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Personal Narrative: Going Down To The Golf Course

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“Joe and I are going down to the golf course to hunt for golf balls and sell them,” I yelled to my mom. “You be careful,” my mom said firmly, “and you come home as soon as you hear the mill whistle at nine o’clock!” There was no getting around the whistle. You couldn’t pretend you didn’t hear it. It pierced the air for miles. Parents relied on it to alert their kids to head home as if it were the law. Rumours abounded among primary grade children, that if the police caught you not heading home when the whistle blew, they would put you in reform school. It was a shortcut to the golf course if you knew the manoeuvres around the brick yard, old abandoned houses, and old business lots across the tracks that dotted the field to the golf course. If we stayed off the course and the bushes between the holes, no one asked …show more content…

If the train were using the rails that were a block and a half from our homes, we’d be stuck. Luckily, we heard it coming, blaring its warning as it approached the mill. We ran top speed across the fields and around the piles of old bricks to be across the tracks before it blocked our path. “I think we can make it across before the train!” I yelled picking up speed, watching for obstacles on the ground in the twilight that could trip us. “Come on, Joe!” I blurted. The engineer, leaning out the window of his engine, had figured us out. He watched us racing the train to the path leading to our street and started blasting his whistle. We didn’t stop, so he did it again. I turned around to see Joe about five yards behind me, puffing like a steamer. By now, the cars lined up at the crossing had noticed why the engineer was blasting his whistle and were leaning out their windows, watching. “Go, kids!” a group of teenagers yelled, laughing from their car, while another older couple behind them shook their heads, pointing at us. Louder and closer, the engineer blasted his whistle, leaning out his window waving at

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