Descriptive Essay About My Grandparents House

My name is Fady Fanous. I was born in Egypt, but came to the United States in 2005 when I was 8 years old. I’ve been in Nashville for 10 years now. When I was younger I used to collect toy race cars because it was the most interesting thing to me. I also used to watch a lot of race car cartoons. My uncle worked on cars in Egypt, he was a mechanic. I always used to enjoy watching him do something to his car such as change a tire or change the engine oil. Even though these things are pretty simple right now I still enjoyed watching it a lot when I was younger. I was always interested in cars even till this day. I started driving when I was 15. Then when I got my license, when I was 16, I started driving my mom’s car, a

When we went to Lubbock to go visit are the family, we has to stay at my grandmas house and it was cold in their house because they didn't have their heater on we told them to put it on but they never listen to us. So we all just wrapped ourselves in blankets. We celebrated Christmas with my dad's side of the family for the day. We eat ham and other sides that they made with it and we opened gifts, all I got was some clothes.The next day we celebrated with my mom's side of the family. We ate tacos,beans, and chips and after that we opened presents and we played bingo.Then the next day we went back home, back it was time to go back.

As a young teenager, my love for cars and trucks grew strong. It seamed like every few months my father had a new car but didn’t understand why we couldn’t keep them all. At the time, my dad worked at an auto body shop, he took unrecognizable wreaked cars and repaired them to like new condition. In order to make extra income for the family, my father and I worked on his side projects every weekend. I was amazed with the inner mechanics of the numerous vehicles we worked on over the years. It always astonished me every time we recycled a distorted shell of a car and reassembled it into a shiny refurbished vehicle. Those long weekends, my dad not only taught me how to repair vehicles, but he also imbued in me that

The leaves were brown and the weather was cold, but not unbearably cold. The morning had just started and the sun was barely out. I was eight years old at the time and it was Thanksgiving Day, and on top of the various assortment of food, my family and I had relatives coming to our house to partake in this Thanksgiving feast. My mother had gotten numerous amounts of groceries from the store throughout the week, including potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, mix for stuffing, a humongous ham, and to top it if we had the staple for every Thanksgiving, a turkey. I could already smell the scent of a honey baked ham in the oven as I got out of bed and started my day in the bathroom.

I left home, moved away ,went to work, got married, and moved back to my hometown. The years went by and many things changed, but not everything. The Camero and the Mustang remained, right there in Dads garage. Then one day my Dad turned me and said “ which one would you like, the Chevy or the Ford? The Camero or the Mustang?”

When I was younger, I really liked cars. I would go out to my dad's shop when he was working on things. My dad had a dark blue 1995 Ford F-250, he named it Old Blue. We always took it to my grandparent's house. On the way there we would go down a road with a lot of hills. My dad would go fast and act like we were jumping the hills. Eventually, we had to sell Old Blue because my dad blew the motor. My dad would also take me to weekend car shows and truck pulls. Sometimes at the car shows, we waited for the races. We went to a lot of truck pulls too. My dad would always talk to me about what the trucks were, and why they were so loud. He would make fun of the Chevy trucks when they did bad, and he would say “Should have bought a Dodge.”

That same summer, after my father got home from work a little early, he allowed me to ride the mow. Since the yard was already mowed the day before, I utilized this opportunity to practice my epic passion of becoming a NASCAR race car driver. My mother thought it was a little unusual that I aspired to the feeling of speed that is typically a dream that young boys have. Speed made me feel like I was the empress of the road and like I would arrive at my destination faster than anyone else, even though my destination lacked a beginning and end. The prior Christmas, I remember that my father purchased my sisters and I remote-controlled vehicles. Both of my sisters received a car each while I received a truck, a vehicle that can knock all other

It was his truck, one that he purchased a few years before my birth. When I was younger, I dreamed of driving it, which made me eager to learn how to switch gears while driving a car with a semi-automatic transmission. Much like when I learned to drive the Tahoe, my father and I spent many hours in parking lots before getting onto the open road. I remember feeling the disappoint that came with not shifting the stick properly when I needed to. The engine would often shut off when I didn’t press on the gas pedal. I would turn the key, thinking ‘I can learn how to drive a car with a manual transmission! I’ve done things much more difficult than this!’ As the days passed, I began shutting the engine off less and switching gears without any problems. I felt like I was growing up and becoming more skilled than

The Beginning - When I was sixteen years I did not expect a car from my parents. Both my parents never got a car from their parents. I expected to have me drive the minivan until Mom didn’t want it anymore and it’d become mine. And it was mine, for a while. I hated every minute of it. I worked two jobs during that year of high school to get my own car; one as a lifeguard and the other with a landscaping company. I saved my money until had a couple thousand dollars in my bank account. I started looking online for a set of wheels that didn’t have giant sliding doors on the side.

The familiar smell of soft cookies and homemade cooking are common thoughts when people think about their grandma's house. Great feasts and family gatherings play a part in everyone's grandmother's home. But when I really think about my grandma's house only one word comes to my mind: fun.

Since I was a child, I have always dreamed I could have a car which belongs to me. I still remembered when I was four years old, my parents gave me a remote control car as my birthday gift. After that day I started to fall in love with cars.

The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning

One place that I see every day but don’t put much attention to is my house. The house that I live in is near by a park and a gas station. My house is small and cozy is made of steel frames, the anterior part of the house has a beige and pink color that combine a beautiful shade. The inside of my house has many portraits of family members and drawings. I have a total of two bathrooms and four rooms a kitchen and two living rooms. We have a living room that’s used for grown-ups and the other one is used for the children. The kitchen table and chairs are made of wood, in the ceiling there is big chandelier. The walls of my house are painted in different colors that are green, beige and pink. I like that every room has its own different color, it’s not boring it brings life and shade.

During 5th grade year of 2016, almost once every week my parents would go and look for a house. I would remind them everyday that the house we have is great and there is no need to find another. In that house I have lived there at least eight years, which is most of my life so far. Till this day it has always been my favorite house, and the perfect house. I have made so many memories there it is impossible to count. I loved it.

My grandmother’s house has a very special place in my heart. As the family has gotten older and we have all had our own children we do not visit as we should. I visited with my grandmother many times when I was little. Her house always seemed to have something about it that set it apart from all the rest. As you walk into the back door of her house you would notice a long, narrow kitchen that led into the main living and dining room of her house. The smell of food home cooked food was quite evident. Grandmother cooked every day and always cooked big meals on holidays for the family.