My Rite Of Passage Essays Compare Contrast High School College Essay

Eddie looked at the boat, down at his GPS, and then back up at the boat. My father and I paused, looked at each other, and laughed. If that’s not what made me like him, it was his talent at fishing.“Now we’ll just drift across the top of them,” he would say, and every 10 minutes we pulled winter flounder and fluke up over the chrome guardrails and plopped them onto the boat’s gut-stained deck.

Its inevitability hung on his every movement—his walk a metronomic shuffle, his smile a laborious barn raising across his face that pulled jowls up huge distances.So it would never rouse in me even the same species of emotion, the same gasped-at surprise of an aunt being whisked away in her early 60s by leukemia.The old man’s death, I’d subconsciously told myself, would be something closer to locking up a bar after a good night—a chore done in silence, but in the strange wake of the fun that preceded it.For me, the slow conversation was nodes on a family tree morphing into real people, the way dots on a map, once visited, become real places where you can get a good burger or picture yourself living—or places you decide are only worth driving through, not worth stopping at again.The exception to the general stillness was Emily, a slender, energetic woman flitting around the house with hospitality.Everyone looked at everyone else pleasantly, blinking and occasionally saying words.My mother tried to kindle the conversation, poking at decades-old embers. “We’re going to visit your Great-Uncle Eddie and Aunt Emily in Falmouth,” my mother said one summer during a camping trip on Cape Cod, said it like we were just stopping at a gas station. Eddie was an old man the entire time I knew him, a relative I didn’t get to know until I was 12.Pinches went unpunished, thigh space was taken through eminent domain.Little things no one would miss, and sometimes socks, were slipped through the pop-out window slits as we drove.

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