Paragraph 3, first draft, Shinjae Sung

 

 

 

Weird and Wacky in Grandparentville

 

Shinjae Sung

06/07/10 1^st draft

 

             When I was fourteen, my family and I spent three weird and wacky months with my grandparents. I'd been raised in England so barely knew them but was excited at the idea of living with them all the same. But to my utter dismay, the cultural differences as well as the age gap between my grandparents and I was too much to get over. It got between us a lot and I believe I'm especially not as close to my grandmother because of the time I spent living in her house. When it came to my grandma and me, both stubborn (that's family) - it caused a lot of rows. The first problem aroused, the first day when I opened the fridge and there was no juice. They had no liquids other than milk and water. My grandmother even thought milk was fancy enough just to "drink occasionally". For the first few weeks I craved orange juice and coke; later I ended up drinking sugar filled liquids before coming home. My grandmother and I kept getting into fights. It was the little things that bothered us. She gave more pocket money to my brother although I was older. My grandmother thought gender trumped age and I'd call her sexist. She ended up giving us the same amount which enraged me more. I was a good, well-behaved child but in Korea good children were not seen or heard. She'd get so angry because I usually said what I thought and she'd call me a bad child. She'd often insist I was talking back when I felt I had a right to speak. We spent three months trying to get each other to understand each others' different cultural backgrounds but got nowhere. I can't help but smile when I see grandmothers and granddaughters holding hands and going to the shops. I'd love to have a good relationship with my grandmother but everything I had with mine was lost because of the three months I spent in her house arguing with her. Having more time together makes it more likely to argue about things that wouldn't usually come up (like whether putting the toilet seat down in really necessary).

 

 

 

 

That Fuzzy Feeling

 

Shinjae Sung

06/07/10 1^st draft

 

             I remember feeling pleased about sitting in the very middle of the front row. The assembly hall floor was cold and dusty; yet it was clean because we used it for daily assemblies and P.E. During Christmas season it would turn into a stage where we'd watch a new pantomime each year. It was the height of my primary experiences and I still yearn for that warm and fuzzy feeling of watching the play, then lining up to see Father Christmas, and finally getting a present from his big red sack. In truth, the pantomime made my heart beat fast because I'd be seeing Father Christmas afterwards. His workshop was set up right next to the assembly hall in a corner of the lunch room. The room would echo without as many children running about with sandwiches. Father Christmas's workshop was covered in an extraordinarily large piece of cloth, grey and frayed from years of children tugging at it. The tiny lunchroom chairs and tables we usually ate from instead made me think of Father Christmas's elves because of all the Christmas decoration lights that hung loosely over them. Meeting Father Christmas was better than pulling gift filled crackers, eating chocolates from an advent calendar or any full stocking bursting with goodies. Going to school late at night for the Christmas pantomime was the best treat of all. The darkness made everything look different and mysterious and the ten minute walk to school seemed more exciting and surreal. Usually, night meant sleep and the adventurous vastness of nighttime gave me an unforgettable thrill. Even now, every time I am out under dimly illuminated dark grey skies, I feel bold and free. Precious memories that should not be wasted are always accompanied by that warm, fuzzy feeling that makes me think of those soft red suits Father Christmas wore each year. That warmness I will carry with me for a lifetime, just like you.