Personal Narrative: Hope
“You see this one here? That’s my brother and I at our farm in Idaho when I was six,” my grandmother said pointing to the picture of her and a young boy with bright smiles tinged with fear and pain.
She smiled at me as a tear ran down her cheek, saying, “Honey, this right here is why your father made you so dedicated to school. My stepfather was a cruel man. For the life of me, I cannot comprehend what can move a man to beat a three year…
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