch her and ask her all my eager questions. My attempt is ruined when I see she has left the door with her 'chicken town ' uniform on. I gasp a bit since the running down the stairs has made me fatigue.I turn to see what 's for…show more content…
To my dismay, I see nothing , no cereal and no milk. I try opting to look for something else, yet the cupboards and frdige shelves are cleaned out. I slouch on the sofa and starve. My mother is so wound up in saving her pouch money and her new job that she has forgotten about me. I spot a pencil and paper, and write the angriest message for her.That is, until I get a message from Thomas Longwoods Acting Classes. They 've comfirmed my application and have enrolled me. This must 've been a miracle, I havent enrolled or applied yet and theyve accepted me. Out of sheer joy, I forget my hunger and race to my room. "Dinners ready!" my mother says, peering her head in my room. "mom, dont youhave work today" I question her. "coffee shops not open tuesdays, remember?" she answers. It 's been a month , and this has been the first time we are back to our family dinners. We reach the dinner table , holding hand in hand, to say grace. My mothers eyes ponder around the room to look for the holy book to read a passage from. I follow her gaze to the coffeee table near the front door. There I see the book sitting above the glass portion of the table, beside an empty and

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