The chilly, crisp New England breeze stung my face, as I approached my family 's modest home. The sun was just beginning to dip below the trees, as I snuck through the sturdy oak door to the house. The door swung open with a slow squeak and an instant surge of heat washed over me like a wave, warming my numb fingers. I recognized the familiar crackle of burning wood in the fireplace before stepping past the arched doorway to the kitchen.
"Hello John. Dinner is almost ready. Would you mind setting the table for me?" my mother requested, turning away from the burning stove to give me a warm smile. My mother was an elegant, hard-working woman and she loved me and my father immensely. After setting the table, I took a seat prepared to discuss the events of the day
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"It 's a ridiculous act. Britain is going to tax us for every piece of paper. We will be forced to pay a tax to obtain a stamp, which will be required on all legal documents and printed materials.” This preposterous act was going to hurt the hard working families here in the colonies. I tried to look at it from the King 's point of view. He probably thought we were a bunch of lazy people living luxuriously without any taxes. However, the King doesn’t understand that we colonists work hard to provide for our families, keep a roof over our heads, and keep our community thriving. It was evident by the bulging vein on my father 's neck, he was holding back unspoken anger about the Stamp Act. The King was swiping hard-earned money directly out of his pockets.
“Why would Parliament even propose such an act?” I asked.
“Do you recall how Britain won the French and Indian war in 1763?” he paused, and I nodded an affirmative before he continued. “As a consequence of the victory, Britain racked up some pretty substantial war debts and to pay them off, they are going to raise money by taxing the colonists.”
“So they are basically taxing the colonists for their financial problems.”
“Precisely.”
“Hows