Narrative Essay of a Childhood Memory - Special Academic Support

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The sunny skies of Panama City Beach, Florida, represent beautiful memories in my life. I go to this off-white beach at least five to six times during the year. This place has taught me how to swim, race go-karts, enjoy simple things, and most importantly, value my friends and family. Apart from the things I have said, it is extremely significant to me because it has strengthened my walk with the Lord.

In my early years, I would spend my days laid out in a bikini, baring all my chunky rolls, laying on dad’s broad shoulders. Being the first and only girl grandchild came with perks. One of my favorite memories, I have consisted of Mimi and Pa taking me to a neon beachside souvenir shop, and letting me pick out anything my little heart desired. A few summers later, my little brother came along, and I suddenly had to learn to share my vacation with him. He started making the family memories when he stabbed dad viciously in the eye on a cool foggy night.

Between the ages of six and ten, we begin implanting more traditions. My personal two favorites are riding the gigantic light-up Ferris wheel with Mimi and sitting on the side of the strip eating cherry Italian ice with Pa. Another one we started was having a competitive family competition of racing go-karts. Not to brag, but I have won every year.

In the summer of 2016, I got to spend a week with my forever best friend at the enormous resort Edgewater. On day three of vacation, Maddies big hazel eyes got three times bigger when she saw the red spider crab going between her legs.

When I was little, it boggled my mind that my older cousins got to go to the beach along with their friends. I got my first opportunity to go to the beach with my loving youth group in 2018. As I sat under the pergola, reflecting on the question Katie had asked just a heartbeat before on the text Philippians 1:9, Why does Paul want Philippians love to increase?. At first, I had no answer to this question. But then I dug a little deeper. The love credited to the church is not simply a feeling of affection. It is an active, lived-out love. Wow, that hit me like a ton of books; the love and memories I make with my friends and family are not just classical love, but they are surviving love. That small group session seemed to fly by as I took notes in my flowered binder. My obnoxious alarm went off reminding me the time was up, I headed for the beach to discuss my discovery. Did any of you learn anything from this passage?, Katie asked once we had all returned to the beach, it was peaceful. I looked across the horizon, waiting on someone to make the first move. To my left, big blue-eyed Tabitha sat, waiting on me to share. To my right sat the warped gold Linnaeus float we had found the night before. Soon, I realized no one was going to share. I interpreted this by the nervous eyes and knotting stomachs. Now, Katie asked, Why do you all choose not to share?. I made eye contact with her and politely said: I think none of us want to share because it affected us all on personal levels. Katie replied: Fair enough. I do not want to pressure anyone. A sea of relaxed looks flooded the youth group, and at that moment I knew no one would leave this beach trip as they had come.

The formal definition of memory states that memories are a recollection of the past. To me, the word memory means the foundation of my childhood and future. Not only do I associate memory with my childhood and future, I associate it with my relationship with God. Soon, when I have children, I want to help them undergo their memories and teach them the beauty of having these experiences.

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