The Old Wooden Porch This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.


   I sat in the corner of my grandpa's old woodenporch as I had so many times before. This was my favorite place to spendsummer days. The wood was dull and smooth from all the time I spent inthat little seat behind Grandpa's rocking chair. As I sat there myimagination would run wild. I could go anywhere, be anything in mycorner. That spot would turn into outer space and I became an astronaut,zooming at light speed, or an adventurer in a dangerous jungle, chasedby ferocious tigers or eaten by gigantic crocodiles. There was nothing Icouldn't do.

Mid-afternoon was my favorite time, when the sun washigh and overcast just enough to cool the air. That was when my grandpa,my brother and I would go into the field in front of Grandpa's porch andplay baseball. How I enjoyed those times when I was younger and Grandpawould pitch. I didn't realize it then, but he always scooted closer whenit was my turn to bat. Then he'd slowly toss a perfect pitch that Icouldn't miss. It made my brother so mad because Grandpa always threwhim sharp curve balls or super-fast knuckle balls that were impossibleto hit. I always thought I was just really good and my brother wasn't.

After playing a few games and getting hot and sweaty, we wouldgo back to the house and sit on the porch, to drink lemonade and listento the hoot owls. I would climb into Grandpa's lap and beg him to tell astory and rock me to sleep. I can still hear him now, "Once upon atime there was a young girl who ..." as I drifted off to sleep. Hewas always so warm and cozy. I loved every minute spent with my grandpaon his old wooden porch.




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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