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Mr. Granary Essay
He is dead! Months ago, people pulled him down, making way for a new residential area. At the same time, they demolished my little kingdom, my old pretty house, and they killed him. Mr. Granary! I wonder whether he remembered the images of a lonely four-year-old boy wandering around, waiting for his parents to come home. And I wonder whether he remembered why I call him my teacher.
I was born in a remote highland, where maize was the main crop and flood happened averagely twice a year. When I was four, as the first turning-point in my life, my family moved to the countryside. We rented an isolated out-of-use co-operative's granary to live. And that day was the day I met Mr. Granary.
Mr. Granary was always calm, thoughtful and solicitous. Above all, he understood me. When I wanted to build a castle, he gave me bricks and wood pieces. When the drains got clogged in a pouring rain, he gave me an ocean where I managed to catch paradise fishes escaping from nearby ponds. I tried to be a hunter, then he satisfied me with swarms of mice, locusts and dragonflies. And when I was counting every minute, looking forward to my mother's figure, he taught me patience and calmness.
Back in the day, the bricks Mr. Granary offered me might not be as fascinating as my friends' balls or marbles. The oceans he created might be tiny compared to touristy beaches. But better than anyone else, I know that they were uncomparably precious. People now ask me for my prescription of success in solid geometry. I say there is no difference between those complicated drawings and the wood pieces from which my little castles were erected. My friends wonder why I can always stay cool while waiting in a turn-based exam. I say waiting has so far been nothing to me. For three years, I have been using only one black pen which has now turned white and chipped. No one knows that all mediocre objects could possibly become a soulful hero in every adventure I once created. My friends eagerly wait for each version of my flash computer games. And they do not know how acquainted I was with inventing my own games only to play them alone when I was four.
The first day at primary school, the day I was no longer the king of a kingdom nor a powerful lord of all my pets, I was just a clumsy soccer player. I could not sing the simplest children songs and I did not know how to talk to a girl. I was different, but interestingly, I loved it! My friends could teach me to play soccer someday, but they could never tell me how to come up with a soccer match in which three teams compete. Frequent conversations could give me courage to face a girl, but they would never show me how to make my friends immerse themselves in my endless adventure stories. Mr. Granary did this! He never bothered teaching me something I could learn by myself. He did not want me to immitate anyone because my differences built up my personal values. He made me a person whom I am now really grateful that I have been. And in the end, that is why I call him my teacher.
A freezing winter afternoon, I dropped by the empty space where Mr. Granary used to lie, standing there silently for a while, doing nothing. I breathed slowly, recognizing something familiar which I had so far forgotten -- a damp smell, a cool feeling. And imaginarily, I saw an old grand building with a four-year-old boy chasing after dragonflies.A little confusing, but once I understood it, it was very good. I like how you continue to relate back to Mr. Granary. However, you only really talk about his impact on you in paragraph 5, and a little in 4. Also, this essay would be perfect if it had a title.
Help me out? No one is answering mine either :(
Your essay is unique, it talks about the precious moment you had with Mr. Granary and the experience gained form it. To tell the truth, I was absorbed by it. Good work, I think you essay is good already.
