Then when the house is clean, that's when my family starts to come over.The time I share with my family is the time we talk about old stories that have happened to our lives throughout the year.All my friends seem to call early on Christmas Day; they are only calling to see if I'm going to ...Tags: Creative Writing S ElementaryEssay On Tv Violence Effect OnHarvard Business Plan TemplateHow To Write Statement Of Problem In Research ProposalIng Cover Letter WithoutThesis Statement On Water ScarcityLegal Topics For Research PapersControversial Issues Write Research PaperThesis On Advertising CampaignsNoise Pollution Assignment
Gary Sprague lives in Maine with his wife and two sons.
While I am waiting for the tamales to be cooked, I am usually on the phone with my friend's trying to find out where all the Christmas parties are at. Most of the time they usually come over because they just got too bored at home.
Around midnight is when we gather in the living room to open our gifts. I don't mind having my friend's over at my house when I am spending some time with my family.
Fun, but I doubt I can write a one page essay about it. Every other weekend I stay at my father’s apartment, sleep over Saturday night. Sasha, my stepsister, is allowed to eat or drink wherever the hell she wants. Holding me tightly by the back of the neck, he shoves me through the kitchen.
And every other Sunday morning, my stepmother storms into the kitchen wearing a scowl and a nightgown the size of a tent. A thin, noxious cloud of Lynette’s cigarette smoke hangs and swirls around my head as I move to the edge of the living room. She’s eleven years old and is, in every way, the bitch’s spawn. Leaning down near me, she pats her cigarette out in the end-table ashtray. I don’t know how it is at your mother’s house, but at house things are kept clean.” I gesture toward Sasha’s empty Twinkie wrappers on the floor. You may want to inform your daughter of that.” My stepmother’s eyes narrow. I’m almost hoping she does something, because I’ve decided to fight back. I catch a self-satisfied smile on my stepmother’s face from the corner of my eye, but I can’t turn my head.