Personal Narrative: Struggle for the American Dream-"My Saturday Night"
My Saturday NightWhen I grow up, I want to have a big, big house with stairs and lots of kinds, and a big, big room, and, and As a child, I believe that was my biggest dream and goal in life. To be, as the saying says, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen was what I wanted out of life. Living the perfect life—The American Dream.
I remember Saturdays with my family. During the day, my mom and I would head out to the mall to go shopping, and make that one phone call home at about five in the afternoon. Calling in to check up on the plans for the night. Oh how I loved those Saturday nights. Usually, Ben, my dads best friend would call and let us know the arrangements.
My dad had a group of friends from when he was in high school, which we would always get together with on a weekly basis. How I loved them so much—as if they were my own uncles. Most commonly, we would go to one of my dads friends houses for a get together and order some pizza.
Those were my favorite nights, only because most often we would go to Bens house, which was 2 stories and about 6,000 sq.ft. The adults would hang around in the living room, dinning room, or the kitchen as the masses of children, of all ages, ran around the house playing, screaming, and occasionally crying. I was among the older kids leading the group and watching over the younger ones.
Growing up with these kinds meant a lot to me. I loved the authority of being able to direct the children, or being the mediator when they would fight. I even remember when some of them were born. One in particular, which I remember so vividly, was when Nicole was born. I was about six or seven. We went to Cedar Sinai in Beverly Hills to visit her parents, Mariam and Joseph, as well as to see her for the very first time. I loved children so much that these kids werent just family friends to me, they were like my own brothers and sisters looking up to me as their role model.
As I was growing older, my parents friends families were growing
I remember Saturdays with my family. During the day, my mom and I would head out to the mall to go shopping, and make that one phone call home at about five in the afternoon. Calling in to check up on the plans for the night. Oh how I loved those Saturday nights. Usually, Ben, my dads best friend would call and let us know the arrangements.
My dad had a group of friends from when he was in high school, which we would always get together with on a weekly basis. How I loved them so much—as if they were my own uncles. Most commonly, we would go to one of my dads friends houses for a get together and order some pizza.
Those were my favorite nights, only because most often we would go to Bens house, which was 2 stories and about 6,000 sq.ft. The adults would hang around in the living room, dinning room, or the kitchen as the masses of children, of all ages, ran around the house playing, screaming, and occasionally crying. I was among the older kids leading the group and watching over the younger ones.
Growing up with these kinds meant a lot to me. I loved the authority of being able to direct the children, or being the mediator when they would fight. I even remember when some of them were born. One in particular, which I remember so vividly, was when Nicole was born. I was about six or seven. We went to Cedar Sinai in Beverly Hills to visit her parents, Mariam and Joseph, as well as to see her for the very first time. I loved children so much that these kids werent just family friends to me, they were like my own brothers and sisters looking up to me as their role model.
As I was growing older, my parents friends families were growing