Reluctantly smearing
sunblock over every exposed inch of my fifty-three pound body, I prepared
mentally for the arduous task that lay ahead of me. After several miserable
fishing ventures which had left my skin red and my hook bare, I felt certain
that, at last, my day had arrived. I stood ready to clear the first hurdle of
manhood, triumph over fish. At the age of seven, I was confident that my rugged,
strapping body could conquer any obstacle. Pity the fish that would become the
woeful object of the first demonstration of my male prowess.
Engaging me deeply was my
naive eagerness to traverse the chasm dividing boy from man. In fact, so
completely absorbed was I in my thoughts that the lengthy journey to our
favorite fishing spot seemed fleeting. The sudden break in the droning of the
engine snapped me to reality. Abruptly jarred back into the world, I fumbled for
my fishing pole. Dangling the humble rods end over the edge of the boat, I
released the bail on the reel and plunked the cheap plastic lure into the water.
Once I had let out enough line and set the rod in a holder, I sat back to wait
for an attack on the lure. The low hum of the motor at trolling speed only added
to my anxiety, like the instrumental accompaniment to a horror film. And then it
hit. A sharp tug on the line pulled me to my feet faster than an electric shock.
I bounded to the pole, and when I reached it, I yanked it out of the holder with
all of my might. My nervous energy was so potent that when I tugged on the rod,
I nearly plunged headlong over the side of the boat and into the fishs domain.
Although adrenaline streamed through my veins, after five minutes both my
unvanquishable strength and my superhuman will were waning steadily. Just when I
was fully prepared to surrender to the fish and, with that gesture, succumb to a
life of discontentment, pain, and sorrow, the fish performed a miraculous feat.
Shocked and instantly revived, I watched as the mahi-mahi leapt from the oceans
surface. The mahi-mahis skin gleamed with radiant hues of blue, green, and
yellow in a breathtaking spray of surf. Brilliant sunlight beamed upon the
spectacle, giving life to a scene which exploded into a furious spectrum of
color. The exotic fish tumbled majestically back to the sea amidst a blast of
foam. With this incredible display, the fish was transformed from a pitiful
victim to a brilliant specimen of life. I cared no longer for any transcendent
ritual I must perform, but rather, I longed only for the possession of such a
proud creature. I hungered to touch such a wonder and share the fantastic bond
that a hunter must feel for his kill. I needed to have that fish at any cost.
The fight lasted for only
ten minutes; nevertheless, it was a ten minutes which I will never forget. When
my fish neared the boat, I felt more energized than I had when the fish first
struck. At my fathers command, I netted the fish and hauled it into the bottom
of the boat. I was nearly bursting with exhilaration.
Released from the net, the
fish dropped to the bottom of the boat with a hollow thud, and my jaw dropped
with it. I stared in complete horror at the violently thrashing fish which was
now at my feet. Within minutes, all of the fishs vibrance, color and life had
vanished. Instead, came blood. Lots of blood. It sprayed from its mouth. It
sprayed from its gills. Shortly, the boat was coated with the red life blood of
the mahi-mahi. It now lay twitching helplessly while it gasped and choked for
oxygen in the dry air. I felt sickened, disgusted, and utterly lost in
heart-wrenching pity. As I watched the color drain from the fish, leaving it a
morbid pale-yellow, I realized that I was responsible for the transformation of
a creature of brilliance and life into a pitiful, dying beast.
Despite my brothers cheers
and praises, I rode back to shore in bitter silence. I could not help thinking
about the vast difference between the magnificent creature which I saw jump in
the sea and the pathetic beast which I saw gasping for life in the bloody pit of
the boat. What struck me most forcefully on that day, though, was the
realization that I was no mere bystander to this desecration. I was the sole
cause. Had I not dropped the hook into the water, the fish undoubtedly would
still be alive. I, alone, had killed this fish.
In retrospect, I am
relieved that I reacted in such a way to my passage from boyhood to manhood.
Although my views about many things, hunting and fishing included, have changed
considerably since that day, I still retain a powerful conscience which actively
molds my personality. One cannot dispute the frightening potential of the human
race to induce the permanent extinction of every life form on the planet. As the
ability to change the world on a global scale is arguably limited to one breed
of life, so, too, is the force which impedes instinctual and conscious action,
the human conscience. My own sense of strong moral principle reaches far beyond
simply averting Armageddon, however. I often find myself unable to disregard
this force of moral and social responsibility in whatever I do. Part of my keen
social conscience is demonstrated in the effort I have made to be a positive
intellectual leader among my classmates and in the community. Realizing how
lucky I am to have been born with a high aptitude for learning, I feel sorry
that others who also work very hard cannot achieve like I have nor be rewarded
with success as I have been. In a leadership role, I hope to constructively
guide my peers to find their own success and see the fruition of their own
goals. By serving as class president for three consecutive years, as founder,
member, and chairman of the peer counseling society, and as a peer tutor, I have
enabled others to reach their goals, while finding personal gratification at the
same time. I am fortunate in that I have been given the opportunity to optimize
the usefulness of my personal virtues in helping others; I can only hope to
continue heeding my conscience in work as a research chemist, or whatever I may
do in the future. It is my right and my obligation, for I firmly maintain that
the charge of a humanitarian conscience is one which each person must eternally
bear for the good of humankind and all the world.
COMMENTS:
“A good example of how a
talented writer can make a standard topic appealing” was the general
consensus. One officer did think, though, that the writer got “overzealous”
with his language and could have avoided some of the more corpulent sentences
like, “Engaging me deeply was my naive eagerness to traverse the chasm
dividing boy from man,” by writing with a simpler, more natural voice.
I really enjoyed this
essay. It starts with a wonderful, humorous touch, but describes vividly and
movingly the young boy’s first experience with death and with personal
responsibility.
In reading this essay,
I get a strong impression of the kind of person this young man must be,
someone full of good humor, but great sensitivity as well. His easy way with
the language convinces me that he would be an excellent student, and a
welcome addition to the class.
This was a nicely
written piece. This student took time to think about this experience and was
able to articulate his memories of his fishing adventure rather well. This
could have been another bland essay but the writer took you on the adventure
with him, from boyhood to manhood.
I like the way he took
his fishing adventure and transitioned to his life today and how and what he
learned from it.
What I liked most
about the essay was that the writer told of an experience in his childhood
and was able to take that experience and make the connection to his life and
goals of today.
CampusNut Notes:
This essay was borrowed from EssayEdge.com.
Well, we call it borrowing. They might call it stealing. You say
potato, I say potato. You say tomato, I say tomato. EssayEdge.com
employs a bunch of Harvard students to help you make your lackluster essay into
one that will actually improve your chances. Nope, they aren't free.
But college ain't free, either. If you need the extra help, use
EssayEdge.com. If you want no help whatsoever, use CampusNut.com.
