I was sitting by myself in the Bangor airport contemplating experiences that would be fitting for a college essay, when an older man interrupted my isolation. As soon as he started to approach me, I immediately tried to look invested at the book in my lap. As a native New Yorker, I consider strangers talking to me a threat. However, he soon introduced himself, asked a few questions, and was curious about the marine biology camp I just attended. After these introductions, the man said how he attended college in Maine and never left. I learned about his wife and how he misses his children who moved far away. After speaking for an extraordinarily long time with no chance of disappearing, he asked if I wanted to stand on a receiving line to greet two hundred and fifty soldiers coming home from Afghanistan. Reluctantly, seeing no way to remove myself from this situation, I put my book back in my backpack and followed the man.
Hand after hand came for me to shake. With the first fifty hands that I shook I was trying to think of what I could say to these soldiers who put their lives at risk for our country. Every smile I gave and every word I spoke I analyzed in my head, regretting each interaction. I have had no previous experience speaking with people who have just gone through such tribulations, and simply seeing them smiling and laughing amongst themselves shocked me.
With the next one hundred hands, I noticed the calluses and wondered what those hands had touched. I looked at my own hands with their bright green, peeling nail polish, and fading calluses from childhood when I loved swinging on the monkey bars. Since then, my hands have touched numerous drumsticks for music competitions and performances. They have typed essays about politics, history, and about literature that I have read. They have splatter painted my bedroom walls against my parents' better wishes. They, hopefully one day, will create advertisements for companies and experience different cultures around the world. Like the soldiers' hands with whom I came in contact, my hands have many more scars to acquire and many more life experiences to witness.
Throughout the two hundred and fifty handshakes the discomfort I initially felt seemed to vanish. I became more aware of the ordeals people face and the importance of a simple touch. This short fifteen-minute encounter made me realize how attempting to overlook people and trying to hide from new experiences was prohibiting myself from living fully. The elderly man was unaware that by asking me to participate he had a direct impact on my life.
When I departed form the receiving line and as I was preparing to go through security, the older man walked up and thanked me for participating in the event. He told me how much it meant and how glad he was that some young people are still considerate. He thanked me again and shook my hand.
You have a great essay! Nice work, very descriptive. You may want to explore ways to make the introduction a little more colorful, spruce it up with some tidbits of description. I made a few suggestions on grammar adjustments, these are just minor things. Good luck in school :)
As soon as he started to approach me, I immediately tried to look invested atin the book in my lap.
However, he soon introduced himself, asked a few questions, and was curious about the marine biology camp I justrecently attended.
After these introductions(we became acquainted?) , the man said howtold me that he attended college in Maine and never left.
After speaking for an extraordinarily long time with no chance of disappearing, he asked if I wanted to stand on a receiving line to greet two hundred and fifty soldiers coming home from Afghanistan.
This sentence is too long, re-word this or split it up into 2 sentences.
