Help
Help. I have started college and I have a description essay due tonight. If anyone can look over it and check for spelling and grammar. open to all suggesting.
I was flying down the street. The wind whipping through my long, brown hair. The end in my sights. I took a chance to look behind me, my opponent was right there, maybe an inch or two. I put all my energy into those last few steps. I pull ahead first by a inch, then by a foot. My feet carried me across the finish line. I WON. I was the champion. Where was I on some Olympic track, no, I was on Hitt Street. The street I grew up on in Seagoville, TX. Seagoville was a, at the time, small town outside of Dallas on 175. My little area was not much, just a street off of Malory Bridge Road. I could hear the gravel trucks as they went over the railroad tracks. Late at night I could hear the train as it thundered down those same track. The train does not come down anymore due to the trucks and trains fighting over that same piece of area a few to many times. Maybe the Volunteer Fire department just go tried of cleaning all the metal up.
The volunteer fire department was founded in 1940 where my great grandfather, Fred Byrnes, was one of the first member. He built two house on Hitt street for his two twin daughters. One was my grandmother, Treva, the other my Aunt Eva. After my mother divorced my younger brother's father we moved into the house that he built for my grandmother. The same house my mother had grown up in. I was 5 years old at the time, and we lived there until I was in the 7th grade.
As you drive down the street most would not notice anything special. You would see two fields on the left side, then my aunts house. Dividing hers and my grandmother's house was a small, pebble, two car wide, driveway. On down the street you would find four more houses on that side and two on the right side. The house were not the important thing on the street. They were all built about the same time with the original people still living there. My brothers and I were the only children on that street. What was important was the street itself. It was a long straight line made with, I believe,children in mind. It could be magical Olympic track that we could line up on and race down the long white-hot road barefooted. The wind whipping through our hair, across our faces leaving us breathless at the end or it could magical change into a baseball field with the addition of a good stick and horse apples. Those sticky, round, green, balls made the perfect baseball of a small group of poor, white children with little in the way of toys. The feeling of hitting those apples and hoping it would burst into lots of small pieces so the catcher could not throw it to get you out. I remember hours upon hours of fun running and playing all day.
Then at night the street changed again. As the older people came out to sit in their chairs, my favorite time came. As the dark curtain of night came down and the twinkling lighting bugs came out. Blinking off and on to light the night, This was the best time, you see, all the yard had trees and brushes in them. So they were the best places to hide. With the cool night upon us, we could begin the hours of playing hide and seek. As the older people sit talking and joking with one another. Never did they give away our hiding places, but always keeping a watchful eye to make sure we were safe. They watched us run and play until it was time for us to go inside to eat and get ready for bed.
I can not think of a better place to grow up on or to spend the days and nights running and playing all night long. It is a time long gone in a world today. Children nowadays spend all day inside on computers and T.V. I believe today's children have lost something in the pasting of time something I hope one day my children with find.
I was flying down the street. The wind whipping through my long, brown hair. The end in my sights. I took a chance to look behind me, my opponent was right there, maybe an inch or two. I put all my energy into those last few steps. I pull ahead first by a inch, then by a foot. My feet carried me across the finish line. I WON. I was the champion. Where was I on some Olympic track, no, I was on Hitt Street. The street I grew up on in Seagoville, TX. Seagoville was a, at the time, small town outside of Dallas on 175. My little area was not much, just a street off of Malory Bridge Road. I could hear the gravel trucks as they went over the railroad tracks. Late at night I could hear the train as it thundered down those same track. The train does not come down anymore due to the trucks and trains fighting over that same piece of area a few to many times. Maybe the Volunteer Fire department just go tried of cleaning all the metal up.
The volunteer fire department was founded in 1940 where my great grandfather, Fred Byrnes, was one of the first member. He built two house on Hitt street for his two twin daughters. One was my grandmother, Treva, the other my Aunt Eva. After my mother divorced my younger brother's father we moved into the house that he built for my grandmother. The same house my mother had grown up in. I was 5 years old at the time, and we lived there until I was in the 7th grade.
As you drive down the street most would not notice anything special. You would see two fields on the left side, then my aunts house. Dividing hers and my grandmother's house was a small, pebble, two car wide, driveway. On down the street you would find four more houses on that side and two on the right side. The house were not the important thing on the street. They were all built about the same time with the original people still living there. My brothers and I were the only children on that street. What was important was the street itself. It was a long straight line made with, I believe,children in mind. It could be magical Olympic track that we could line up on and race down the long white-hot road barefooted. The wind whipping through our hair, across our faces leaving us breathless at the end or it could magical change into a baseball field with the addition of a good stick and horse apples. Those sticky, round, green, balls made the perfect baseball of a small group of poor, white children with little in the way of toys. The feeling of hitting those apples and hoping it would burst into lots of small pieces so the catcher could not throw it to get you out. I remember hours upon hours of fun running and playing all day.
Then at night the street changed again. As the older people came out to sit in their chairs, my favorite time came. As the dark curtain of night came down and the twinkling lighting bugs came out. Blinking off and on to light the night, This was the best time, you see, all the yard had trees and brushes in them. So they were the best places to hide. With the cool night upon us, we could begin the hours of playing hide and seek. As the older people sit talking and joking with one another. Never did they give away our hiding places, but always keeping a watchful eye to make sure we were safe. They watched us run and play until it was time for us to go inside to eat and get ready for bed.
I can not think of a better place to grow up on or to spend the days and nights running and playing all night long. It is a time long gone in a world today. Children nowadays spend all day inside on computers and T.V. I believe today's children have lost something in the pasting of time something I hope one day my children with find.