Ben+D.

Jack’s hair is short and scratchy and brown, like the skin of a ripe kiwi. It always feels prickly and clean when you rub your fingers through it. And me, mine is coarse and disobedient when I try to comb it. It acts like a naughty child when he doesn’t want to eat his veggies My mom’s hair is wild and recklessly curly, like a giant roller coaster ride. It twirls, frizzes and blows backward and forward. And my dad, who has bairly any, has hair that is like trimmed grassed on an indoor soccer field. 

Comfy buses ran us up to the mulch covered Genesee challenge course where we teamed up and suspended ourselves 20 ft above the ground. Encouraging team leaders held us on belay while we climbed up splintery poles. Nervously, I crawled up the wobbly Leap of Faith pole and about half way up, my knees and feet started knocking like someone was at the door. As I jumped down, I still quivered from the thrill. When we went to the hoop swing, I started up the metal ladder leaning against the tree. The only problem was I got confused half way up and realized that I should have taken the rope ladder instead. Driving out of Genesee, I felt grateful for this opportunity, proud that I pushed myself to do things I didn’t think I could, and happy that it was the weekend. 

I am a swimmer. I wonder if people see how hard I try. I hear my family cheering for me. I want victory for me, for my team, for everyone. I see the water rippling around me. I am an IMer.

I pretend to act like a famous swimmer. I feel pain in my legs and feet. I strive to do my best. I worry I will lose, but I keep going. I think about my feelings when I am under the water. I try to show good sportsmanship. I hope my coaches know how much I appreciate what they do for me. I am a swimmer.