The And The Perfect Christmas Tree

Every stair that I took I looked over a different page in the book. I wanted to make sure I knew every word so I could read the story that night. Once I got to my room, my mom was waiting patiently beside the bed for me. I looked down at the book in my hands, it was old, barely hanging on by the thread binding from years of use. Then I breathed in deeply and mumbled “Can I read the story tonight?” I was afraid she couldn’t hear me, but she did because with a smile she nodded her head. Filled with excitement I climbed into my spot on the bed and quickly opened the book. My mom sat next to me and held one side of the big book while her other arm was around my shoulder. Then I begun to read “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,”. My voice squeaked through each page as I tried my best to read the story just as my mom always did. The smooth paper glided under my tiny finger as I traced each sentence to keep my place. The rhythm of my voice was not fluid but

“The bunk house was a long, rectangular building. Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the floor unpainted. In three walls there were small, square windows, and in the fourth, a solid door with a wooden latch. Against the walls were eight bunks, five of them made up with blankets and the other three showing their burlap ticking. Over each bunk there was nailed an apple box with the opening forward so that it made two shelves for the personal belongings of the occupant of the bunk.”

I was born very early and had teenage parents who did not really have their life together at that time. My parents were both high school dropouts. My dad dropped out because school was not for him and he just wanted to work and get money and my mom dropped out because school was not for her also and she was pregnant with me and did not want to deal with school. My dad worked everyday to keep our family moving and my mom just stayed at my grandmas house with me because obviously she had to take care of me. So we were living by paycheck to paycheck. One year later my sister was born and two years later after that my other sister was born. Since my parents really did not have that much money to get our own place we would live at my grandmas house to my papa’s house but at times we would have to camp out at the beach because we had no other choice. When we would live at the beach I would think that we were just camping for fun but I did not realize that we did not have any place to stay. My parents clothed me and my sisters, provided food for us, but we did not have a house over our head. So

I was ten years old at the time and my family and I were struggling financially day to day. The best option for us was for me to start working to help ends meet, so

When we got to virginia we needed to find a house. So my parents went house hunting. It took them a overly excessive amount of time to find a home because they wanted to find just the right house. Then my parents realized that this home would be our forever home so then they got even

I pondered it over, everyone knew about that cabin. It was haunted, I even knew about, even though I just got here. The cabin looked like it was a hundred years old, made of wood. It had broken windows and missing shingles. It was every kid's nightmare. Whitler disappeared twenty years ago and everyone thought he was dead. They said Old Man Whitlers ghost haunted the cabin. I hoped it wasn’t true.

It was a quite a normal fall day out here in Louisiana. The year was 1930, my daughter and I had been out working in the barnyard. “Lauren, work faster the guest will be here soon for Thanksgiving dinner.” I exclaimed to Lauren as she was cleaning the pigsty. Soon we were to have our family and friends come to visit us for Thanksgiving. I don’t necessarily like having guest, since they’re always a lot of cleaning do. Actually, cleaning wasn’t the problem since we lived in a very small house out in the country. The problem was food was very scarce for us, so we worked extremely hard. You see, out here in Louisiana it wasn’t easy to be wealthy so half of the town was what you would call ‘poor’.We can’t provide them with a lot of food,

Relocating back to the U.S after more than a decade of my life really made me see what I missed. When we moved to my dad decided to buy a house

The morning air seeped through the open window as the newly rising sun glowed on the barren rock landscape dome. It wasn’t so barren though, there was small house that laid nestled in the rocks. The house was more like a small shackled shed than an actually house. The house was small and simple, made out of wood equipped with a chicken coop and garden. The house was had one room. In the room was a fireplace, coal burning stove, table for two, and a twin sized bed shoved in the corner. The bed was unmade and a man stood at the stove making his morning breakfast of eggs.

By the grace of god, I was given a wonderful mom that actually cared about me and wanted me to succeed and live a good life other than the one I was living in back in the day. She heavily supported me throughout my elementary and intermediate years of school and she still gives me that same support. She gave me hope for a better future. My mentality frame in middle school was to get my mom out from the poverty lifestyle and later in life purchase her a house

They found some stuff like a bed that had blue sheets. And they also found a very very small kitchen that a stove and some dirty pots and pans. It also had a mini couch and tv. The last thing the building had was a small bathroom probably big enough for two people.

The roads and air became thick and disgusting, making them sweaty and constantly having to get out of their car to go and stretch and cool off. They stopped several times on the road, but their last stop was at a neighborhood, where all houses were burned down and abandoned, except one which still remained up and well. As foolish as they were, the college kids became anxious to enter hospitality and receive directions and possibly a cool drink. As they were walking towards the house, they noticed a basement window creak open and close quickly, with a shadowy figure moving away. All unexpectedly, the door swung open and there stood a man and woman who seemed friendly and inviting, a bit too

The Giving Tree Critical Analysis Paragraph The Giving Tree is a story many children have grown up with. It has always been generally interpreted as a blissful narrative, warming the heart of children and their parents. Throughout the story, readers are able to observe the gift of giving and how to show unconditional love. However, rereading the story with more analysis can make one look at the book in a more malevolent perspective. In fact, it may make many individuals who once loved The Giving Tree as a child, wince and question the ideas being displayed in the book.

The Giving Tree written by Shel Silverstein was and still is, one of the most well known children's book in America. In the world we live in today, every song has a story, every picture has a feeling, and every children's book has a lesson. Children's books that people seem to enjoy today, all contain a moral at the end… the purpose the reader was introduced with a problem throughout the story. The Giving Tree has not only one meaning, but many. Although it seems like just an ordinary book for children, this book teaches things like; Focusing more on what we need than what we want, you can't outrun your problems, and sometimes the best thing we can do for loved ones is just be there.

The old rusted home was built in the 1800’s for troubled adolescents was still standing after all these years. There were many rumors about the group home and what was going on inside.