Personal Narrative: Bill's Drive In

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Everyday I found myself surrounded by boxes, each containing different contents: lids, paper cups, spoons, and Heinz ketchup packs. I would sit on a tall worn out chair and see everything. Looking down, I noticed the brick floor that would soon be cleaned by my mother. Behind me, was a heavy door that led to the freezer where my dad would constantly go in to get a batch of hamburger patties. To my left were the coolers that housed tamales, fries, and pies, and to my right, sat my brother. For the last seven years, I spent all my life at my parents’ workplace: a small yellow brick building in Evanston, Illinois called Bill’s Drive In.
Those boxes were my toys for most of the day. My brother and I would empty out their contents to create a castle or a spaceship. Everything was all giggles because as a young girl, Bill’s Drive In was my personal playground. As much as I loved that place, there came a point where being at my parents’ workplace bothered me. I was content with cleaning a few dishes, sometimes mopping or sweeping the back of the restaurant for my mother or carrying big garbage bags outside for my dad; however, I was missing out at school. Unlike other students at my school, I was unable to participate in drama and dance teams or any afterschool activities. My
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Erasing those moments where my wishes could not be granted would remove the appreciation I now own for things I achieve myself. Whether it be the effort I put into my grades or the commitment I have towards my clubs, I am finally doing something I want with my hard work. Currently, I am part of Japanese club, a club that I tried out for twice. The first time I was not selected to be in their dance team, but I did not let this deter me. I tried out for it once more during my junior year, where, while I was not a dancer, at least I was an alternate dancer. This year, I am proud to say that I am an official

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