Good Example Of Essay On Skipping Rocks
Growing up with a sister just a year and half older was hard. I was always too young to do the fun things but just old enough have the same chores and responsibilities. I looked up to her, loved her, hated her, resented her and admired her all at once. When we grew older our mother would always tell people stories of how I used to follow her around calling her “ria” because I wasn’t able to say Maria yet.
One of my most cherished memories of my childhood was the day Maria taught me how to skip rocks. She was nine and a half years old and I was just barely seven. It was a school day and Maria came home in tears which made her large green eyes shine even more than usual. I was playing with my favorite toy, a model horse with a long mane that I loved to brush and braid. I was still too young for school in my parent’s mind, having big glasses and poor vision they had chosen to keep me a year behind. I resented that like so many other things. I wasn’t allowed to go to school but I still had to study at home. I was “homeschooled” as my parents called it. Promising me I would get to go to real school when I was a little a older.
Maria slammed the door behind her as she entered the house. I heard the sound of sobbing and sniffling that she had surely been holding back on the bus ride home. She tromped up the stairs like a tiny elephant. I knew she didn’t want to talk but, mom thought otherwise and followed her.
“What’s wrong Maria?” I heard mom call after her. Her voice was heavy with concern. Maria didn’t answer. Mom followed her up the stairs and went to her room. I don’t know what was said in that room but after about 20 minutes, Maria came down the stairs. Her big green eyes were still shining but she wore a small smile on her face. “What are you doing?” she asked playfully.
“Playing with my horse,” I replied.
“Toy horses are for babies,” she said, “Let’s go play outside.”
My face lit up with joy. Maria hadn’t asked me to play with her since she had started school a few months ago. No longer homeschooled she had better things to do than play with her little sister who still studied at home.
“Well are you coming or not?” she asked.
I dropped my favorite horse without a thought and followed her out the door without any shoes. Maria and I often went barefoot out on the farm where we grew up. She only started wearing shoes when she started school. When mom wasn’t looking she kicked hers off on the front porch and we were off, where to I wasn’t sure, but I was happy to follow Maria.
“Let’s go to the creek” she said. I followed silently, enjoying the feel of the grass and dirt beneath my little bare feet. The creek was where we had used to play before Maria had started school. It was just across the street from our little farm house, right behind the sheep barn. It was early September and that meant the weather was warm but not too warm. It was the kind of weather that made you want to put your bare feet in the water but not to get all the way in. The creek was just perfect for that but not quite deep enough for swimming.
As we approached the creek I could hear the sound of the flowing water. That sound always filled me with a sense of adventure and excitement. Maria and I had named the creek and the forest surrounding it “The Magic Place” because we felt there was something special about it. We pretended and maybe even half believe that there were fairies and other mythical creatures living there. Maria even swore she saw one once.
When we reached the creek Maria plopped down on the bank and stuck her feet in the water. I did the same. We sat their silently, enjoying the cool water on our hot tired feet. The smell of myrtle leaves floated through the air and the cool water sparkled. When the light hit just right, it almost looked as if the stones were made of silver. I took a deep breath in, inhaling the smell of the fresh water, grass, and mud all mixed together. It was a smell I loved.
Maria stood up and picked up a small, round flat rock. She held it in her hand a few minutes and then tossed into the water. Much to my amazement the rock skipped joyfully across the water like a ballerina dancer. “Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked breaking the long silence.
“A boy at school,” she said, “A stupid boy.” She added and skipped another rock which hopped across the creek with equal enthusiasm. I knew better than to ask her any questions about this boy, but, I had a pretty good feeling he might be the reason had been crying earlier.
I got up and tried to do the same. I picked up a rock about the size of my small fist, and tossed it in the water. It landed with a big plop, splashing both me and Maria.
“That’s not the way she said. It’s too big. Let me show you.” She handed me a smooth flat rock about the size of three quarters. “You’ve got to have a flat one, and you’ve got to toss it like a Frisbee, so it skips along the top.” Maria held my wrist and made it move in smooth flicking motion over and over again, “Just like that” she said, “ok now you try.” I took the rock in my hand. Knelt down by the water, aimed and flicked my wrist just like she had taught me. I held my breath as the rock skipped, once, then twice, then three times. Maria laughed.
“You did it!” she cried. Her voice was filled with genuine pleasure and excitement. She never said it but I knew she was proud of me.
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