Personal Narrative- Mother and Daughter Relationship
I am rummaging through a cardboard box full of pictures, looking for the perfect one to put in one of those sentimental Mother and Daughter word frames from Hallmark. Finally, a photo falls from the box, and I pick it up, knowing I have found what I am looking for.
It is a picture taken from spring of the year I was four. My mother is sitting on the couch in our living room and I am standing in front of her. The fabric of our couch is a beige and dark brown flowered print. The wall behind the sofa is covered with dark wood paneling. Mom, wearing a brown patterned dress, seems to blend into her surroundings. I am standing in front of her, radiant in the dress she has picked out for me to wear. It is lavender, and the bows and ruffles it is covered with seem to glow in the flash of the camera. My hair, which is bleached blond from the sun, hangs down to my waist and shimmers in the light. My white patent leather shoes pick up a lavender tint from my dress.
I am slightly fuzzy in the photograph. From the way my left foot is slightly in front of my right, it looks like I am running past and have barely stopped in order for the photographer to snap the picture. Mom’s hand is resting on my right arm, as if she is holding me in the picture’s frame. The rest of her features seem to blend into the drab background, but her right hand shows up clearly as it holds me in place.
My mother hasn’t changed since the picture was taken almost sixteen years ago. Her hair style and figure have matured with age, but everything else has remained constant. She still stands behind...