Braids: A Short Story

Braids
"Which one is the softest, but it needs to be durable!" I needed the perfect souvenir from my cousins. "Will, this one!" I reached out and felt the fresh soft navy blue rope for the first time. It was a beachy sailing bracelet, fairly common in the souvenir shops on the coast of Rhode Island. The rope was braided in flat trios of thin rope and seemed to continue forever as the braids never come to a clean knot. It was a bit crumpled, small and meaningless sitting in its jar, but it soon found itself as my new history book stretched around my wrist ready to take notes. As I carelessly slipped on my new trophy, I did not understand it’s full worth. The scratches and rips that would soon accumulate on my bracelet would always remind me

It's braided navy ropes brilliantly intertwined like my cousins constant teasing and our love of spending time with each other. I would never lack its warmth for the next 7 years of my life. The soft and warm braided rope has become my spirit of continuity. Staying awake until five in the morning every night full of blunt pranks, childish giggling, never-ending wrestling, dented board games, and telling our fearsome story of the furry Taillypoo in our tent listening to the tide rolling in and out of the beach has been a virtually ingrained into the fibers of my bracelet, its backbone. Every year, my mother, my two sisters, and I visit New England for 2 hectic weeks with my mother's family, and the sad return to our home in Atlanta. No matter where I go a piece of my family from up north is cemented onto me like my favorite novel in my backpack: My

my family is a rowdy bunch of competitors who never give up. Ever since I was a child golfing with my grandfather and 2 cousins, we all played to win, and would never give up even if we were 12 strokes behind my grandfather. My family having a strong sense of perseverance, always looking forward to the next shot no matter how terribly the last was shanked. My grandfather, being raised during the Great Depression, was well versed in the principle of perseverance. He would incessantly tell stories that, "taught [him] a great deal the value of hard work, perseverance, the necessity of self-discipline, and the value of education." (Robinson 41) He would always say,"forget about the last stroke" but to remember what I did wrong so I can always improve. Similarly, my now sun bleached braids allow me recollect my achievements and more importantly how to better