Narrative Essay: Growing Up Playing With Pigs

Submitted By floofyrabbit
Words: 1994
Pages: 8

“I grew up playing with pigs. My father was an expert animal handler and it quickly became apparent at an early age that I, too, had an affinity for keeping the chickens calm during a storm or milking our cow, Annie. I, However, did not want to grow up a farmer. I did not want to live in a three room shack while the village blacksmith has two floors. I did not want to eat cheese and bread every night while the village tanner could afford fish three nights a week. I don't even think my father has ever seen a gold piece in his life. I wanted luxury. I wanted comfort. I wanted a butler like the king had, I wanted diamonds and silver and shiny objects. I craved wealth. Unfortunately, as the son of a farmer I was doomed to the trade class. There are routes to class skip such as selling your soul the town guard or somehow possessing magical abilities. I wasn't much of a fighter and neither of my parents were wizards so both of those options quickly went down the drain. I was doomed to a life of mediocrity.

For my eighth birthday my father brought me home a paintbrush. He was upset with himself and how diligently I was working with the animals and in the fields. “A boy your age should be growing up and learning new things, not tilling fields like a man with a debt.” I promptly told him how I was just preparing for my mediocre future. Start young was a popular saying around town. He turned his face from me as I left the house in search of something to do that day. It was, after all, my eighth birthday and I should do something fun. Paintbrush in hand, I searched for the other tools I needed. Paint was hard to come by. I would have all the paint I could desire, I thought. If I were rich. I was able to barter some eggs for a pencil and some paper at the general store. I could start my artistic career there.

I became quite the artist in my spare time. I was able to turn my drawings over for a profit and for my thirteenth birthday I was able to purchase, with my fathers pathetic help, one high quality painting board. On that board I would paint my masterpiece. But what? I had plenty excellent drawings of birds and squirrels and trees, but what is worthy of my skill and this board? I decided that I would paint my favorite place in the world to relax. My resting point was underneath a lone, strong willow tree adjacent to our towns glistening lake. The area was constantly vibrant with wildlife. Sparrow chirps were common and that was the spot where I had completed most of my highest selling pieces.

I met a women in my sixteenth year. She introduced herself as Tracey, blushing adorably. Her delicate, curled hair was as bright as the apples that grew from my fathers trees. It rested lightly atop her narrow shoulders. Se had a slight, slender frame and her dresses did an excellent job at hugging her body in all the right ways. She had the sweetest giggle. We would meet underneath my favorite willow tree and chit chat daylight away.

One afternoon she took my hand and led me back into town. 'To meet her parents' she told me. I happily followed her back to town and then gladly obliged to be blindfolded. It was strange, sure, but id do anything for her. You could imagine my surprise when I learned she was the daughter of or town's leader. I WAS DATING THE GENERALS DAUGHTER. His youngest daughter. Imagine my stress, entering his small fortress in my momie-made rags. Did I smell? I didn't know. She took me for dinner at her house that day. We had pork, beef, eel and my father's cheese! It was a feast for a 'peasant boy' like me. I wanted to badly to be her father. To live like her father lives. Before I departed she handed me a gift. It was a comfortable, silken pillow. 'For when I'm not around'. It was the softest pillow I had ever had. I gazed directly into her noble brown eyes and began to shed some tears. She had given me luxury, at least for when I sleep. In those precious moments I realized my masterpiece was…