My Neighborhood-Personal Narrative

My neighbor - a personal story, let me cry when the birds wake up on Saturday morning. I get up and go out clothes. Children near my house will come to my backyard and we will play until our parents call us. I remember that the trees are big and the days are long. I do not really know many neighbors. I have a group of small friends in the same building. The neighbors themselves are very bad. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and listen to gunshots.

When I moved to a new community with my family, I was 12 years old. I just started elementary school 6th grade at a new school and I have no friends. I am quiet and shy, so I never went out to play with other neighbors' children. Before I started school, I saw some people of the same level as myself. After that initial meeting, I never saw them until the first day of school. Every day in my life, my mother often mixes her hair. She usually wears my hair the night before, the only thing I have to do is tying a scarf on my hair. On the first day of school, I asked my mother to make hair that morning. She made her hair with my normal haircut and finally made five ponytails with a hair clip. Every hair clip matches the color of my day's tool.

When I was a little girl, I was a hair genius, and in my community, it made me so happy. Hair is very important for my neighbor's black woman. Hair is not just hair, it is the one that determines the social position of a person. The more stylish your hair is, the more important people will be. This strange social actor system can have a high hairstyle by anyone. And I have skills. I always have artistic eyes, when my fingers feel particularly dexterity, with strong attention to detail and excellent bedside way, I am Mozart of hair. I was very natural because my family is strong hair straightening chemicals before reading the description of the LeBron of hair relaxer box has been asked to paint the scalp. I entered high school and went to a barber shop for my friends and family.

When I was a child, my life in the bubble that grew up in a middle-class community from the 1980s to 1990s, revolves around school, neighbors, video games and to play in the backyard,. My mother forces me to go out in the world for hours and disappear. My parents work for them, help us, and do not know anything about difficult times. I have without any idea about the value of it to get these things, I will remember the Christmas toys, or because the sneakers generic version of the non-brand got I was frustrated. Apart from poverty, we are not poor. We always live in tables, forces, clothes, and safe places - my brothers and I do not want anything we need