Heidi And John example essay topic

A. .. To be a child. What a wonderful thought. For you, the memory of childhood is probably clouded with the early school years, fights in the sandbox, and the inevitable, mother-distributed apple-juice boxes. If that is the case, I am sorry. Childhood for me, was so far above and beyond all that.

What do I mean? Well I will tell you... So if you are comfortable, we shall begin. Until about ten or eleven years ago my family bred in the woods out on Irish road in Dundee. My family, that being the family of the Pope's, was, as you know, home-schooled. But it bears mention, that in the era of which I speak, the term "home-schooled" had an entirely different meaning than the negative connotation it has donned in recent years; during the schooling hours, my mom could be found behind the shed.

Always. In her left hand, she held a cup of coffee, from her mouth dangled a cigarette, in her right hand or shoulder she cupped the phone, and her piercing "phone-talk laugh" could be heard shattering the atmosphere without notice or warning. At random intervals of time, probably ranging from about thirty-seven to forty-three minutes, she would yell inside the house "Go measure something!" . And that was it. That was home-schooling. Now take note, that I mentioned this was only the case during schooling hours, those being until noon or noon-thirty on any day that we were still inside that late.

On any other day, I, my two older brothers and older sister practiced the basics. Surviving, disappearing, and of course, taking life. We had a perfect system. We each new our part in the scheme of things. Tom, at nine years older than me, was the powerhouse.

He was six foot tall at twelve, and weighed one-hundred-eighty pounds without an ounce of fat on him. By the time he hit fourteen he had grown an additional four inches, and put on another forty pounds of choleric, well conditioned muscle. He ran the show so to speak, with his ability to inflict physical pain. He had no qualms about beating anyone to tears, blood and worse, except me.

I was exempt from any corporal punishment from him, and anyone caught inflicting it on me would then in turn receive his or her fair due from Tom. John was about four years younger than him, and not quite so interested in inflicting pain with the use of his fists. John was the military brains, so to speak. At ten years old, he was laying traps, using bait and developing programs of torture to which the ancient Chinese would surely have doffed their hats.

John had an unexplained knowledge of all the enemies with whom we were at war. These included Orcs, Russians, Ring Wraiths, crazed animals, clowns and of course, hobos. Then there was Heidi. I really don't know what to say about Heidi. At two years older than me, she was my physical pier, but somehow, none of us really respected her position in the squadron. We had to be creative in giving her positions in our maneuvers.

She was basically the girl to whom all of the worst of everything was given. The one great thing about Heidi was that she wasn't too bright, so she never really grasped the fact that she was considered an inferior. I, as the youngest, would have naturally faced some serious difficulties, were it not for my comrade Tom. As I mentioned before, he enforced that I was not to be hurt in any way (which is a broad definition to say the least), and most commands that he had would be given to me to relay to the other two.

Through this, I felt that I had been entrusted with a sense of power, even though I was deep down aware that the real source was Tom and I was only the coper wire between the generator, and the two light-bulbs. I had a few advantages to make up for my age however aside from Tom. First, I was faster than Heidi and John. Second, I knew jujitsu and could hold my own in ground fighting with the two of them.

Now that you know a little bit about who we are dealing with here, I will give you a true story that took place in the our childhood, which was exempt from elementary school and apple-juice boxes. A childhood that will make sandbox fights seem like pampered living. A childhood that rocked... Every morning, John, as the intelligence officer, gave us a briefing. He told us of the danger we faced that day. Often, it was something that he had seen in the swamp behind our house the night before.

Tom and I did note a few times that it was strange that alligators, aliens from Neptune, and roman soldiers all found reason to walk through the swamp, up to their necks in the black water, holding their weapons over their heads. But neither of us dared to question him. The few times we had tried to suggest our own ideas, John would quickly prove to us in many ways that all we were doing was making up fictional characters that we had "imagined", whereas he actually was sharing with us real live enemies who's true existence he would demonstrate to us. How he did this, I know not, except that he definitely inflicted a real and true fear of what might happen if we failed to eliminate or capture our target for that day.

