Growing Up :: Personal Narrative, Autobiographical Essay

I stumbled out into the yard, my flimsy tennis shoes intent in plastic bags and secured with tape. The Great Blizzard of Chattanooga had almost subsided, but snow still lay thick on the ground. The cold air invaded my lungs and blotto every inch of exposed skin. My parents were trapped out of town at the state basketball tournament, and my three sisters and I had a baby-sitter that was staying with us. She went to our church, and had known my parents for years. We had enough food to last a while, and our family owned enough sleeping bags and blankets to ensure that we didnt freeze. We also had a fireplace in the den, but no wood.   Tracy, our baby-sitter, approached me one mean solar day while I was reading a book by the window.   Jeff, she said, Do you know how to chop wood?   The correct answer to the question was no, for I had tho handed logs to my father and watched him smite them in two with a vicious swing. I tried once, but I could not swing the heavy split hard enough to snap a splinter.   Sure, I answered. How much do you need?   I knew full well that it would be extremely unmanly to profess that I could not break a log in two, and the realization that she probably could have done it never hit me. I trudged back into my populate with a sense of sorrowful duty, like a soldier going on a suicide mission to save his brothers. I allowed my baby-sitter to sop up the bags on my feet, imagining her as my page readying my trusty sword before battle.   Just yell if you need any help, you hear? she told me as I headed for the door. I brushed this off as senseless babble, for everyone knew that only men could chop wood.   I trekked across the yard with my head down, snowflakes blowing into my eyes and the cold wind harsh at my nose. The large logs were stored under the deck, and the planks were very high up, allowing me to chop the wood without having to stand in the snow. I rolled a log into position, not without a goo d deal of difficulty, but I reasoned that the log would not be quite so ornery once I had broken it into weensy pieces.