Descriptive Essay On Monterey Beach

Monterey Beach

To many Californian residents, Monterey Beach might be a common place to frequent, but for me, last summer marked my first visit. Upon arrival, I did not know what to think; I do not like beaches. For the most part, my memories of beaches were filled with dirty, prickly sand and cold, harsh waves. I am sure everyone has also had the unpleasant experience of the sand being stuck between the creases of clothing and the space between toes, resulting in cuts and unnecessary amounts of sand everywhere. How could anyone possibly enjoy beaches? It was just another overglorified part of California.

Even the burst of refreshing air that hit my face could not wake me up from my stubborn mindset: I would not enjoy this day. Of course,

My feet sunk in the sand endlessly and I felt useless as I tried to catch up to them. The good part was that there was no burning sensation since the autumn winds were starting to settle. It was easy to deal with the sand that way. When I looked at the water, however, that was a different story. My brother and older sister had no hesitation in running to play in the consistent waves, but I just could not do it. For a long time, the fear of open water had plagued me. I ended up sitting with my knees curled up to my chin, watching as the waves rolled by. The dark waters seemed to swallow up whoever

My mother narrowed her eyebrows as my father tried to force the jacket on him, but he jerked his arms away and threw the jacket to the ground. I stared at him, bewildered. He always wore this jacket, and it was undeniably getting cold, so why was he refusing to wear it now?

After what seemed like hours, my brother finally mumbled something I never thought I would hear him say.

“One of the kids at my school said I was a fat jerk when I wore this jacket.”

These words sent me into a fury. How could kids be so mean to each other? Kindergarten is supposed to be the time of innocence. I looked at my parents helplessly, but they acted the way they usually do. They simply tried to reassure him with an air of nonchalance that it did not make him look fat and that the kid was lying. Maybe it was an overreaction, but I wanted to scream at the person who told him that. In the end, I simply took his jacket and wore it, telling him that it looked nice on me, and it was more his size, so it would look even better on him.

This was the way the people in my family dealt with things. We did not care, or we put on some sort of indifferent tone.

My parents wanted to teach him control. In the worst situations, control of emotions and actions shows a clear mind that has the ability to overcome. Maybe that is something I should use,