Prompt: Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.
As a child, my parents were veritably obsessed with the idea that if I was surrounded by educational toys, these toys would somehow force knowledge to fill into my brain and I would grow up to be the next Einstein. They probably gathered this idea from the parenting books they purchased en masse. "What sound does this farm animal make?" games littered my room; Mozart tapes filled my ears as I slept; and by the wall near my bed rested a bookcase full of picture books. Every night, my dad would sit down on the sofa and say "Alright, time to pick out a book."
What he should've said was "Pick out a book, but not that one because we've read it every night for the past five weeks." But he didn't, and every night without fail I would walk over to the bookcase, look for the shiny black cover of my favorite book, and carry it over to Dad so he could read it to me. The "book," "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," was actually the famous Robert Frost poem laid out over sketches of some woods on a snowy evening. Even though it should've been boring and mundane to me after the 200th retelling, I never got tired of the way the poem calmed me and let me slowly drift off into dreams. By the line the only other sound's the sweep I was fast asleep.
I open my eyes and I'm in high school. It's 10 pm, I have two essays due tomorrow, and that math homework that I've been putting off is finally adding up. Frustrated, I walk outside into the dark to think about the hopelessness of my situation. An easy wind brushes past my cheek, reminding me of that old poem I used to love. Welcoming this brief reprieve from dejected moping, I begin to recite it from memory to the open ear of the night sky. Whose woods these are I think I know... I think I actually feel a little bit better. Between the woods and frozen lake on the darkest evening of the year, my worries begin to disappear like footprints in the snow. By the time my favorite line rolls around, I feel as calm and secure as I had with my father on the sofa. With my newfound tranquility in tow, I march my way back into the house. After all, I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep.
Ok, that's it! Tell me what you think; does it sound cheesy or fake or anything? Also the ending lines come from the poem, so they weren't just randomly thrown in there. Thanks!
As a child, my parents were veritably obsessed with the idea that if I was surrounded by educational toys, these toys would somehow force knowledge to fill into my brain and I would grow up to be the next Einstein. They probably gathered this idea from the parenting books they purchased en masse. "What sound does this farm animal make?" games littered my room; Mozart tapes filled my ears as I slept; and by the wall near my bed rested a bookcase full of picture books. Every night, my dad would sit down on the sofa and say "Alright, time to pick out a book."
What he should've said was "Pick out a book, but not that one because we've read it every night for the past five weeks." But he didn't, and every night without fail I would walk over to the bookcase, look for the shiny black cover of my favorite book, and carry it over to Dad so he could read it to me. The "book," "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," was actually the famous Robert Frost poem laid out over sketches of some woods on a snowy evening. Even though it should've been boring and mundane to me after the 200th retelling, I never got tired of the way the poem calmed me and let me slowly drift off into dreams. By the line the only other sound's the sweep I was fast asleep.
I open my eyes and I'm in high school. It's 10 pm, I have two essays due tomorrow, and that math homework that I've been putting off is finally adding up. Frustrated, I walk outside into the dark to think about the hopelessness of my situation. An easy wind brushes past my cheek, reminding me of that old poem I used to love. Welcoming this brief reprieve from dejected moping, I begin to recite it from memory to the open ear of the night sky. Whose woods these are I think I know... I think I actually feel a little bit better. Between the woods and frozen lake on the darkest evening of the year, my worries begin to disappear like footprints in the snow. By the time my favorite line rolls around, I feel as calm and secure as I had with my father on the sofa. With my newfound tranquility in tow, I march my way back into the house. After all, I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep.
Ok, that's it! Tell me what you think; does it sound cheesy or fake or anything? Also the ending lines come from the poem, so they weren't just randomly thrown in there. Thanks!