When I think of my childhood, my little red golf cart comes to mind. When the typical person gets ready to go to their lake place they think about the water, relaxation or perhaps an ice cold drink. Unlike most I have always thought about riding around on my golf cart. I have loved my little golf cart since the day I first saw it, but I never thought that it could hold such significant sentimental value, nor all of the memories that it does. Arriving at my Grandma and Grandpa’s lake cabin, my sister Kelsey and I hopped out of the family van to see a cherry red golf cart right in front of our eyes that read our last name “ARNTSON” in silver cursive engraved on the front. We raced to the driver 's seat with smiling faces. The excitement swirled inside of my tummy as I grasped the smooth black steering wheel for the very first time. Turning the key, the engine came to life. Being that I was very …show more content…
I would speed away in the cart down the old gravel road waving politely to my lake neighbors, and onto my grandpas land I drove. I would spend days on the peak of my grandpas hill where I would park in the middle of all of the pine, black oak and bushy trees which served as my private hideout while I would giggle with my imaginary friends or simply pray. Laying on top of the white plastic golf cart roof I would take in the familiar, calming smell of pine needles while soaking in the sun. Every weekend I would always look forward to going down to the lakes so I would have the opportunity to drive around, go on new adventures and make new memories. Whether I needed a weekend of relaxation or one filled with excitement the cart would never leave me disappointed. No matter what new items are bought for the lake cabin my favorite will always be my little red golf
Looking at our society and my busy life filled with tests, deadlines, work schedules, and demands for my time coming at me from every direction, I almost with I could go back to that place where time and concerns for the outside world were of little or no consequence. How I love to remember, to relive the memories of my adolescence. My world was perfect then.
A gust of air audibly exited my lungs as I opened the creaky door of my mother’s beat up four door car. Charley didn’t have the same spring in his step that was present in his youth, but he did his best to run over and hop in. I wish he didn’t try so hard. My heart sank as he made vain attempts at pulling himself into the vehicle. I bent down and gave him a little assistance. He was quick to turn around and look at me anxiously. He never felt comfortable if I wasn’t sitting with him. I took my place in the back seat and slowly closed the door.
Contrary to what most think, an “Arnold Palmer” is not just a blend of tea and lemonade. One day, all might be able to swing a golf club like Arnold Palmer. Golf has been around since the thirteenth century and was introduced by the Scottish and Dutch. The main goal of golf is to reach the hole in the fewest amount of shots possible. One main difference between golf and many other sports is the lower the score the better. Regardless of the fact that the game was once banned, golf is now enjoyed by many (“The History of Golf”). Despite the images in common golf commercials, the golf swing is endlessly complicated.
At night I would sit on the porch with my grandfather, Drink milk with ice, eat sardine, and listen to his stories.
As we pull into the racetrack I look around. There are a ton of trailers which means a ton of cars, which also means a ton of people. Aside from all the diversity we all love the same thing, racing. We all unite together, we are all there for the same reason and we all have the same goal. To win the Kyle Larson Outlaw Kart Showcase. One day, two Nascar drivers, three classes, over 225 cars. The biggest outlaw kart race in history to ever be held, and I’m apart of it. I can feel the tension of everyone around me, whispers of people talking about all their set-up ¨secrets¨
I peeled open my eyes, feeling the cloth beneath me. It feels like night now but I can see the light shine through the logs on my roof. I pushed myself from my unsteady bed and walked downstairs. My brother, Devrik, greeted me with a good-bye as he walked out the door to work with our father in the fields. Today was my day to milk the cow. I walked over to my chest in the corner of the room. 'Lillian Cartwright' was engraved into the chest. I shuffled my hands through the chest looking for my Bible. I soon picked up the leather wrapped book and placed it on the table side next to the chest. I went back to the chest and picked up my skirt my aunt had just made for me and started to wash it. I then went outside to lay it on the string outside to dry.
As a young kid I always loved bikes, cars, and basically anything that can go fast. So when I was seven years old I got to ride my first dirtbike. The dirtbike was our cousins so I rode it as much as I could. When I first saw the dirt bike I was very confused at all the complicated controls and buttons it had. It took me a few hours for my dad to teach me and help me learn how to use every thing. The dirt bike itself was bright yellow with black stripes across it and It reminded me of an old rotten banana but I still liked it anyway. Since I was seven years old I had training wheels which were thick bulky tires that looked older than time itself. Before I got onto the dirt bike I had a helmet and bodysuit to protect me incase I fell or crashed. The helmet was yellow and too big for my head like the bike and the bodysuit was a dark black and way too large for me.
As my brother, sister, dad, and I pull up to the house, I look at it with uncertainty, not knowing what to expect. It was a small blue house and had flowers planted around it. We walked up to the house with me in the lead. That didn't last long though. I was too nervous, so I stood still and turned around, waiting for my dad to get ahead of me.
One sad day, that perfect life I had came crashing down. My dad was told that he was being let go. I was not a huge golf fan, but these people did not understand at all. Ravenwood was my home. It was where I had grown up. I had so many memories from that place, and they had taken it away from me.
It was a breezy and cloudy June morning as I made my way through Door County traffic. My best memory was driving up here was when I was about 10 head dangling out the window as the wind blew in my face. As I drove through the small towns I saw the rustic houses, cute cafes, and pedestrians enjoying their day. I drove a little farther and suddenly saw the great and sparkling blue Lake Michigan and the ferry dock where I would soon be boarding. This would be my 100th time on this boat going to Washington Island, but I knew would still get the same sick feeling. I slowly approached the ticket booth, purchased my two-way ticket, and pulled onto the boat. It was a windy day and the waves were splashing high on the side of the ferry. I got out of
The car ride lasted for what felt like an eternity, my parents continuously tried to make small talk but it never helped all I could think of was what I lost and couldn’t ever get back. We finally arrived at the gate leading to the house which looked more like an old...
I would jump over the waves when they got to me and get washed up on shore again. Eventually the sun went down and it got a little bit dark outside so we headed back to the camper; walking up that huge hill and we were so wet the sand stuck to us, I hated
After a lovely thanksgiving weekend it was time for Grandma and Papa to go back to Rochester. My father was helping take their bags to the car with Grandma, it was just me and Papa left in the house. He hugged me closely, and as we pulled away and whispered to me “You’re gonna do great, Harrison. You’re the only one who’s got any sense around here.” We said goodbye and my dad took them to the airport. This last memory of Papa was the only thought on my mind as I lifted a pile of dirt with a shovel and dropped it onto his coffin.
As we pulled out of my parents driveway, the circumstances seemed very surreal. My entire way of life had been turned upside down with only a few hours consideration. I was very much “at sea” in the ...
A red brick house on top of a small hill is where my memories reside. A slightly curved gravel road led to the front of the house. Eight or nine rose brown apple trees randomly covered the plush green lawn. Down the small hill, muddy brown water trickled down a ditch with cattails surrounding it. One enormous willow tree sat in the background, to the right of the house, to complete the picture. It almost seemed like a picture from a postcard. But when you're a kid none of this really matters. All that really matters to you is to have as much fun as possible. My memories don't come just from this beautiful picture but from the little things making it.