Above is my informational piece (third piece) in the form of an Infographic for ENG 303.
It is impossible to not glance back on those days
from time to time. What seemed like love then
turned out to become frayed,
frayed in a way that keeps me wondering what could have been,
what should have been. Looking back with a feeling of suffocation,
I realize she has remained my friend,
leading me to believe true love is being kept at bay.
She has also given no considerations to other capable men.
And not to mention her stare of blatant desire,
something I find to be puzzling, yet reassuring –
a gesture symbolizing comfort and belonging.
It is the expressions that do not by the means of the mouth meet
that still spark that flame, that kind of flame generated by a birthday cake trick candle,
the kind of flame symbolizing passion, hope, love.
<a href="” title=”Be Safe, Not Sorry”>Be Safe, Not Sorry
Above is my argument piece (my second piece) in the form of a PowerPoint for ENG 303.
It is a simple flip of the lever, an action that takes literally less than a full second to follow through with. The fact that it seems as if over half the drivers on the road today neglect to use their turning signals when appropriate can make driving for me some kind of experience. Utilizing one’s turning signals when necessary may seem like something so insignificant to some people, but take it from me: it is far, far from insignificant. There have been far too many close calls when I’ve been behind the wheel due to the individual in front of me turning left or right at the last second and not choosing to indicate in which direction they are headed. Long story short, that small lever that sticks out next to everyone’s car’s steering wheel is not just there for the sake of being there; it’s something that, if used properly, can very well both prevent and eliminate car wrecks from occurring. All drivers should familiarize themselves with this lever if they have yet to do so already.
Below is the final draft of my narrative piece for ENG 303:
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My Second Home
I remember the smell of freshly mowed grass on that blistering hot summer day.
I remember the view of the field on which we were going to be practicing.
I remember putting up a fight against my grandfather as I tried to do anything in my power to get him to take me back home.
I remember continually flailing and kicking as no other child has flailed and kicked before.
I remember finally getting to the field and giving everyone on it the cold shoulder.
I remember plopping down hard on the ground and refusing to get up.
I remember not budging for anyone or anything.
I remember baseballs being plucked out of a bag to throw around.
I remember seeing a baseball for the first time and being amazed by it like a kid at Christmas time when he receives his first Big Wheel.
I remember finally getting up the urge to stand up and hold one of the baseballs in my left hand to see if its feel was as appealing as its look.
I remember not wanting to let go of that ball for anything until I saw a child right across from me awaiting a throw.
I remember my grandfather yelling “Throw the ball, Clayton! Let’s see what kind of arm you have on you!”
I remember not hesitating for one more second as I quickly hurled the ball to my partner.
I remember the ball reaching him in the air slowly but surely.
I remember improving more and more as we continued tossing the ball back and forth.
I remember not wanting to stop when the coach called everyone over to run the bases.
I remember not even knowing what bases were at that point in time.
I remember inching back to the back of the line so I could learn how to properly run the bases from watching the other kids do it.
I remember being more nervous than ever when it came my turn to run around the infield.
I remember tensing up at the last second and running the wrong direction right after the coach screamed “Go!”
I remember all the kids laughing hysterically as soon as they saw I was running the wrong way.
I remember immediately stopping and flopping back onto the ground as I cried and moaned uncontrollably.
I remember my grandfather rushing over to me instantly to calm me down and let me know that everything would be just fine.
I remember straightening up shortly after hearing my grandpa’s soothing words.
I remember the rest of practice going much, much better for me.
I remember smiling from cheek to cheek as the first game finally rolled around.
I remember falling in love with the game of baseball right after hitting the ball hard my first time up to the plate.
I remember the rapid growth I experienced following that first t-ball game and, eventually, that first season.
I remember loving the game more season by season as I came to understand it more day by day.
I remember thinking how I could ever envision my life without the sport of baseball in it.
I remember not ever wanting to look back on my life during the years in which baseball was not a part of it.
I remember seeing the game of baseball as not just a game, but a way of life.
I remember being happier on that diamond-shaped field than anyone ever could be.
I remember seeing the baseball field as my second home, and I always will.
It was a day I will forever remember, a day I did not believe then would become one of my true passions in life. Combining my flailing arms, kicking legs, and resistance to my grandfather trying to calm me down as best he knew how, a lot of that first practice was a living nightmare for me. The image will forever remain an imprint in my mind of him being right there next to me to ensure I didn’t actually run home. Baseball was a sport I never saw me admiring much at all given how that first day of practice went. Fortunately, though, thanks in large part to my grandfather – one of the most positively influential people in my life – being patient and persistent with me to tough it out for just one season, baseball has become something I could simply not see my life without. That diamond-shaped field was and always will be my second home.
It was a day I will forever remember, a day I did not believe then would become one of my true passions in life. Combining my flailing arms, kicking legs, and resistance to my grandfather trying to calm me down as best he knew how, the practice couldn’t have gone any worse. The image will always remain an imprint in my mind of him being right there next to me to ensure I didn’t actually run home. T-ball was a sport I never saw me admiring much at all given how that first practice went. Fortunately, though, thanks in large part to my grandfather – one of the most positively influential people in my life – being patient and persistent with me to tough it out for just one season, t-ball and, eventually, baseball is now something I could simply not see my life without. That diamond-shaped field was and always will be my second home.
Though they may be creations of nature that replenish the soil beneath our feet, thunderstorms are natural phenomenons that have always brought out the frightened and timid child in me. Those often unexpected “rumbles” and “booms” of thunder are characteristics of thunderstorms that I have still, until this day, not been able to get accustomed to. Not to mention the frequent lightning strikes that come with startling roars of thunder…these are dashes of light from ground to sky that I wish to never open my eyes for given the simple fact that to destroy a man, only a single bolt must brush his exterior. The thunderstorm is and always will be one of the things I dread most for as long as I live.