In which paragraph of the memoir does the author relate an anecdote? A paragraph 6 B paragraph 3 C paragraph 5
(1) America has always been a nation of restless people. Look at me. I haven’t sat still since the day I was born. In the mid-1850s, thousands of people said “Farewell” to the Midwestern states, climbed into covered wagons, and headed west. In the mid-1950s, my mom and pops said, “See ya!” to the East Coast, climbed into a station wagon, and headed west, too. Their restlessness embodied something essentially American, if a little reckless, and my childhood reflects this national spirit.
(2) This was the era when Americans’ love of cars and the open road was growing. Well, so I’m told. Interest in driving was spreading like spilled milk on linoleum.
(3) One night I tiptoed downstairs to peek at a television show my parents were watching. I felt fascinated by a world where everything was black and white. In the show, a woman named Lucy and her friends were on a cross-country road trip. They all sang “California, Here I Come.” To be clear, Lucy didn’t so much sing the song as shock it with the electric power of her loud, off-key vocals.
(4) That summer my parents announced that we were moving to Santa Barbara. Had the song about California inspired them? Or did they just want to get far away from the TV?
(5) Seems they couldn’t resist the pleasure of squeezing everything—unwieldy suitcases, fragile china, Grandma, and my kid brother’s pet guppies—into a cramped, sputtering station wagon. By the time we had finished packing the car, it was as wide as a two-lane highway. At least nobody would be able to pass us.
(6) Did our tin can on wheels even have air-conditioning or backseat safety belts? Not in those days. Instead, we equipped our car with reckless enthusiasm and peanut butter sandwiches.
(7) Having given you the big picture, let me show you a close-up of the morning we left. “Mom, Pops,” I announced proudly. “I’m going to help you with the driving.”
(8) “Oh, that’s all right,” said Mom. “Your father and I have it covered.”
(9) “Yeah, but you’ll get tired. I never, ever get tired, isn’t that right, Pops?”
(10) “No, you never, ever do,” my Pops agreed, sighing.
(11) “Great! So I can drive?”
(12) “N-o, no,” said my parents in unison.
(13) “But why not?” I protested. “I know what direction to follow, and I even know a song we can sing on the way. So why can’t I drive?”
(14) “Sweetie,” Mom said gently. “You’re only six years old.” Clearly, they were unwilling to see reason.
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