White Bread Essay -- Observation Essay, Descriptive

White BreadThe plastic wrapper of a loaf of Wonder kales DItaliano white bread is drab brightly with the primary colors one associates with childhood and kindergarten playroom activities. The swirling mitt lettering of the word DItaliano makes the bread seem somehow more than special than bread packaged with ordinary block lettering. On some(prenominal) ends of the shiny, clear wrapper, boldly colored round dots resembling bright b every(prenominal)oons are put upon a blazing red background, conveying the joy and happiness the bread would bring to any sandwich and my fifteen-year-old life. Once, the bread represented a hopefulness and incandescence that I hoped my life would someday acquire. However, the bread also served as a painful reminder of the dismal nature of our empty, barely paid for flat tire that my single mother, sister, and I shared. The bread symbolized both the good and bad aspects of that curiously intense period on the one hand, the potential to be conscio nable like any other kid my age, but on the other, all the things our small family lacked and my inadequacy at being what I considered normal. Growing up in New Jersey, my sister and I were raised without a set out in the house throughout most of our childhood. My uneducated mother invariably held at least two jobs to provide the barest essentials such as a roof over our heads and food in the kitchen. She was usually employed as a waitress or bartender, which meant late hours for her and a lot of epoch alone for my sister and me. During my early teenage years, I remember feeler hearthstone from school on most days with a adolescents typically ravenous appetite. However, I usually found our kitchen disappointingly void of any kind of snack food. Although the refrigerator contained mai... ...sisters benignant face greeting me at the terminal gate, all my negative thoughts vanished, and I raced to hug her. During the visit, my mother and I went grocery shopping together at the same store I had frequented as a young teenager. The military expedition seemed mostly uneventful until I spied the loaves of DItaliano bread piled atop the shelves in the bread aisle. For a moment, I was transported back to that empty apartment where I had endured the most unhappy times of my childhood. The irony of the situation was that I was re-experiencing the past while standing with my mother. She picked up a loaf and tossed it into the cart unaware of the profound effect the bread had on me. She turned to me and say, You said you were hungry. Would you like me to fix you a tuna sandwich when we get home? Stunned, I could only reply, Yes, that would be fine, and we moved on.