Pieces of the Past Erin Sullivan
1 Nate slammed the garage door shut with a loud bang—hopefully loud enough for Granddad to hear from inside the house. Nate was angry, angry at his parents for abandoning him at this house during his vacation, angry for having to spend a beautiful sunny day clearing out a dark and damp garage. 2 The dusty garage once housed vehicles, but over time it became cramped with Granddad’s possessions. Tightly packed boxes, bags, and trunks were stacked to the ceiling.
Time for that stuff to go," Granddad announced that morning. "You go through those boxes and keep what you like, and then we'll have a garage sale with the rest and divide the profits."
Nate was annoyed because he was stuck at Granddad's house, and he longed to hang out at the beautiful park and play baseball with the other kids his age. He surveyed the boxes gloomily, considering where to begin. He pried open a filthy plastic container, and inside he found measuring spoons, duct tape, and crumpled file folders. Rubbish, Nate thought to himself, as he tossed it into a garbage bag.
The next box contained Granddad's old suits—neatly folded and packed away after Granddad retired. "Who's going to want these old clothes?" Nate wondered. They were the kind of old suits you see at a garage sale for fifty cents apiece. As he rifled through Granddad's old wardrobe, a childhood memory flashed back to him. After work each day, Granddad used to pick up him from school and always kept a surprise for Nate in his suit pockets—a baseball card or a stick of gum.
Nate scanned the garage, considering what to tackle next. His eyes fell on a wooden crate tucked way in the back with the name “BENNY” marked in orange paint. The crate was almost hidden behind other boxes.
Nate carefully opened the crate, removing a buttery soft catcher's glove and a collection of cards held together by a rubber band. He flipped through the pack, recognizing some legendary players. Then, Nate pulled out a black and white photograph of a boys' team and scoured the faded image for a familiar face. There was Benny—Granddad—in the middle row, suited up and staring proudly at the camera. He looked about fourteen, just about Nate's age. Nate thought about what that boy must have been like as he imagined Benny hovering by second base, eyes glued on the batter, preparing to spring into action.
Then, Nate pulled out a black and white photograph of a boys' team and scoured the faded image for a familiar face. There was Benny—Granddad—in the middle row, suited up and staring proudly at the camera. He looked about fourteen, just about Nate's age. Nate thought about what that boy must have been like as he imagined Benny hovering by second base, eyes glued on the batter, preparing to spring into action.
Nate inspected the garage with fresh eyes. Each container held a story, he realized—a series of clues about Granddad's life. He speculated about each one. Maybe this assignment wouldn't be so horrible, after all.
The Grandparents" from Run with the Horsemen by: Ferrol Sams
1 The grandparents had a great deal of influence in the family circle, especially on the children during their formative years. No real Southerner has ever been able to consider very seriously the highly touted ancestor worship of the Chinese. It is watery by comparison. Teethed on "what we had before the War," weaned on the accomplishments of successful kin, nurtured on the pronouncement of dominant family traits, and lullabied on the recitation of genealogical alliances of several generations, no Southerner could ever mature without a profound sense of family. This spilled over into awareness about other families in the county, and one learned what to expect from different tribes in both looks and actions.
his knowledge came largely from the grandparents and usually in the long, conversational family evenings before television, radio, or accessible automobiles. In the winters the gathering was around the crackling fire in the grandmother's room, in the summers on the wide veranda outside her bedroom door. The grandfather was the raconteur, the grandmother the critic, prompter and censor. Before they were five, the children knew that "Blood will tell," and "Pretty is as pretty does," which they learned from the grandmother. From the grandfather the boy learned "You can't make poundcake out of manure," a comforting maxim indeed when one is forced to assume responsibility for the actions of others, which happens frequently to a farmer.
Which section of Pieces of the Past would MOST LIKELY be different if the story took place in a setting like the one described by Ferrol Sams?
A) Section 2
B) Section 3
C) Section 5
D) Section 6
Please Help/ AYUDA
Brainliest if correct