Narrative- My Suppressed Wild Side :: Personal Narrative Writing

Narrative- My Suppressed barbaric SideTen years old 1975, still in my boy body, my boy mind. Solid and strong with the endurance to play all twenty-four hours moving from the tangled, viney jungle on the far side of the pond to the out of sight play house in the damp dark basement of my outflank friend Davids house, to the high speed heroics played out on our banana-seated bikes. I was not a boy of course, but wanted to be. I climb trees, even ones sticky with sap. The smell of pine hangs on me as I lie in bed at night. I dun up the hill on Saturday, find David and set to digging a big mess in the dirt. We collect old pans and buckets from his moms messy kitchen and create a hooey booey stew. We are hobos having our meal by the tracks we are Davy Crockett or Daniel Boone eating by the fire deep in the wilderness. The meal over, David and I pour our concoctions into the deep hole, add dirt and more(prenominal) piddle system he yells, Get the hose and then rolling up our tuf f jeans, we stand in the soildy mix of grass and water and dirt, stomping up and down, giggling and falling over. What pleases me is to feel it between my toes and to feel the tightness of mud drying on my shins as we catch our breath lying by the hole sun-baked. Afterwards, bellies to the ground, David and I crawl under the prickly, holly branches to press to our secret fort. It pleases me to taste the zesty sweet of blood from a scrape that I refuse to get a band-aid for. Later, I ride my bike home from Davids plentiful speed down the hill, but not fast enough to delay my full bladder. Wonder what it would feel like to just pee as I ride my bike? So I pee my bloomers and the sensation is a wonderful release a naughty rule-breaking. And in the summer I jump with my brothers and sisters off a 25 foundation high cliff down into the river where my dad waits for us. Ohthe force of the cold water on my skin and the strength of my fathers big egest as he guides each of us towar ds the rock to climb out. summertime nights I lie on the dewy grass, watch for shooting stars and get a line to the name the constellations as my dad has taught me.