Write a story in which a broken promise plays an important part 350 to 500 words
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Answer:
Explanation:
I WAS SEVEN when my sitter’s feisty dog chewed up my favorite doll. I waited, for years, for her to fulfill her promise of a new doll to replace it. About the same time the doll was destroyed, my mother promised that she would soon be able to give me an allowance of five dollars a week. I was thrilled.
But like the doll that never arrived, the extravagant allowance became just another wish that never came true. Fortunately, time puts such small matters into perspective. Eventually, I forgave my babysitter, and I forgave my mother, too.
Still, there remain broken promises that touch a chord of sadness. These are not the ones that others made, but that I made myself. Mostly unspoken, they were promises, nevertheless — to my parents, child, friends, first husband, second husband, my husband now . . . and me. Small promises, for the most part. Like the thank-you notes I intended to write, the gifts I meant to give, the love I intended to show, the words I meant to say.
I remember times I promised to be somewhere at a certain time or do a certain thing or call someone on a certain day. And I didn’t. I think of the books on my shelves that were so long overdue it only made sense to buy them from the library, with the explanation that I had “lost” them.
Then there was the promise to myself to play a board game with my seven-year-old daughter at least once a month. That was a New Year’s resolution nearly eleven months ago. And I guess we’ve played a game once, maybe twice, in all that time.
Answer:
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Explanation:
I WAS SEVEN when my sitter’s feisty dog chewed up my favorite doll. I waited, for years, for her to fulfill her promise of a new doll to replace it. About the same time the doll was destroyed, my mother promised that she would soon be able to give me an allowance of five dollars a week. I was thrilled.
But like the doll that never arrived, the extravagant allowance became just another wish that never came true. Fortunately, time puts such small matters into perspective. Eventually, I forgave my babysitter, and I forgave my mother, too.
Still, there remain broken promises that touch a chord of sadness. These are not the ones that others made, but that I made myself. Mostly unspoken, they were promises, nevertheless — to my parents, child, friends, first husband, second husband, my husband now . . . and me. Small promises, for the most part. Like the thank-you notes I intended to write, the gifts I meant to give, the love I intended to show, the words I meant to say.
I remember times I promised to be somewhere at a certain time or do a certain thing or call someone on a certain day. And I didn’t. I think of the books on my shelves that were so long overdue it only made sense to buy them from the library, with the explanation that I had “lost” them.
Then there was the promise to myself to play a board game with my seven-year-old daughter at least once a month. That was a New Year’s resolution nearly eleven months ago. And I guess we’ve played a game once, maybe twice, in all that time.