Rashaun Sells
Mr. Wallin
WR. 121-04
18 March 2013
Harold Michael Lawless There are many people that are special to me. I have my mother who is my best-friend, my older brother who was the man in our family that helped raise me, and my little brother, who is so kind, gentle, and the happiest kid that keeps a smile on my face. They all are special to me, but there is one person who is at the top of my special list. When I was a young kid, I always wanted to be down at the bowling alley. Why is this? This is because that’s where he loved to be. I’d walk into the bowling alley; it would be loud, with the mix of music and peoples laughter. I’d look down by the lanes to see if he was there, and if he wasn’t, I’d keep walking. It felt like there were hundreds of people around. Finally, I would find him, by one of the lanes. As I’d sit down, I’d smell the corn dogs and french-fries coming from the concession stand. Every now and then you could hear the balls hitting the lanes, then the knocking of the pins going down. I remember watching him bowl, in my mind he was the best one there. He had the perfect form, he’d release the ball and his thumb would come up to his ear, and I would say the words that he says to me when he taught me the form, “yah, just like that kiddo, make sure you take that thumb to your ear, slide it over the top of that ear, swipe your hair back, and say, I’m a cool kid!” The ball would hit the lane, knock the pins down, and then I’d hear everybody around him cheering for his strike. He’d turn around, you’d hear the smack from high fives, and then he’d look up at me with a big smile that stretched from one ear to the other. A cowboy hat is always what he wore. Underneath the cowboy hat, he was bald on the top and had little fuzzy looking white hair around the side of his hair. His face had wrinkles. He always wore glasses, but he had very deep brown eyes. He was a husky man, always wore a button up t-shirt, cigarettes in the t-shirt pocket, chest hair showing on the top of his buttons, and his big belly sticking out.
He had a deep voice, but it was the voice that I loved to hear. He was always telling stories, usually about when my cousins and I were younger and all the trouble the boys got themselves into. He was a comical man. He would make fun of us, tell jokes to us, and make comments to me about my mom that always made me laugh when she was mad at me. He always drank black coffee. I don’t know how he drank it. He would always ask me if I wanted a drink, then laugh at the face I gave after tasting it.
My grandpa died on May 27th, 2006. Six years after he died, we are all huddled around his grave. It’s sunny out, with a couple clouds in the sky. There’s a light breeze in the air. I can smell the freshly cut grass. I look around and see spots of flowers on the ground, trees that cast shadows and behind me there is a hill. I can hear sniffles from my family members. It’s a hard day for us all. We all stand in a circle holding hands. Across from me is my cousin Justin. He is wearing my grandpa’s cowboy hat. I kiss his grave, and say my prayer to him. We all grab a balloon and a sharpie marker, and we write a note to him. I can smell that sharp nose burning smell of the sharpies. When everybody is done, we count to three and let the balloons go. As I let mine go, I look up into the sky. The clouds are gone and it’s a clear blue sky, filled with all our different colored balloons.