Question

My mother, along with all of my godparents, began planning my quinceañera after I turned fourteen. My mother and aunts took me to a bridal shop where I was fitted for a long, white gown, which I would wear at the celebration. I felt my cheeks grow red with embarrassment as the women fawned and fussed over me in the store. I desperately wished that I could just find a hole to crawl into and hide, but there was no way out. My mother, who was in her glory, naturally assumed that the redness in my face was a glow of happiness. I let her go right on thinking that. It was her day, I kept telling myself. I was doing this for her. At last, the big day came. My father cooked up a special breakfast for my brothers and me first thing that morning. I had a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I was somewhat comforted by my father's easygoing manner and his apparent anticipation of the celebration ahead. After breakfast, my mother helped me dress for the quinceañera. While she was styling my hair, she paused every so often to wipe away a tear of joy that had trickled down her face. I couldn't recall ever having seen my mother quite this happy, and suddenly my heart swelled with affection for her. Two hours later, I found myself standing in the front of a church while all of my dearest friends and family members gazed up at me from the pews. As I looked out on the smiling, supportive faces of all the people I loved, I had an unexpected realization. This day wasn't for my mother after all; it was for me. The church ceremony was followed by a fiesta that lasted all day and into the night. My parents served food that they had worked for days to prepare. A disc jockey played all of the music I loved, and I was showered with beautiful gifts, practical advice, and good wishes from everyone important to me. As I watched my family members celebrate in my honor, I realized that my Mexican heritage was not something intangible, like a bunch of old stories about long-gone relatives. My heritage, I realized, was very real. It was with me at all times, and I was proud of it. What type of essay is this, primarily?

Answer 1

Answer:

The correct answer to this question: What type of essay is this, primarily? Would be: Descriptive.

Explanation:

Although the structure of the essay in this question has almost all the characteristics of the Narrative essay, because the writer is narrating the story of her fifteenth birthday, in truth, once you get to the middle, and final part of the narration, you realize that she is doing much more than just telling her story, which is the essence of a Narrative essay. She is, in fact, reaching a pretty deep point of reflection, where she realizes that all that she is seeing around her, and the initial sense of boredom the rituals around her birthday generated, were much more meaningful than she thought, and defined her as a Mexican: "As I watched my family members celebrate in my honor, I realized that my Mexican heritage was not something intangible, like a bunch of old stories about long-gone relatives. My heritage, I realized, was very real. It was with me at all times, and I was proud of it" With this the writer turns around the initial purpose of her essay and beyond telling the story, reflects upon the impact that realizing what she realized, changed her life and defined her for who she truly was. This is the main characteristic of a Descriptive essay.

Answer 2

This is a narrative essay, she is explaining a story and narrating it.