Sometimes, we would be on the trail of the same quarry for for a full week before we were able to somehow resolve the situation. Other times, a few days into a chase, John would inform us that he had seen the alien ship, or the battering ram full of Orcs, taking off in the middle of the night, probably to return in a few months with help. And sure as clockwork, be it three, or four or seven months later, he would see that same ship from back in march land, with over a dozen aliens this time, and we would be back at it. After our briefing, we would take what supplies we needed, and group up at a designated checkpoint. Once we reached the checkpoint, talking was not allowed unless it was a direct order from Tom through me. One morning, in early April, John woke us up around seven, and using tactile (the military language using hand signs and signals) he ushered us into a ring by my bedside.

There he produced a gorilla costume complete with a plush mask and furry body suit, and instructed Heidi to don it. He then explained in hushed tones of the bear (a somewhat unoriginal foe, we all agreed at first) that he had heard mauling the hobo from the previous days hunt. At that point, we were all intrigued as hell. Tom and I suddenly knew why Heidi had to wear the costume, but we did not tell her. John then faded out the back door with a military precision that we all envied. Tom, unable to duplicate it, pulled what we would no call a parkour, and flipped over the back deck railing charging across the lawn to the weapon pile hidden in our nearest fort.

I knew my duty, and grabbing Heidi in a police grip with her arms behind her back, hauled her off kicking and fighting - silently mind you - to rendezvous at the weapon pile. There, Heidi was tied up hand and foot with some of the countless ropes that we had stored. Tom then took control of her, and she ceased struggling. John and I armed ourselves with wooden spears, spikes, a shovel, and a bow and arrows for Tom's use for when the time came.

During the twenty minute walk through the woods we shared a silent agreement that regardless of what happened, that night, we were eating raw bear meat for dinner. John, stooped every few feet to exam bear tracks that led straight to the noose tree. This is a tree that we had hung Nero from a few weeks earlier as punishment for his genocide against the early Christian Church. The noose, perfectly tied by John, was still in position. Thinking back, I now wonder how a pre-internet child John's age learned to tie a full hangeman's noose, but I have come to realize that such mysteries are probably better left unanswered. We soon discovered that the hobo had made his camp about ten meters away, hidden in the bushes.

We all agreed that this would be the best place to hold our vigilance over the poor soon to be dead sister of ours. Hold it... What? Tom and I suddenly knew this was evil. As the realization of what we were about to do truly sunk in, we shared a horrified look. We knew we couldn't sacrifice our sister.

Wait. Yes we could. As Tom held Heidi, John calmly explained to her that the she had been dressed up as "the most delicious thing" in order that we catch this bear. He told her that we obviously would not be able to kill the bear until it was slowed down with her in its stomach. So she would have to die. Heidi was horrified, but I think that deep down inside, she too, knew that it was what had to happen.

Tom tied her to the tree with her arms spread out above her head. He then lowered the noose to her neck and tied it with very little slack. As he did this John spread and staked down her feet with rope and railroad spikes that he produced from his camouflage pants. During the proceedings I talked with the tearful Heidi to assure her that I would oversee the proper distribution of her worldly possessions after her passing. I was to receive all of her clothes - most of them male hand-me-downs from John - and a good portion of her weapons, which were in better condition than any of ours. John, on his request, was willed her costumes.

Tom was to have her bike "for stunts and shit" he explained to us in answer to our questioning looks upon his asking for the pink Barbie design banana seat. We all bid Heidi our solemn fair wells, and wished her a swift passage to the next life, with promises that it would not be in vain. Then we took our position in the hobo camp, watching her, waiting for the bear to make its last move. When Heidi realized how close we were, she kept attempting conversation with us, which would clearly show the bear that she was not alone.

So John thought it best that we move out of her eyesight, which, unfortunately meant that she had to be out of ours. We justified this saying that we would hear when she started screaming and run back to take down the bear. As we waited we practiced ninja tactics in a small clearing. The mosquitoes however soon became too intense and we eventually wandered away, as Heidi slipped farther and farther into the backs of all of ours minds. The day wore on... At this point I want to ask you something.

