Personal Narrative- Playground Memory :: Personal Narrative

in-person Narrative- Playground MemoryLooking back on a puerility filled with events and memories, I find it rather difficult to pick on that leaves me with the fabled warm and fuzzy feelings. As the daughter of an Air rend Major, I had the pleasure of traveling across America in many a(prenominal) moving trips. I have visited the monstrous trees of the Sequoia National Forest, stood on the edge of the Grande Canyon and have jumped on the beds at Caesars palace in Lake Tahoe. However, I have discovered that when reflecting on my childhood, it is not the trips that muster up to mind, instead there are details from everyday doings a deck of cards, a silver bank or an ice picking flavor. One memory that comes to mind belongs to a day of no especial(a) importance. It was late in the fall in Merced, California on the vacation spot of my old elementary school an overcast day with the wind blowing strong. I stood on the blacktop, pulling my hoodie over my ears. The wind was causing miniature tornados we called them after part devils, to swarm around me. I stood there, watching the leaves kick up and accordingly settle. My friends called me over to the wooden playground surrounded by a ocean of mulch chips. The bridge squeaked furiously under our weight. An unannounced game of strike out started and we found ourselves weaving in and out of the wooden fortress and the trees that surrounded it. My shoe became un connectd and I took a time out to tie it with a method that no one uses here. We heard an adult part it was time to go in. We lined up single file, supposedly in alphabetical order but no one ever does. I liked that, I never liked being in the back. bit waiting for everyone to line up, I looked up at the trees that line the walkway. condescension the time of year, I noticed sparse flowers growing on the trees.