Screwdriver: A Healthy Dose of Vitamin C — A Narrative Language Arts Essay for College Admissions #TBT #2003
I had fissured open the shell by way of a handy screwdriver and exposed the shiny, mysterious world within.
The damage made to the scarred plastic molding of my Fisher Price tape recorder could never be repaired, but this fact held no importance – I was in. Finally the fruition of my careful plans and painful execution left me in longtime sandy-haired neighbor’s domicile armed with a grocery sack loaded with a prying bar and Toy Story Woody’s oration amplification system.
For years – probably closer to months, as I had lived only 4 years prior to the incident – the color-coded buttons and frightfully plain exterior of My First Recorder had tantalized my curious mind; but I knew the real magic was inside.
Mom and Dad anticipated my probing instincts, and warned me not to destroy my toys, but the force that drew me to the innards of things overpowered their stern warnings. I hid the bag of goodies carefully between the bushes outside my bedroom window and waited for my chance.
Precisely on schedule, Mom came in fitted with only the heartiest of nap-time books, and commenced reading. At the first signs of her drooping eyelids, mine glued shut while I lay behind them, waiting for my chance. A quick peek out of an eye confirmed my timing, and I tiptoed into the kitchen, scrawled my and my neighbor’s name on the closest piece of paper with the closest Crayon, and out the door I went. Five painful minutes later my investigation began in frustration for I had brought the wrong type of screwdriver – but I continued, full of apprehension for what was inside.
Truthfully, the hundreds of screws and twirling pieces hardly held my attention for more than half an hour, but the experience and memory significantly help define who I am.
— Wes Turner. 2003.