Another Day

March 13, 2017
By Giaschwager BRONZE, Barrington Hills, Illinois
Giaschwager BRONZE, Barrington Hills, Illinois
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

It is just another ordinary day.  I wake up, go to school, and stay at my grandparents house until my mom can pick me up from work. She leaves right when I wake up, and gets home at around dinner time.  I’m with my two brothers, David and Mario, and we experience these adventures together. Everyday after school, my grandpa stands by the metal block, waiting for me to finish class. My grandpa is the most caring, honest person in the world. With his mustache that looks like he just drank a glass of milk, no one will ever believe if what he’s saying is a joke or serious. He arrives to school twenty minutes early just to get the closest parking spot.

Cannot wait to go home. 30 more minutes of school until I get to see my grandparents. Looking out the window of my classroom, I see my grandpa’s purple, beat up car. Going to see them is the highlight of my day. The bell rings, indicating the end of the day. I run out of the building, and the first pair of eyes I see are my grandpas. He expresses the biggest smile of everyone there. I run up to him and give him the biggest hug. He reaches out for me, making sure that I am secure in his arms. “Let’s go home,” he says, “Nonni has some food for you and your brothers.”

We drive back to my grandparents house. On this sunny day, the house shines in existence. The wobbly fence allows some privacy from the neighbors, but doesn’t protect our basketball’s from flying out of the yard. I walk into their two floor house. Every time I walk in, the smell of garlic awakens me. My grandma is standing at the stove, cooking something different for an afterschool snack. The house has not been renovated in the last 40 years; old, but pleasant.  

“Time to oo-eat!” My grandma happily states, “I cook oo-mostaccioli for you!”

The three kids dash to the table. I’m starving. A full, cooked meal is prepared: pasta, chicken, green beans, and focaccia bread.

“Thank you for the meal!” I say. After we eat, I take out my backpack. My grandpa sits with me, and peeks at what I have to do for homework.

“You’re so smart!” He says, “oo-When I go to oo-school in Italy, I learned that in oo-eighth grade!”

After my homework is (potentially) finished, I sit by the TV with my grandma. She gives me the remote, and I watch some cartoons. Even though my grandma didn’t understand anything that was going on, she would laugh whenever I laughed if something funny happened.

Looking back, my grandparents have done more for me than anyone else has. Whenever I have a problem, they make sure that I am okay. They’ve provided me with the love and comfort by allowing me to stay at their house 6 days a week while my parents were at work. Without them, I would not be the person I am today. Today, after Track practice, I come home from school. Depending on if I have the car, I drive home. If not, I take the bus, which means I have to dread time just to wait for the busses to get to the high school. It’s a mystery of what I do when I get home. Sometimes, I’ll cook dinner, do homework, work on finalizing which college I want to go to, or just sleep. At times, I think of how my after school life was when I lived in Chicago, and at times.

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