Marshmallow Lesson
There was a neighborhood grocery store, but it was quite a long walk form our house. One day when I was five years old, Mother and I went to the store, crossing many acres of bluebonnets, Indian paintbrushes and pink buttercups in bloom. That is one of the most beautiful of all my memories. Then we entered the woods where the bob-whites and the whipor-wills their enchanting eerie cries to the beauty of it all. The store was down the hill, on Barton Springs Road near the railroad overpass. It was a small, narrow wooden building with wooden floors. I remember the meat market as well as the shelves of groceries. Mother was there to buy only a few things. Well, I found the marshmallows! One of my worse traits came out at their sight and at my desiring for them. I whined for Mother to buy me some marshmallows. She shook her head. I kept it up, much to her dismay. I kept whining, and she finally began to cry. She told me that she didn’t have enough money to buy the marshmallows. Seeing her cry made me hurt inside so much that my stomach still churns when I just think about it. I had learned a bit of humility and an important lesson in obedience and respect for Mother’s special and very kind disposition.