The Coal Mines
Did you ever have to work in a coal mine? Well I did. Every day of my life since I was 9. That was my life. I saw some truly horrible things, and met some awfully rude people. Kids that died because they would get smothered to death because, they were only kids. Some of them were my friends. I saw them die. it’s not like someone would come up to me and tell me that they died, or that I heard a scream, and the next minute they were gone. I saw it with my own eyes. Everyday I came in knowing that I might die. What type of a life is that? I worked there until I wasn’t able to break coal any more. 40 years of my life. Decades to working. I still have the scars from the work. I have scars, while others have only 8 or 9 fingers. I guess some could say that I’m lucky and some could say that I’m stupid.
We used to live in New York, but the coal mines were in Pennsylvania. We wouldn’t have moved, but my brother had to work too. It’s like being forced to go to school. No matter how much you don’t want to, you have to go to get an education. Except in this case, were moving. Were leaving our home forever to live in sa house that will barely fit us all, and to work to get the least amount of money.
The Life of A Worker
As I stepped off the boat, which had held me for 60 days, and got into the scrappy old car, there were only 2 people on my mind. My dear old mother, and my father. I never realised that this world was so hard and that these people were just, so rude! Leaving Ireland was hard. Coming through Ellis Islands wws the easiest part. Why wouldn’t I be able to come? I’m healthy, I have nothing with me and I have a reason to be here. I need work so that I can get money and be able to live in Ireland. My brother was a potato farmer back home. It’s not the best time to be a potato farmer right now.
If I had the choice to go to America or England, I would go to England. The only thing was that they don’t want us. There wasn’t enough food gofer us there, and as soon as I get enough money, I’m buying tickets or mom and dad. It doesn’t matter how hard it is. Ireland is my home. America is my hotel.
I guess America isn’t that bad. I should get used to it. It is my new home, and I’m pretty sure mom and dad wouldn’t mind. I’ve always wanted to come to America but now that I’m here, I want to go back. Even if i die there.
My house. Well, my old house. The place we moved to when I was, only 2. Eating cold subs with my brother and discussing over the stupidest things. Waiting for my mom and dad to come home from work so that I can give them the biggest hugs and telling them about what I’ve accomplished throughout the day. From losing my tooth, to eating a humongous piece of cake.
I still remember my school. Waiting there everyday after school for my grandpa to pick me up. If I was a good kid, we would go out and get slushies. If I was misbehaving, we would go out and get slushies. My grandma would be at home when I came and she would make me the best homemade pizza ever. It would be the highlight of my week. Every Friday when we come you could just smell it. The smell of heaven.
My uncle would come home with candy and we would go to the basement and watch a movie. I would sleep on my own but then my brother would come to my room and ask me if he could sleep with me cause he was scared. I didn’t want to hug him so the I would let him have my stuffie Lucy. I miss that house. The stairs that swirl up at the top, and the carpets that felt so nice when your feet touched the ground. Almost as if it was a dream.