1. Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha. Henry Dobbins carried peaches. Dave Jensen carried a toothbrush, dental floss, and bars of soap. Ted Lavender carried six or seven ounces of premium dope. Mitchell Sanders carried condoms. Some emotional burdens would be hopelessness, love, fear, guilt, and trust. I thought of hopelessness after I read when they were waiting to get picked up by the chopper and it made me think they all carry a slight emotional burden of hopelessness. Feelings were you don’t know when you will be out of war, when you will be home, and if you will get picked up from the chopper. The burden of love because Jimmy Cross is battling with his emotions and imagination of him and Martha together. The burden of fear because all these men carry things that help them not to be scared anymore, or cover up their fear with these items. ...view middle of the document...
Physical burdens don’t really work out for Jimmy Cross as he likes to fantasize about Martha and distract him from his duty. I think the emotional burdens come later when they are away from war and back home.
Never one to save anything, but when I do it must mean something special. Thinking back on it I really didn’t think it was something that reminded me of my uncle. My uncle who had passed when I was 12 years old, the best brothers out of three; even bettering my old man. When he had passed I received one of his trophy fish he caught. He loved to wake up early and get out on the water. I received it from my grandpa (his dad) and hung it up on a pillar in my garage. The fish isn’t the cutest broad of the bunch, its sharp teeth and pale brown skin looks like a mixture of mud and water. It’s about forty-eight inches, the length of a six foot man’s whole arm. When I do look at the fish here and there when I get out of my car, I am reminded of a man who always cared for everyone deeply and was one of those individual where he made sure you had fun.
The thing I carry is made of leather, fits my hand, and catches a leather ball, it is my baseball glove. It sits inside a bin outside in my garage, a glove that was bought for my junior year in high school by my loving grandfather and never used in a real game. Pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into this game. It was a game I was a natural at. I grew to become one of the best players on the freshman squad. My ego than grew, but I was never one to show it on the field; only in my mind. Sophomore year rolled around and I decided to get lazy and not go to the strength and conditioning in the winter time to build my skills and make me a better player. I then was reminded that year how not going to these tasks chipped away at my skill, and my ability to grow as a player. It was now going into junior year and the same cycle occurred. This time I got to the opposite end of the pole, and decided not to try out. I instantly regretted that decision as the baseball team that year made it the state finals. Every time I see that glove I am reminded of my failures. I am reminded of the consequences of giving up.