Personal Essay On The Chip

The Chirp A boy’s eleventh birthday isn’t something you hear young guys today telling their friends about in a regular conversation or maybe even ever. However, of all birthdays that I have passed, none was as special as the eleventh. On April 2, 2005, there was a new companion in my life. I remember waking up to my mother’s beautiful voice calling to both my sister, two years ahead in age, and me to wake up. Our beds had acquired the perfect warmth through the night, as always, we arose slowly from our twin size beds, feet dangling before we hopped off to touch base. Our little feet walked across the room to our laid out school uniforms, readily placed by our mother’s touch of love. I step out to our living room to dress as my sister dresses comfortably in the privacy of our room. Being a boy I had to wear a white collared t-shirt, dark blue slacks, and black shoes. For the girls, the only difference was that instead of pants, they were to wear a respectfully long dark blue high waisted skirt and long black socks along with their black shoes. My sister and I were as ready as any other day. Breakfast was wholesome and happy as my mother always makes it. The only difference on this beautiful morning, on that day, was that it was my birthday.
Our elementary school was two minutes away from home, by foot. So my sister and I walked, hand in hand, or as we ate a juicy red apple that my mom lovingly placed in our hands before she kissed on our cheeks, forehead, or both. She and I would return the affection with a kiss to her cheek. We walk to school alongside all of the students who walk, with parent or without, with sister or brother or without. We get there, we toss our finished apples, or I finish my sister’s singly bitten apple, I walk her to class, or at times as far as I can to still be able to make it in time to mine and we say our goodbyes or a simple see you later. Class when it’s your birthday went by so fast, and so cool for me in elementary. Faster than I know it, the school day is over. I await my sister by the gate of the front of the school. I hop up and down to try and possibly see her walking coming over a low wall or two. After the three minutes that seemed like thirty she is beside me- we begin to walk home.
The anticipation of what may or may not be awaiting my entrance at our home for me engulfed my small body with excitement. It is a warm and beautiful day, sun shining and all as we approach our front door. What I heard upon stepping on the doormat was a chirp as though from a bird, like no other chirp I had ever heard. My mom walks over to the door and lets us in. We give our hello and return her welcome kisses. My mom looks at me and tells me to go look in the kitchen, I follow her order and go. I find a cage just there beside our dining table. I see inside a small grey bird rocking a bright yellow Mohawk and facial feathering, with one orange circle of feathering on each side of his or her face, indicating the location of its ears. I was on my knees before I knew it, admiring its beauty and its cuteness. I turn to the sound of my mom; I look at her with eyes of undeniable hope that this beautiful creature is a gift to me. I see her smile and lovely loving eyes and know that yes, it is mine to care for and to keep.
Upon realizing this, at a sprint I run and I latch my arms onto my mom saying to her any and every word I knew in English and Spanish that meant thank you and I love you. She begins to tell me where she acquired this delicate bird for me. He belonged to a lady who she worked with for many years. My

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2.03 Personal Narrative