Personal Narrative- Transformation from Child to Teenager
Sometimes at night, when it is so dark the darkness becomes almost smothering, I lie awake listening to the cars outside and the endless crying of the baby next door. I think back through my life, to try and comfort me into restful sleep.
I remember summers from my junior high school days. The images are yellow, orange, warm, and happy. Endless summer vacations, the sun almost unbearable with its cruel heat. A time when swimwear wasn’t a terrifying thought, flabby thighs, and see through bikinis were things I was oblivious to. My parents were endless sources of ice-cream cones and drinks, not the embarrassing, overprotective people they have become.
Every year I would go to summer camp, my sister, our two best friends, Jemima and Sally and myself. We awaited the holiday with desperate anticipation. When I was 10 we went to France alone for the first time, our previous camp experiences had been confined to a large mansion house in Shropshire. There we were at the coach station on the departure date. Armed with matching purses, our straw blond hair drew us together, a giggling, whispering bunch, the most devoted Boyzone fans. We were an endless source of lies. We were all orphaned quadruplets. We had been left millions and lived on our own with seven swimming pools with dolphins in. We were almost feminist in our approach to boys, the fat boy who dared to send Sally a love letter obviously had...