My Treehouse
Name
English 101
Teacher
Descriptive Essay
My Tree House It was nearing the end of fall and was starting to get, “a bit chilly out,” as my mom use to put it years back in San Diego, California. I think I was about five years old or so at the time because I clearly remember not being in school yet. Most of my days I would basically watch a lot of television, color, play with some G.I. Joes, or head to the neighborhood park at the end of my block. One day after watching the early morning cartoons, I decided to set out for an adventurous day with my friends, Manny and his two younger cousins. As we were walking down to the park, one of Manny’s cousins spotted three extremely large boxes lying on the curb in front of a house. Unfortunately, this was before my school years so I was unable to read the words on the boxes, but they were definitely large enough to fit my dad in a few times. There were four of us so we all assembled a game plan to carry the boxes up to the park with us to play with. We instantly started crawling through the boxes and stacking them, basically anything we could think of at the spur of the moment. Manny then suggested that we all build a tree house. We then dragged the boxes around the back of the park where there was a small wooded area where we could be alone and away from everyone else. We all came to the conclusion that we needed some supplies, so we all went home to hunt for the best tree house building equipment we could find. It is amazing how a few boxes could keep a kid busy. By the time we got back to the park we had a decent pile of things to work with. We had some scissors, glue, good old duct tape, and a mission. One of us obviously forgot to bring a ladder along, so putting the large boxes into the tree was no longer an option for us. That did not stop us; we all ended up grouping the boxes around the tallest tree, looking like small baby faced men trying to build an ugly shed together. Manny and I began cutting
English 101
Teacher
Descriptive Essay
My Tree House It was nearing the end of fall and was starting to get, “a bit chilly out,” as my mom use to put it years back in San Diego, California. I think I was about five years old or so at the time because I clearly remember not being in school yet. Most of my days I would basically watch a lot of television, color, play with some G.I. Joes, or head to the neighborhood park at the end of my block. One day after watching the early morning cartoons, I decided to set out for an adventurous day with my friends, Manny and his two younger cousins. As we were walking down to the park, one of Manny’s cousins spotted three extremely large boxes lying on the curb in front of a house. Unfortunately, this was before my school years so I was unable to read the words on the boxes, but they were definitely large enough to fit my dad in a few times. There were four of us so we all assembled a game plan to carry the boxes up to the park with us to play with. We instantly started crawling through the boxes and stacking them, basically anything we could think of at the spur of the moment. Manny then suggested that we all build a tree house. We then dragged the boxes around the back of the park where there was a small wooded area where we could be alone and away from everyone else. We all came to the conclusion that we needed some supplies, so we all went home to hunt for the best tree house building equipment we could find. It is amazing how a few boxes could keep a kid busy. By the time we got back to the park we had a decent pile of things to work with. We had some scissors, glue, good old duct tape, and a mission. One of us obviously forgot to bring a ladder along, so putting the large boxes into the tree was no longer an option for us. That did not stop us; we all ended up grouping the boxes around the tallest tree, looking like small baby faced men trying to build an ugly shed together. Manny and I began cutting