The Best Day of My Life

If I had to choose only one day of my life to live it again, it would be

July, 23th in 2008. I was eight years old and I used to spend my
afternoons reading short stories with my mom.

Every day at six o’clock, my dad arrived home and told us about his
day at the work. He was always very tired but still cheerful. He never
let anything bad from his work show in his mood once he got home.

On the 23th of July, something unusual happened. I was taking peeks

through the window since a quarter to six, as I did every afternoon.
The church bell sang and I knew it was six o’clock, and my dad would
be home any minute.

The time past by and he didn’t arrived. My mom was beginning to

worry. Mom called the office: he had left at half past five, as
accustomed.

Finally, after thirty long minutes, his car appeared in front of our
house. Mom asked me to stay as she ran out to see him. I looked
through the window again and I saw dad was getting out of the car
with difficulty, as if he were carrying something heavy.

Mom entered the house with a complacent smile, saying something

about choosing names. After her, entered my dad, with a box
carrying two dogs that have been my best friends since that
wonderful day.