My Life is History :: Personal Narrative Writing

My Life is History Light reflected off his menacing scales. Sixty-five million years before grocery stores, and drive through ATMs, Tyrannosaurus Rex stomped the fields of Palmer Massachusetts. In the pale light of a brisk October night, the resurrected teeth and textured body of the ferocious beast again terrorized Palmer safely restrained by the possessive clutch of my chubby little fingers. It was not so much that the I loved dinosaurs, though I did and still do, more I was intrigued that there was more than just my lifetime in the history of the world. Though I knew the world through the narrow scope of ten years, the earth had been around for millions. From that small age I was seduced by the past. What or who stomped the earth before me was an all consuming question for me. I wanted to know about those who lived before me. I wanted to know what kinds of lives they lead, what they did and who they were. History was my life. In the metropolis of Palmer there are few stoplights and even fewer attractions to stop at. On my unfrequented street in a little farmhouse on seventy-six acres we got few stations. Public television beamed to me quenched my insatiable need for history. While my counterparts were absorbed with the, then novel, music video I was reaching back to play with the Egyptians as they built the pyramids. Most every night I could bask in the cathode rays of emperors and kings, peasants, popes, and even the occasional murderer. Sometimes at night, I would go outside after a particularly interesting show and stare at the sky. In the heavens I saw the same sky as Napoleon Bonapart. I could see the stars Socrates saw out the window of his cell the night before he was executed. I reclined on grass watered by the sweat Joan of Arc perspired as she was burned at the steak on May 30, 1431 in a Rouen marketplace at the age of nineteen. Though these thoughts may have been macabre for a young child, they gave me an intense connection with the past. They created in me the desire to know everyone who came before me because as their history was part of me. The strong connection with the past brought me to one realization a little too early. I realized at a young age that I was mortal and all the implications there of.