Have you ever been willing to sacrifice a family member for the sake of glory and blood? In all of your sheltered public schooling, would you ever have imagined that while you were connecting the dots with large purple crayons, that somewhere, out in the woods, a young girl was dying? That while you all pointed and laughed at the little boy who wet his pants during story time, a child was being fed to a bear by family members? Family members who calmed the child by promising to "take that fucker out" as soon as it had eaten?

... Okay then. As evening fell, Tom, John and I took to playing baseball in the fifteen meter clearing directly behind my house which we called a back yard. The intensity of the game, coupled with the pangs of hunger, soon caused us to completely forget about the most delicious thing, tied to the noose tree, half a mile through the woods.

Dinner time... What was dinner like for you? No doubt, it was a pleasant experience providing you weren't served spinach or zucchini. No doubt your mom and dad would talk about work, while the baby drank formula from his bottle, all the while you argue in hushed tones with your sister who sat next to you...

Must have been nice. Our dinner rarely included my father who worked a swing shift. While feeding, my family didn't talk. The business was, eat as much meat as you could before your sibling got it, and woe to any who was grossed out by the sight of my mother's bear breast sucked on barbarically by James's savage gum less mouth. When it came time to my sister, arguing was the least of... Shit my sister!

I looked at John. My eyes brimmed with tears. I knew Heidi was probably dead by now. Tom, I could tell, was troubled as well.

John nodded at us both and then spoke the words we were all thinking with a solemn confidence "Well, she's definitely dead". My mom stopped eating. John realized his mistake of speaking during the family feed, especially the condemning words of our late sister's pathetic plight. "Where is Heidi?" mother asked in that "I already know what you mother fuckers did" tone that she performed so flawlessly.

John started to explain to her that he had last seen Heidi playing by the stream with large stones in her pockets hours earlier, when the phone rang. As mom stood up to get it, John signed to us that he had the situation under control, and that we needn't worry, Heidi's body wouldn't be found anyway. I was momentarily comforted, before I realized that with my sister dead, I would never see her again. Which, regardless of parental consequences, would be emotionally trying for most children. Tom told John that we were all fucked, and that mom wasn't going to buy the river story. Mom came back to the table and said "Jackie just told Mrs. Minkie that she saw you four go off into the woods, and that Heidi was tied up again".

At this point, you have to realize that Jackie Minkie was Heidi's best friend, who somehow managed to turn perfectly normal situations like this into "big deals" as far as our parents were concerned. I immediately regretted not using two most delicious things as bate. In the frantic rescue mission that ensued thereafter, my brain was practically whirring with questions such as 'Do I really want to see the remains of my sister? ... Yes...

Why the hell am I the only one without a flashlight? ... ' And 'Will James have eaten all the chicken when we get back?' After what seemed like an eternity, we came upon the noose tree, where Heidi's remains were presumed to be hanging. What we saw shocked us.

Heidi was there. And She was still very much alive. It was only a matter of a few days before Heidi started talking again. And within a few weeks we were allowed to use the ropes again. Until then, we had to make do with vines and belts whenever the situations called up on it. One moral that I would like you to extract from this story is "alls well as ends well", as clich'e as it may now seem.

But seriously, in the end Heidi was fine, and to see her now you would never guess what happened. Because of this, the intrinsic evil of our actions is now tertiary. Long winded was this particular example? Perhaps.

But I really want to get the point across to you. This was no isolated incident. The sheltered life of the suburban or even country folk of America has nothing to offer in the form of hobo tracking, clown netting, zombie proofing, or Russian warfare. So why waste your children's time with life like that. Here is my instruction to you. Move to an Irish road.

Live a life thats worth living. Sure, every now and then, your golden-child-daughter-Heidi may end up tied up as "the most delicious thing" for thirteen hours, but to quote Tom "She " ll get the fuck over it.".