tration EssayAm I Write?
Illustration Essay: Topic #1
By Stevin Wilkins
January 29, 2013
I never used to write. In fact, I didn’t much like it. Little did I know that writing would become obsolete and a physiological requirement for the well being of my life. From an early age on all I did was read. I grew up in an isolated environment where books were my escape, and escape was necessary from the hardships of home. I remember being a young seven-year-old boy wearing a pillowcase around my neck fastened with a pen. I was eating animal crackers at the time, and my step dad was calling out for me. I stood up from my crouched position and raised my hand as I learned from pre-school, and said, “ I’m here daddy.” At that moment my step father grabbed me by the cape harshly compressing my trachea purposefully, shaking me back and forth with his hands around my neck as I began to choke on the appetizing cracker animal crumbs within the back of my throat. I didn’t understand at the time what was really going on. My mother came out of the room and my dad acted as if nothing happened and told me to get ready for bed. I was confused and considered the approach of my dad being that of a strange way of showing compassion. How could I have known any better? That night I would lay with my Dr. Suess book, curled up in a ball with the little yellow book held closely to my chest, thinking of what the “Hoo’s in Whoville” were doing right at that moment in there lovely homes with there lovely parents who never choked them, or hit them. But always praised them and complimented there every imperfections. Even at an early age, I remember being four years of age, sitting on my grandpas’ lap, as he read the funnies to me from the paper. It always warmed me to hear what exciting new adventures Garfield the Cat would venture on into. Or what Snoopy was up to, that character of a dog. One day during the winter of my fourth birthday, my grandpa lie limp and pale flushed...
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