Nurse Anesthetist Descriptive Writing

Grass Ceiling
“Are you kidding me?” I groaned boisterously as the last remaining trimming string snapped and the weed whacker gradually churned to a stop. I had been so consumed by my thoughts of planning my senior speech, crafting my life plan of becoming a nurse anesthetist, and figuring out what I wanted to eat for breakfast, I failed to notice my quickening pace and that I had outworked the machine. It was a humid Sunday; the grass was still wet with morning dew when I had abruptly woken up and tied on my decrepit, battered, green-stained sneakers. As I began the trek to my neighbor’s house the sweet strong smell of wet grass lingered in the air.

With the exception of my dad, there is a conspicuous shortage of testosterone in the house. The seesaw is always imbalanced as the females of my house dominate over my dad. To compensate for this void, I would have to undertake the role of the male child. My father would drag me outside for hours on end to pull weeds, rake leaves, and pick up all the sticks in the yard with the promise of a long-awaited ice cream. All of my friends saw these tedious tasks as jobs a boy would take on, not a girl. The narrow-minded neighborhood boys openly disparaged my role as a yardman. …show more content…
I became more than a “handyman;” I was a well-established landscaper. Although I did not necessarily enjoy lawn work, my landscaping career took off when my neighbor recruited me to mow and weed whack his yard for a small salary. My vocation began when I was fourteen years old, and back then it took me two hours to execute, but today I have it down to an artform and can complete my assignment in less than forty-five minutes. Society typically sees manual labor as an occupation that a man would do and I am always interrogated with “Isn’t it hard?”, “Why do you do it?”, or my personal favorite “Why don’t you just try