Mata pita English mein essay
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My mother and my father are very different. From the way they grew up, to the way they are now, they have always been quite different. My father is made from the fibers of hard work and he is a tough as nails stubborn old guy. My mother is quite the opposite. She is gentle, caring, and a deep thinker.
My father was a wild man growing up. I know a lot about his crazy youth because he never missed the chance to pull me aside and tell mea story that "you can't tell your mother I told you." I always loved
My mother also had stories about her youth, but they didn't start in the same manner as my father's. Actually, her stories were pretty wild in their own way too. She would insist on telling me these stories when we were in a heated argument. My father always worked so much that he was never around during our fights. Even so, my mom always loved to slap me with the dreaded, "I'm telling your father when he gets home!" Then she would hit me with the stories of her youth.
My father's stories showed how reckless my father had been growing up. He told me many stories about going to Florida. He said he would often pack up and go to Florida when he was about eighteen years old. He recalled a time when his friends were going and they asked him a day before if he could join them. He said he woke his father up at two o'clock in the morning and told him he was on his way to Florida. His father was mad! "You woke me up at two A.M!" he hollered, "how much money do you need?" "Nothing", my father objected. "Then don't get arrested" his father warned and rolled back over
mata pita are pairly known as parents and parents are those who give birth to us and are like god for us as they are the only person who care for us as well as feed us without any expectations they love us alot and they understand us from birth we should also care for them and try to give them every happiness and relief