Growing Up, Staying Young Essay -- Personal Narrative Papers

Growing Up, Staying Young I had trouble sleeping that night. The peaceful, metrical breathing of my younger sister across the room could not comfort me as I lay chthonian the covers in the dark, listening for the intemperate footsteps of an elderly man sneaking through the downstairs shock of my house. With ane move on firmly choking Red Blankie, I reached with the other to debate the alarm clock on my fannystand toward me. The fluorescent red digits whispered 1203 in the still, black room. Perhaps he will come soon. touchy tingles danced up my arms, as I froze like a nervous cat, ears up, take in and alert. I rehearsed the carefully planned sequence of events in my head. A fly-by-night and unfamiliar sound from the living room would be my signal -- a wet snow boot hitting the carpet, a clumsy hand inadvertently knocking over a dish on the fire lead, or a rustle of papers. Carefully, I would slide out of my flowered bed without waking my sleeping sister, tiptoe gent ly across the bedroom floor out into the chilly hall, and down the first five stairs, avoiding the creaky musca volitans in the floor along the way. There, peering around the corner of the wall that terminate at the fifth stair, I would at last behold the clandestine man whom no one in my family -- not mammary gland, not Daddy, and of grad not little Ming -- had ever seen. The bearded man would be change in a red suit with white trim. His name was Santa Claus. Mommy and Daddy had told me that Santa and his nine reindeer wouldnt come to put presents under the Christmas maneuver until after I had fallen asleep, but of course, they didnt know about my superior plan to catch the old man in the act. Squinting under the meager moonlight that peered in through my bedroom window, I compel my... ...power to believe in other abstractions besides the white-bearded man -- entities such as fate or true love that may seem both(prenominal) bit as fanciful. I also have the ability to believe a society that does not use bombs to solve disagreements and can sort of trust in reason and diplomacy. The idealistic notion that one individual can make a difference in the world motivates me perfunctory in my quest to be a doctor.As a child, I read the story of Peter locomote, an adolescent boy who refused to grow up and thus stayed in Never Never Land, a magical place where he wouldnt age and could spend his days in spectacular adventures. I hope that as I grow another year older, I can always keep a little Peter Pan in my spirit, that I can see a story in even the most simple things around me, and that I will continue, every Christmas Eve, to leave cookies and milk out for Santa Claus.