My Mother: Superwoman Essay -- Personal Narrative, essay about my fami

When I needed to talk, she listened. When I was ill, she healed me. When I was hungry, she fed me. This frail charr whom I call my mom was a superwoman while I was outgrowth up. With wisdom, she guided with tenderness, she spoke and with love, she raised me. Although we were very poor, my mother made it a point always to give me a present on my birth daylight. That lustrous blue bike I got for my birthday at the tender duration of ten was my closest friend. But it was a sunny spring day when my comrade committed its evil treason. My bike had flung me from its metal frame as if it were a wild bronco and I were a rodeo clown. Over its handles I went, crashing to the unforgiving earth. It was at that instant that I realized two things my chum up had betrayed me, and my knee was bleeding like a b...