Personal Narrative-Moving
Moving
I was quieter than usual as my family piled into the car. We were going to go see our new house. The house I didn’t really know how I felt about yet. My parents had always talked about moving into a bigger house when I was younger, but I never thought it would actually happened. I couldn’t think of any reason why we needed to move. I liked our current house just fine--with all the fruit trees and the small backyard, and the room that me, my older sister, and my brother shared. Plus--moving houses meant we had to change schools. My sister and brother already went to our new school, but I didn’t yet. Our new school was a public school, not private, so that meant they wouldn’t let me into first grade--I wasn’t old enough. I wouldn’t turn
six until January.That was actually fine with me. The new school probably sucked anyways. I was so absorbed in scowling at my window that I hardly notice us pull up into a driveway. As we climbed out of the car, I looked up at the house. I already didn’t like it. Maybe it was just that it was dark and cold outside, but it seemed gloomy and drafty. And the big tree standing in front of it was nothing like our cheerful, stout lemon tree. Instead, it kind of draped itself over like it was tired after a long day. The inside of the house was big and empty, too. I knew, when we left that night, that I absolutely hated it. My older sister, who hadn’t gone with us, having been at something for school, was appalled at my description of the house.
I was quieter than usual as my family piled into the car. We were going to go see our new house. The house I didn’t really know how I felt about yet. My parents had always talked about moving into a bigger house when I was younger, but I never thought it would actually happened. I couldn’t think of any reason why we needed to move. I liked our current house just fine--with all the fruit trees and the small backyard, and the room that me, my older sister, and my brother shared. Plus--moving houses meant we had to change schools. My sister and brother already went to our new school, but I didn’t yet. Our new school was a public school, not private, so that meant they wouldn’t let me into first grade--I wasn’t old enough. I wouldn’t turn
six until January.That was actually fine with me. The new school probably sucked anyways. I was so absorbed in scowling at my window that I hardly notice us pull up into a driveway. As we climbed out of the car, I looked up at the house. I already didn’t like it. Maybe it was just that it was dark and cold outside, but it seemed gloomy and drafty. And the big tree standing in front of it was nothing like our cheerful, stout lemon tree. Instead, it kind of draped itself over like it was tired after a long day. The inside of the house was big and empty, too. I knew, when we left that night, that I absolutely hated it. My older sister, who hadn’t gone with us, having been at something for school, was appalled at my description of the house.