Life Long Memories This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   When I was between infancy and school my mother worked to support our family. Before work every morning, she would walk me a few yards to my grandma's place. We were very poor, our homes called "projects" (brick apartments with a square yard only worthy of a few clumps of dirt). The apartments were very small, my grandma's "house" had only a few chairs and a couch (that also was used as my napping bed); the same scratched-up old furniture she had since my dad was young. Not only was the furniture old, but the lampshades, curtains and blinds were yellowed from my grandma's constant smoking. My grandma's prized possessions were my dad's champion bowling shirt and marble collection from his youth.

As the picture is clearer for the reader's eyes, my own eyes as a three-year-old child saw how poor we were, and yet, when Mom said, "Time to go to Grandma's!" I was ecstatic. My grandma was very tall, lean, frail, and had been sick all her life. She was also my best friend. Every day I would be surrounded by her poor environment that was rich in love. We would watch cartoons all day on her broken-down TV. We would play games like Memory, or even grab a pail and shovel and dig in the dirt yard. We used to draw pictures, and I would jump on her couch, and she would tickle my toes to make me laugh.

Today I do not regret or am I ashamed of being poor. My grandma taught me how to love, and was my first friend. My grandma's house is still exactly the same; the pictures on the wall, her games still on the floor under the TV, the couch I used to rest on still is covered with the same blanket. My grandma is still the same; her smoking habit makes her even sicker now. Since I started school and moved away, my visits are less frequent. When I do visit, I see the pictures I once drew still taped to the refrigerator. My grandmother has been alone for a very long time. She likes to be in a home full of memories instead of living in the present. Recently we tried to get her to move out of the projects, but she wouldn't. I wish she could realize that memories aren't in her house, but in her heart. c


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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