Personal Narrative: My Black Stereotypes

Stereo
I may have already made the worst decision of my adolescence.
I decided it would be a really fun idea to clean out my bedroom closet. There is just one minor issue I feel like I should mention when it comes to my closet, there is a war currently taking place within its walls. The floor is the battle field and all the shoes are out for blood. Sedona, my cat, is the dictator jumping on the shelves, clawing the shirts off their hangers, and dumping the contents of boxes and using them to build her own personal box castles. So here I am in front of the opened closet staring blankly at the chaos, regretting every decision I have ever made that led me to this exact moment. I begin to store up enough courage to stand and accept defeat when I notice that their nestled in the corner next to a blue and purple striped sock was as an old black stereo.
There was nothing particular about its appearance, it’s a standard black stereo with two speakers on the end, and a handle on the top to carry it around. It’s strange to think everything has a purpose in life, and how even something is trivial as a stereo can make such an impact on someone’s childhood. But this stereo went with me everywhere to the kitchen where I would stand on a stool and help my mom dry the dishes. It went outside into the garden where my five siblings and I would spend our summers helping my dad pick potatoes, chilies, and tomatoes. It was there every time my sister and I could paint our room together. It was there when I had my first communion and my mom organized a comida for all my friends and