The Whole Fishing Hole Story

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David Seuss Elchlepp English 101 Rewrite Essay #1 July 19th, 2012 The Whole Fishing Hole Story It was a hot summer day just outside Steamboat Rock, Iowa. My brother and I, under the care of our single Grandmother, were walking down an old country road to a fishing hole. Grandpa Luiken had passed, and we were the little so-called-angels sent by Ma to help Grandma feel better, which felt more like a demand than a request to me. It was like a 1950 tradition where my Ma thought it was still important to look after the grandparents instead of sending them off to an old folk’s home. My dad was working two jobs and my 2-year-old brother was too young to join us. I was six and my other brother was just a year older with more privileges, as we walked down that old lonely gravel road with Grandma, seemed as normal to me, as eating cornflakes with milk, juice and toast for breakfast in the morning. I remember watching dust kick off my shoes as Grandma encouraged me to keep on going. The place we had to get to was just across that wooden creek bridge. My mind wandered, “I could run down this road barefoot like I always do and feel the sharp edges of the rocks hit my feet, something I knew my brother would never do,” I thought, “I better not cuz this was Grandma’s day, and I was ordered to not take my shoes off and get myself into any more trouble.” When we got to the wooden old bridge, I could hear the water, but I could only see the bank from the other side. Once we stepped onto the bridge, I leaned toward the rail to sneak a peek, but my Grandma pulled me back to keep me in line with her middle of the road military walk in the center of the bridge. My brother was the lucky one. He had the pole, was free to roam the bridge and could see the water, or throw rocks and carry the tackle box. He had all the opportunity to show everyone that he had helped Grandma and

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