Personal Narrative: White House

As my dog Kaylee and I are taking an evening walk, she suddenly stops at the beginning of a driveway. She stares at the house, glances back at me, and then continues to stare at the house. I tug on her leash, signaling her to keep moving, but she doesn’t budge. Instead of forcing her to follow me, I remember I am leaving for college soon, so I also stop to stare at the house and start to reminisce.

A two-story white house built in 1832 stands on 2.5 acres of land in the small town of Granville, where most of my childhood memories reside. We bought this house in 2003 and moved out in 2013. I spent nearly my whole childhood in this home and for ten years that house ran on love and laughter. Although this house had over 3,000 square feet of living space, it was as if my family members were only an arm’s length away. As I stand outside the house, I am transported back in time to the memories of my childhood.

The slightly curved driveway that leads to the garage is where I remember watching my sister pull in as a licensed driver

Like any sister would, I snooped through her closet and stole her clothes. I would carefully watch her and her friends spend hours preparing for school dances and hear them critique her while she practiced her dance routines, since she was a part of the school’s dance squad. I spent many nights crawling into her bed when I had a bad dream, and I can feel that sense of security that comes from being protected by my older sister. Nothing comforted me quite like that did. My final stop on my memory tour is down the hall in my parents’ bedroom. I came in here early every morning and woke them up. As I look out the windows, I can see the pool where my sister spent most of her time on an inner tube trying to get as dark as she could, while I would swim along the bottom, looking for my make-believe treasures. At night, the deck became our place to relax and