Personal Narrative: My Grandfather's Funeral Home

The hard-working ranch father loved his son but also lived by a realist unlike his son, “Last chance son, you had better pick a horse that you have some hope of riding one day” (Harrison 500). Kenneth’s mother Nell was very supportive to her son’s dreams and hopes of owning a colt. An author of New York times Rebecca Mead states, “We see private bedroom conversations between Rob and Nell, in which the mother, who recognizes her son’s dreaminess as an admirable sensitivity, not as an irritating handicap, challenges her stubborn husband’s rulings”. This support for her son is shown when the little filly is injured and Ken’s mother makes a poultice for the injury every

Slue Foot Sue lived with her Mamma and her Daddy at the tip top of the Rio Grande in Colorado. Slue Foot Sue turned thirteen, but her parents said they had no gift because there was no one to be seen for 500 miles in all directions. So Slue Foot Sue went for a walk, and saw hoofprints. She followed them, and got curious and more curious because there were no wagon tracks behind the prints. She followed them for a week, going around and around the camp. Then one day she looked up, and saw the whitest horse she had ever seen in her life. She crept up to it, slowly, slowly, slowly. Then with one huge leap, she jumped onto the horse's back screaming “YEE HAW!” The horse whinnied, reared back, and galloped all the way back to camp, quick as a flash. When Mamma and Daddy saw what she brought home, they decided to let her have it for a late birthday present. So Slue Foot Sue named her horse Lighting, and she rode her 300 miles every day.

“I remember diagonals of sunlight in the late afternoon, drawn across its flat expanse, transversed by my grandfather’s hand as he swept it through whatever story he was telling, to highlight the words with motion, to motion us closer to the words.” I visualize he grandfather, a wrinkled, elderly man with tanned skin, telling stories to his grandchildren. I reminisce on my grandfather; long gone for some time now, whom was kind and encouraged my spunk.

This story is based off a young sweet girl, who was loved by everyone she met. This day the story takes place on her mother asked little red riding hood to bring her sick grandmother food, warning her of dangers to avoid. She then saw a wolf, the wolf was very manipulative leading little red to think he was a kind and charming being. She was not careful and told the wolf where her grandmother lived, then ran off from the path not following her mother’s rules.

My grandfather’s bass stood in a dark corner so quietly, just waiting to be played again. As I took the covering off the bass, dust danced its way to the floor, and its fire engine red coloring gleamed as brightly as ever. When it was finally time to clean out my grandparent’s house after their passing, my mother told me that the instrument was mine if I wanted it. I was so delighted to learn that he left it to me because this bass represented the one personal activity that linked me to my grandpa, and was the reason I wanted to play string instruments. I remember feeling slightly on edge as I drove away from my grandparent’s house with that bass though, because that meant he was truly gone, not coming back, and I would never hear him play it again. The instrument means so much to me because it stands for everything that I have become from learning patience, perseverance, and the will power to stick with a goal till the end.

Morgan had not a clue how to ride the four legged real barn animal. She was very comfortable with pretending that she was the best competitor in the world with her plastic barn animals. We stepped into the barn where you can see stall after stall of neutral colored horses. My horse, Austin, was black, and a little undersized, and perfect for a beginner. She couldn’t wait any longer, so as soon she got on the horse, she told me It felt natural, she wasn’t scared. It did not take her very long to learn how to steer the majestic earthly creature. The more she coiled around the barn the wider her smile got. After a while she settled getting her own trainor.

I walked into the hospice care building with my family excited to see my grandpa, who I hadn’t seen in a couple weeks. The building had a peaceful atmosphere, staffed with caring nurses. They had beautiful flowers planted outside and a kitchen filled with good food. The building had a weird feeling to it though. It had a certain distinct smell to it, similar to a nursing home or hospital. Though, the more I thought about my grandpa being there made me slowly get more and more upset. The last day I saw my grandfather was the day I realized, to be happy in life, I must accept everything that comes my way and make the most out of the life I was given.

Once upon a time there was a little girl name Fran. Fran always dreams of a wonderful place called Ithersa. In Ithersa everywhere you see there were little people like fairies and fruit creatures. It’s a beautiful place with its growing trees and the sunshine, which made everyone happy every day. But one day Fran was walking through the woods trying to find her kitten Mr. Midnight that got lost. While walking through the woods Fran found Mr. Midnight scared and lost beside a willow tree. When Fran found Mr. Midnight she asked “Are you okay my kitten?” “Yes I am okay Fran but we have to be careful out here. When I was trying to find my way home I saw something in the distance.” “What did you see?”She asked. Mr. Midnight replied and said “I don’t

My Uncle Bob lives on a horse ranch in a small town in southern Wyoming. Seldom do we visit our family out west, but for a couple weeks the summer I turned seven, we did. This was the first time I had been to my Uncle’s horse ranch ever since I was about four months old. When we visited before I was too young to ride them, so this was a whole new experience for me. I was fascinated with horses even though I had never been around one. I had seen pictures of horses and watched movies about horses, but I had never in my life ridden a horse or been close to one. Throughout our visit it was rainy almost everyday, but one day when I peeked through the blinds the sun was shining. I grabbed my aunt, my uncle and my cousins and told them that now was our chance to ride.

One gusty night a pony named Cherry Blossom woke up from her nap at 3:00 in the morning feeling weak-kneed and frightened after waking up from her terrible dream. "was that real ? " Cherry Blossom said, sounding a bit hoarse and confused. "That was scary." Cherry Blossom said. Then the shaking pony got up and went to the window looking towards the forest.

Joe sat snugly in his favorite chair, reading with his wife, enjoying the spring night as he often did as a retired old man. It was late and his wife left him for bed not expecting his company anytime soon. But perhaps she waited too long for Joe, for the next day she awoke to find him lifeless in his chair.

Every little girl at one point or another dreams of owning a horse. I grew up around horses, I rode many at my Aunt’s house, and as a child I rode them at my Grandma and Grandpa’s property. I felt that I was missing out on something because I didn’t have one of my own.

I think the person who has had the most profound effect on my life besides my parents is my grandfather. I never realized before how much of an effect he had on my interests and goals for the future. Years ago, he used to tell me stories about historical events and experiences he had fighting in Vietnam and my great grandfather fighting in World War 2. His vivid descriptions always made it so interesting and, in some cases, more light-hearted than what actually happened. To this day he still has more stories to tell me, and never fails to captivate my interest. In doing this, he opened my eyes to my biggest interest, history, and encouraged me to pursue this interest throughout school. I feel like it would help to give a short summary of his life and how it affected me.

When I think of my Papa many things come to mind, but one of the most important is how loving he is. He is a tall man, about six feet tall and is in good shape. He has a silver-colored hair and an infectious smile. He is very joyful and loves to crack jokes with his family and friends. His real name is Tony Morton, but he is lovingly known as Papa to me as well as his 3 other grandchildren. Papa was born January 14th of 1947 in Concord, North Carolina to Paul and Della Morton. He grew up in the neighboring town of Kannapolis. Papa still lives near the same area that he was raised.

The year is 2004, somewhere in a cab. I hear the jingle of the beads attached to the Rosary on the rear view mirror, I see the trees flashing as if everything we left behind turned into nothingness. I remember feeling sad or scared but not knowing why. I see green, everything in sight was green. I felt the sinister whisper of the wind gently kissing the hairs on the back of my neck, sending a chill through my body. My mother smiled at me with tear filled eyes and a baby inside of her. Whether I knew it or not my life was about to change.