In my grandparent’s backyard, there is a huge walnut tree containing two trunks at its base—I have never understood whether it was only one tree or two, planted right next to each other. It is as if someone has cut the tree into two unequal pieces with a huge sword. If I wrap my arms around the thicker half of the tree, my hands barely touch each other. Some of the branches that are grown out of the thinner trunk crossed over to the neighbor’s house, who is always complaining about the black spots that the walnuts leave on their stoned yard.
Therefore, in order to prevent the neighbor’s execration, my grandfather has to climb a 12 foot ladder to cut all the branches that are breaking into the neighbor’s territory just before those green balls decide to loosen up their ties with the tree. It is clearly seen that people get speechless when the beauty of trees hug their soul; however, I shudder to the point of tears each time I look between the branches of this tree. The tree’s shadow is normally the place to relax for everyone, but for me the tree’s shadow is the reminder of the coldness and the darkness of possible death.
For me the cool morning breeze which blows under its shadow is more like thorns that slightly wound me. Each time I lay back on these chairs, the stunning green view of the tree turns all black and fear conquers every inch of my body. The tree, which is the example of corpulence and life, for me is the statue of weakness and death. A memory goes back to when I had just turned thirteen. This was about the time that I got my first official reputation of being a “responsible baby-sitter” among my relatives.
The Essay on My First Time 2
It was the summer of 98, and my friends had just graduated high school, and we all decided to take a trip. Where to go we all thought? We were thinking where could we all have fun and not have any age requirements? So Cancun was the place to be, first thing I did when I got off the plane was transfer some money to some pesos. When I tried to get pesos the cashier tried to rip me off, but there was ...
Whenever there was a party, all the moms would take their little babies of different ages to my room, so I could watch their children, while they were enjoying the party. I used my God-given talent to establish a decent connection with children and tried to create the same warm and peaceful environment that they felt in their mothers’ arms. I was successful. However deep inside me, I was not a hundred percent satisfied. I knew something was missing here, but I was not sure what. I needed more proof that I deserved to be called responsible.
Carrying this label felt so good though, that I was ready to welcome any new challenge to prove to myself and others that I deserved it. Days and weeks passed until one Friday evening; there was a funeral a few streets away from my grandparent’s house on this day. Because of my grandmother’s call the night before, my mother and my aunt decided to gather in my grandmother’s house, so they could all go to the funeral and share sympathy in their loss. It was one of my grandmother’s longtime best friends. It was around 3:15 p. m. hat my mother and I arrived, and a few minutes later, my aunt and her one-year-old daughter arrived. As usual, I hugged my cousin and carried her into the room which my grandpa had just designed as a playroom for his grandchildren, and our parents went to the kitchen to do what they do the best— gossip. My happy minutes were passing by so quickly. The clock stopped moving when my mother and my aunt entered into my castle. “It is going to take ten minutes,” my mother said. “Just watch the baby. We will be back very soon. ” As soon as I heard these words, my body started shaking.
Finally, I realized what had been missing. Yes, I never had been given the responsibility of watching a kid all by myself—alone in the house. Therefore, I responded positively. Right before they left, my mother and I made eye contact. There were no words, but I felt the fear in my mother’s eyes. She knew I had not been given this responsibility before. I thought she may change her mind; therefore, I calmed her fear with these words, “Everything is going to be all right mom. ” My mother and my aunt smiled at me and they both left.
After they were gone, I decided to take my cousin to the backyard to play. The wind was gently pushing the dark colored clouds around. It was around 4:00 p. m. The sun was still hurling her shiny rays down into the red, velvety, rose petals of the grandpa’s garden, laid against the ten- foot wall. Suddenly, I watched as a butterfly crossed over the wall and landed on one of the roses. Her wings stopped their motion and were placed in a position that reflected the sun rays into my eyes. The golden colors of her wings were sparkling under the sun. The wind blew.
The Essay on Tribute To My Mother
“I believe in love at first sight, because I love my mother since I opened my eyes.” I admire this woman with all my soul. We have been together through thick and thin. She has giving me the reasons to consider her a strong, supportive, determined and loving woman. Who has showed me values, respect and how to face situations without giving-up. My family was raised in Cuba; we were a poor family, ...
The butterfly’s wings did not sparkle any more. I raised my head up to the sky and noticed that the sun was hiding behind the clouds as if she had gotten frightened by something horrible. I could hear my grandpa’s voice inside my head saying, “Be careful of the well. Don’t get too close to it. It’s so deep if you fall into it, there is no chance of surviving” over and over. My body felt as cold as ice; I was shaking. I could not see my cousin anywhere. As I was turning my head around, the picture of the well caught my eyes and everything else got absolutely black except the well.
The voice inside my head was getting louder and louder as I was getting closer to the well. I quickened my steps as much as I could. While I was rushing toward the well, everything occurred in my mind: the minute that I had an eye connection with my mom, her fear, my promise, and…. The minute I got there, I could not believe my eyes. The thing that I could not imagine had just happened. My cousin was in the well hanging by a nail. Her kicks against the red bricks, stroked over each other in a circular path of the well, making the dirt fall into the ultimate black hole.
I could feel my soul and my heart tearing apart as her movements were making her red pleated dress rip faster. I knew I didn’t have even a second to waste. I tried to yell for help, but my mouth would not open. I had to do something, so I bent down on my knees and grabbed my cousin’s hand. Felling stronger than normal, I pulled her up as quickly as I could, and then held her tightly against my chest. My body was still cold and my hands were still shaking. I could not control my tears that were running down my cheeks. I took a close look at my cousin.
The Essay on School Dress Codes/Uniforms
Back in the early to mid 90’s a hit television sit-com, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air featured Will Smith as the main character. His mother forced him to move from the projects in Philadelphia to live with his very successful aunt and uncle in the “high toned” suburb of Los Angeles, Bel-Air. Although he was in general a “good kid” in the show, he was definitely a bit of a rebel. He and his cousin, ...
She was totally fine, not scratched, but her dress was all ripped up. I carried her into the house and started to dig into the bag which my aunt had always kept a couple of extra dresses for my cousin. I chose the one which was similar to her ripped out one and put it on her. I looked at the clock. It was about time for my mom and my aunt to get home. I took a look at the ripped dress and the well through the window. I took the ripped dress to the yard and threw it in to the well. At that moment, I heard the door being opened.
I ran in to the room and sat next to my cousin just like nothing happened. My mother came in to the room and smiled, and I smiled back. Her look told me how proud she felt about me. After this, each time I was going to my grandparent’s house, I had a fear of my secret being discovered, until one day, I found out my grandfather and two other men wearing dirty and ripped pants around the well. They were having a conversation, and I was trying to read their lips. I was so nervous. The conversation was over and my grandpa entered into the room. Now that our house is being crowded with the grandchildren, I decided to get rid of this dangerous well. ” My grandpa continued, “I talked to the workers. They are going to fill the well tomorrow. ” I jumped up and truly supported my grandpa’s idea because no one else could understand the danger of that well as I did. When we were visiting my grandparent’s that next week, my grandfather had made a pretty little garden in place of the well. This garden, which I believe my secret has been buried under, now holds the walnut tree.
I now am sure that no one will discover my secret. Although my secret is going to be safe forever, the memory of it will never be silent in my mind. Things happen daily in our lives; however, an intelligent person is one who makes a lesson out of each incident and applies it in her or his life. I think I am intelligent. This tree with all its beauty, always reminds me of the terrible experience that I had. I have learned that now whenever I am given a responsibility, even though minor, I take it seriously because sometimes, the little things can cause major problems.
