Personal Narrative

Good, bad; like every other little kid, I knew the difference. I could tell you what was nice was good, and what was mean was bad. I could tell you that when crossing the street "always look both ways." The most important one of their prophecies was to always listen to them. I knew all that stuff and could repeat it to anyone in a heart-beat. That makes no difference though, all this was what had been drilled, beaten into my little head along with all the little heads of my friends. It’s what our parents, our teachers, and all those other "adults" taught us. The things that seemed more important was fun, and boring.

When Christmas morning came around one year when I was six, my sister and I woke up in a bedroom in our grand-parents home like every other year. We looked out the window to see brilliant sights. Freshly fallen snow covered everything we could see. To us, everything was perfect at that moment.

We opened the door and walked down the short hallway to the living room. We were struck with awe. There underneath the tiny Christmas tree, which was set on top of a table, and all along the perimeter of the room were presents. We surveyed the packages, mine were wrapped in blue, and my sister’s in green. My attention was then turned to the center of the room, where my parents now lay asleep on a mattress. My mother stirred some, and I a flight of juvenile curiosity we fled back into our room. There we waited for what seemed a decade.

Finally we were beckoned form our room to open our presents. One by one, presents were opened. Dreams were fulfilled, and happiness was overwhelming. There was one package I distinctly remember opening. It was odd shaped, half squared, and the other half projected. I tore away the blue covering and it revealed a toy. It was more than a toy, because it made real noises. It was a table saw. I aced with the same curiosity that drove us from the living room earlier that morning and pushed the button. Shwooooo. It sounded. Shwoooo. It sounded again. I played with it, I laughed , I enjoyed.

"Be careful, Adam, don’t break it," my mother warned. "Adam, why don’t you give it a rest." I still didn’t listen to her. Shwoooo. "Adam, you’re going to break it, so why don’t you go play with another toy for a while." I never listened to one of those warnings. I just kept playing. Why shouldn’t I, it was so much fun. Besides, who cared about good and bad. It was fun.

I pushed the button one more timeÖ..nothing. I pushed it again. Again there was no sound. "I told you would break it," she severely said. It, or maybe more suitably, I, was broken.

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