Growing Up :: Personal Narrative, Autobiographical Essay

I stumbled out into the yard, my flimsy tennis shoes absorbed in plastic bags and secured with tape. The Great Blizzard of Chattanooga had almost subsided, except snow still lay thick on the ground. The cold circularise invaded my lungs and stung e genuinely inch of exposed skin. My parents were trapped out of townsfolk at the state basketball tournament, and my three sisters and I had a broody hen that was staying with us. She went to our church, and had known my parents for years. We had complete food to last a while, and our family owned copious sleeping bags and blankets to ensure that we didnt freeze. We also had a fireplace in the den, tho no wood.   Tracy, our broody, approached me one day while I was reading a book by the window.   Jeff, she said, Do you know how to chop wood?   The gear up answer to the question was no, for I had simply handed logs to my father and watched him switch them in two with a vicious swing. I tried once, scarcely I could not swing the heavy maul hard enough to snap a splinter.   Sure, I answered. How much do you need?   I knew full well that it would be extremely unmanly to confess that I could not break a log in two, and the realization that she likely could have done it never hit me. I trudged back into my board with a sense of sorrowful duty, like a soldier divergence on a suicide mission to save his brothers. I allowed my baby-sitter to tie the bags on my feet, imagining her as my page readying my trusty trade name before battle.   Just yell if you need any help, you hear? she told me as I headed for the door. I brushed this off as senseless babble, for everyone knew that only men could chop wood.   I trekked across the yard with my head down, snowflakes blowing into my look and the cold wind biting at my nose. The large logs were stored under the deck, and the planks were very high up, allowing me to chop the wood without having to stand in the snow. I turn a log into position, not without a good deal of difficulty, that I reasoned that the log would not be quite so ornery once I had broken it into little pieces.