Essay about Christmas Break Narrative

All began when Christmas break started. Just like other kids, was extremely excited for the break. It meant no school for two weeks, presents, and more importantly, no school for two weeks. I didn’t know what I wanted for Christmas that year. I had everything, it seemed. I had entertainment, a family that loved me, good grades, and a hobby that I loved: soccer. The only thing I could think of getting was the new DSi. I had a ds, but how could an upgrade hurt anyone? So as I added it to the list, I continued to think. I looked around the room I had been in my whole life, my room.

My walls painted blue (which I would now love to change), my bed covered in New York Yankees sheets (which I would also love to change). It was always somewhat clean, with a couple of shirts here and there, but for the most part, it was clean. My closet, which was always a disaster, was still a disaster. My clothes drawer? Okay, as in it held clothes, but bad, as in it was poorly organized. Maybe I should ask for more clothes for Christmas? But then I thought of how much I already had, and decided that I didn’t need clothes this year.

Then, I remembered, what my mom had asked me. She had asked me to think of things I would think my brother would like, since we are both boys, and we have similar interests. I began to think. He had an iPad, and a Ds. Maybe he would want a DSi? I’d have to ask him. But then I thought, “But he can’t answer me. He doesn’t know how. ” I thought of how it would feel, to have feelings and opinions, a life ahead of you, plenty of years left in your pocket, and then to realize that your only choice of living is to watch your brain live for you, instead of controlling the way you live?

I thought of all the things I wouldn’t be able to do any more; play soccer, get good grades, play with friends. Oh, and my brother very seldom played with someone else. Whenever we took him to try to get him to play with one of his “friends,” I could tell that in his heart, he was not into this. I know he wanted out, and he wanted to play with his friends like I played with mine. But neither of the two brains knew how to do that, and it was almost impossible to teach them. I thought of how helpless I would feel, and how angry at the world I would be.

I would always pray, and I would always say a prayer with these words. I would kneel on my bed, in front of my picture of Jesus on the wall. “Dear God, please let Mario be a normal kid. Cure his autism and all the kids around the world who have autism. Help him experience all the things that I do. I want him to be able to live life the way he would want. I’d give almost anything that I have for him to be able to live like a normal person and go to a normal school. Please! ” I would pray. I would always say a prayer, not exactly like that, but similar to it, along those lines. “Why, God, why? ” I spoke out loud.

I thought of how the only thing he ever asks for is Gogurt, Cheese-its, food, and love. He always asks my mom to come sit by him on the couch, probably because he loves her more than anything that we could offer him. I think about how he has his own ds, but he hasn’t gotten an upgrade, probably because he doesn’t know how to ask for one. He just knows how to ask for basic needs, and he had to be taught to ask for those, too. I then thought of how my brother would often cry, even if the day was going well. I thought, “It could be because of how he can’t express himself, and he’s trying his best with crying.

He wants to be heard. ” That was my breaking point, where I didn’t want to deal with my own thoughts anymore. Then, I got all emotional, and asked my mom if she could talk to me, because she was in Mario’s room, which is right by mine. His room is a baby blue, with hues of yellow. His bed sheets are aqua blue, with a Spongebob theme that he has had for over 5 years. He has a baseball-fashioned fan, with the bulb being covered in a baseball-looking glass, and the blades of the fan were made to look like bats. As well as the overhead fan-light, he has a train lamp on his dresser.

He always slept with both his lamp and his light on, because they were both dim, and if they weren’t both on, he wouldn’t fall asleep easily, probably not at all. He has a white carpet on the floor that is never dirty, and a closet that he keeps a lot of his clothes in. His dresser drawers are labeled with pictures and text, like “Shirts,” and “Shorts,” to try and help him to independently get his clothes out and on. He has a bookshelf to the left of his bed, and it has some child books, some memories, pictures, and a couple of piggy banks.

I got my mom, and asked her if she could talk with me in my room. She came over, and sat down on my bed, and asked me what was up. I then started softly crying, telling her what I’d been thinking about, how God could be so cruel, and why he wouldn’t help my brother. “Mom, why can’t Mario play with me? Why? ” I asked. “Why doesn’t God listen to my constant prayers? The only thing that Mario would want for Christmas is to be normal. Why can’t he get the one thing he has on his list? Why can’t they find a cure? My mom heard me say this, and, hearing this, started to tear up herself. I don’t know, baby,” she said. “I ask the same question.

But God is good. He does hear you, and he may answer in a different way than you would expect. ” “But it’s not fair! He doesn’t get to choose anything! ” | said. “He doesn’t get to choose what to eat, he doesn’t get to choose what he wants to do in his free time, he doesn’t get to choose what he wants for Christmas! ” To this, my mom went silent. She had tears in her eyes, and I realized that I had caused her to start crying. I immediately tried to comfort her. She wasn’t sobbing, but it was enough to make me feel guilty.

I realized that whatever feelings I had, my mother had them, but much worse. She was the mother, and had feelings and emotions for her son that only a mom could have. “Mom, it’s okay,” I said. “It could always be worse, right? ” My mom slowed down her crying as I spoke. “We could be in a bad financial situation, but we are in a good one, and are sending Mario to a great school. There, he can get as much help as he can to function as best as he can in the future. ” My mom stopped crying, and so did I. My mom told me that she had to go downstairs, and I told her goodbye.

I thought about my brother, and how I would sometimes unjustly get frustrated with him; I hated how he couldn’t respond to me fully and quickly, and I seemed to expect him to react like I would. I was too heady to realize that he couldn’t, because he didn’t know how. From that moment, something in me clicked, as if I finally realized what I had been doing wrong. I saw that I needed to love my brother for who he was, and I couldn’t expect him to be as fast as me. I needed to be kind, patient, and loving with him. I walked downstairs, to see my mother, father, and brother. I walked over to my brother, and talked to him. Hey Mario,” I said. “Hi Bibo,” he said in his usually adorable voice.

“Listen,” I told him. “I know that you’re in there, and that you’re begging to get out. I want you to get out just as bad. ” “Yes,” he responded. He wasn’t responding to what I was saying, but rather to the fact that I was talking. He always responded in some way. “I want you to be free and have a life that you can control,” I said. “And someday, I’m going to try my hardest to make sure that you can get that. I promise. I took his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I sat there, unmoving, for a moment, until my mother called me to her.

My mom asked me if I could do a load of laundry. “Of course, mom,” I replied. Celine, my sister, was on the couch watching Netflix. Mario was still on the couch. My father working on his laptop, typing furiously, and my mom, doing the dishes. She always had some work to do. She seemed to never have a free moment of rest, or of relaxation, where she didn’t have something to do at that time. There were simply not enough hours in a day for her to rest. I started to feel emotional about that, too, but that’s a story for another day. As I thought about this, I went to the dryer and started taking out clothes.