Personal Narrative - My Mother, the Hippie Essay -- Personal Narrative

My Mother, the flower child My mother is a hippie in every sense of the word. Therefore, as a young child, I spent a lot of cartridge holder in the Great Outdoors. There were even some years in which we traveled around living on commune farms. I take to be the huge gardens where you could always find my mom, and where I earned my nickname Beans. I recall the cats and goats that were always roaming around, and I remember falling asleep in rooms stacked to the ceiling with bunkbeds, where all of the kids on the farm slept. So what in the world does this have to do with a reflection of the starting time day of class? Simply put, it reaffirms the old adage that we become incisively like our parents. When I reached my adolescent years, I hated being orthogonal and going camping with no water or electricity for days--for fun. only now that I am an adult, I find myself becoming hardly like my mother. I enjoy a life of simplicity, and I hump being outside--whatever form that may take--be it work or taking a class such as this. Therefore, my single most vivid reflection of this entire first day of class is...