Personal Narrative: Speckled Tongues
Speckled Tongues
When I was five years old, my family had a magical talent. They knew exactly when I was lying, and after getting caught countless times, I learned that telling the whole truth was a lot easier than being put on the spot. I could never comprehend how my mom perpetually looked through my fibs.
The drill was simple, and included the presence of my older brother and parents. I would take a seat on the middle cushion of our leathery sofa, with my brother on my left, my father on my right, and my mom positioned directly in front of me on her favorite hickory chair. Then, she would calmly ask me to stick my tongue out. Perhaps out of fear or confusion, I always listened and proceeded to expose my tongue to the particles of cruelty
When I was five years old, my family had a magical talent. They knew exactly when I was lying, and after getting caught countless times, I learned that telling the whole truth was a lot easier than being put on the spot. I could never comprehend how my mom perpetually looked through my fibs.
The drill was simple, and included the presence of my older brother and parents. I would take a seat on the middle cushion of our leathery sofa, with my brother on my left, my father on my right, and my mom positioned directly in front of me on her favorite hickory chair. Then, she would calmly ask me to stick my tongue out. Perhaps out of fear or confusion, I always listened and proceeded to expose my tongue to the particles of cruelty