The Glass Cups
Stephany. Age 11. San Pablo, California

One cold autumn morning, I woke up and saw my dad staring at me. I saw his short black hair, his brown and white flannel shirt. I saw from his dark brown eyes that he was saying that today was a great day to clean the garage.

“Wake up, Steph. We’ve got to clean out the garage. Let’s go to the kitchen and eat breakfast first.”

When we finished eating, my dad and I started to take out several garbage bags and empty boxes from the garage. Suddenly, he told me to put on some Spanish music. While he was dancing, he started giving me wet white towels to take the dust out of the glass cups.

After I was done with that, I put the nice and shiny glass cups on the wooden counter. We eventually finished our cleaning.

Suddenly, we heard a crack on the wooden counter. I noticed that that was where I had put the glass cups. My dad and I were like two statues. The glass cups were tilting.

My dad and I had no idea if the glass cups were going to fall or not fall. So, my dad was trying to decide if he should yell at me for leaving glass cups like that or go and grab the counter so the glass cups wouldn’t fall over.

Eventually, my dad decided to grab the counter and then yell at me. I was so relieved that the cups didn’t fall because I would have gotten in more trouble than what I was in. After that happened, my dad came and told me to be more careful with stuff that can easily break. I said, “Okay.” Then my dad invited some friends over to see if they liked how we cleaned. After that my dad gave me a huge hug. From that moment, I knew my dad had solved my problem. Many days have passed by and that never did happen again.

Well, let’s just say almost never.

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