Personal Narrative: To Kill A Mockingbird By Harper Lee

Brenna Peterson Ms. Drosdick English 9 01/11/2017 Narrative 2

Walkin’ into to school each day is something I hate dearly. The meek whispers of “He’s a
Cunningham,” “He ain’t even got shoes,” “Did y’all see what Walter Cunningham was wearin’” ought to be the same questions I hear every day scattered across the schoolyard. I reckon that if my family was just as prosperous as the regular old folks in this town, we would be treated differently. Having to withstand the eagerness to just accept the money and clothes that are offered to us each day is mighty difficult. Yet, my family pays no mind to it, for we only take what we can return. Climbing up those crumbling, old brick stairs I make sure to keep outta’ sight of that bossy Scout

I prepared myself for the daily group of bullies who are usually waiting to throw a couple of them insults about my family or appearance. However, I was faced with somethin’ much worse. Scout Finch.
Seeing the lack of idleness in her beady eyes, I turned around and began to run to playground. Luckily, I was wearin’ my work clothing, for it allowed me to gain an advantage over Scout who was wearing a dress.
“Get back here, Walter Cunningham!” shouted Scout.
This of course made me run even faster from that crazy two-legged girl chasin’ after me.
“Oh! When I get my hands on you!!” almost screaming said Scout.
Nevertheless, I began to slow down as the weight of exhaustion had soon overcame me.
“Gotcha!” screamed Scout, as she tackled me to the ground. Scout then had picked herself up and examined me with an expression of complete success. Me, all I wanted to do was get the heck outta’ this situation.
“Now that you ain’t runnin’ away from me like a jack rabbit, I suggest we talk now” stated Scout.
“Let me go, Scout” I said.
“Not until we talk first” demanded Scout.
Realizing that this conversation was goin’ nowhere I sat up in defeat. Yet, then

Filled with vast paintings and wonderful little trinkets, you could say the home was almost like a dream. Little did I know, the dream had yet to begin.
Sittin’ down for lunch, I took notice of the vast amount of foods scattered across the table.
Each cordially made by the Finch’s maid, Cal. There was bread, meats of all kind, potatoes, corn and peas. Each of course was just as delicious.
“So Walter…How has your father’s crops been doin’ lately” asked Mr. Finch with curiosity. “Well sir, lately I have been stayin’ out helping him gather the crops and choppin’ them pecans, for there is a vast amount crops that have grown over the spring time” I explained.
“Ain’t your father has a good little helper than” replied Mr. Finch.
“I guess you could say that, sir” I replied rightfully.
Suddenly, I had realized that both Scout and Jem could neither follow along with the conversation that was takin’ place. They seemed more interested in the music playin’ in the background. “What type of this music playin’ currently” I questioned.
“You have never heard swing music before!” exclaimed both Scout and