Gift exchange
I hate gift exchanges. I hate the mystrey, I hate having to buy something for someone you barely know, I hate recieving that gift you never wanted and having to pretend like its the golden earings or bubble bath you hoped and dreamed of. And I hate the one gift exchange that made me hate all the rest. It was third grade. I was a cute kid, but kind of a loner. My long tangled hair would fall over my puggey cheeks as I read a book or it would fly around helplessly as I sat in one corner of the playground with my best friend making rings out of long, dead peices of grass. Life was good, not wonderful, bu
I'll never forget that horrible experience. Sports pensils round and unsharpened, the kind of thing you got for 50 cents at the grocery store. My teacher tried to make me feel better by giving me some jacks from the prize box, but the damage had been done. My mind went blank, what was this? All the other kids had gotten such cool stuff. I leaned forward listening closly for my name. I had never done a gift exchange before! That night I hurried home, grabbed my mom, and headed to the store. I stared down incredulously at my gift. As they were handed out and opened I smiled with glee as kids were getting plastic hockey sticks and pucks, makeup kits, playdo, and all sorts of wonderful things. I went back to my seat without saying anything, silent tears of broken dreams drifting down my face. With her ever constant scowl she told us we would be having a Christmas party and gift exchange. Olsen gave a slightly less than enthusiastic anouncment.
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Acceptance Essays
