“Jeszcze raz.”
The steel bar pressed down on my hands, making the bones in my palms ache.
Once more.
“Once more, or you’ll sleep in the shed tonight,” chuckled my crazy Polish father who, despite the grin, was probably being serious. I wasn’t going to take any chances, so I lowered the bench press bar to my chest again, breathing in as Tata had shown me. I thought my elbows would snap like twigs and the Olympic bar would come crashing down on my neck, squashing it like a cardboard box on recycling day. My older brother moved in to help but was stopped by my father who humorously started chanting “Arnold! Arnold!” in a thick Polish accent.
He loves Arnold Schwarzenegger, and I don’t know how many times he’s told us that he watched a pirated version of The Terminator back in communist Poland. It was his favorite movie. I exhaled and pushed, with my arms and chest burning, and placed the bar back onto its resting place. My father was smiling, and the chant continued.
In Poland, my father opened a gym, which is the reason there’s more exercising equipment in my basement than in most small fitness establishments. Ever since we were children, he’d always urge my brother, sister, and I to exercise regularly. “Exercise is healthy, good for your heart, it makes you strong. One day, you will say ‘Gee Tata, I am so healthy and strong, thank you for forcing me to exercise.’” We’d often respond by rolling our eyes and just trying to do what he said, my sister always adding some adolescent female remark about how things weren’t fair. “Nothing is fair,” responded my father.
Whenever I was doing sit ups, my father would call me Bruce Lee. He always did that, using superhuman examples of fitness to encourage and inspire us. It seemed like a joke, but eventually I began aspiring to those superhuman examples. I’d look in a mirror and flex, not quite a Bruce Lee, but man was I healthy and strong. It drove my brother and sister crazy, the fact that I began to start enjoying to work out. I’d go downstairs by myself sometimes and just enjoy the challenge of adding heavier weights, stopping to look at the large mirror on the wall from time to time. I didn’t see Arnold Schwarzenegger or Bruce Lee in that mirror; I saw me. I grew happy with who I was and I was thankful my father had pushed me so hard. It was his way of teaching me to value perseverance and family.
I sat up on the bench and smiled, feeling that tingling feeling in my arms that I knew would hurt like hell in the morning. I flexed.
“Look Tata, check it out!” I grinned. Sternly, I tried at my thickest Austrian accent. “‘You’re clothes, give them to me.’” He smiled.
“Jeszcze raz.”
This particular work of Alex’s stands out as one of his best pieces. There is an authentic and raw quality in the piece that is genuinely honest and enjoyable to read. The realism and tone of the work is accentuated by various subtleties that are as equally relatable as they are foreign, letting the reader see Alex’s world through Alex’s eyes.
The character development of Alex’s father begins with the very first sentence, and in more ways than one. Alex uses one phrase to not only reveal ethnic and cultural characteristics but also to reveal an ideological characteristic centered around perseverance. The piece continues and Alex’s father is molded into a unique character through his actions and dialogue, through Alex’s own thoughts, as well as through the very environment that the piece is set in.
Due to the required brevity of the piece, the brother and sister characters were not developed as fully as the father, but in doing so Alex retains focus, and only leaves in details that matter to the overall work and the overall story about Alex’s relationship with his father. The piece is effective in showing that relationship instead of telling, and the tongue-in-cheek ending leaves readers with a smile.
“Jeszcze raz.”
The steel bar pressed down on my hands, making the bones in my palms ache.
Once more.
“Once more, or you’ll sleep in the shed tonight,” chuckled my crazy Polish father who, despite the grin, was probably being serious. I wasn’t going to take any chances, so I lowered the bench press bar to my chest again, breathing in as Tata had shown me. I thought my elbows would snap like twigs and the Olympic bar would come crashing down on my neck, squashing it like a cardboard box on recycling day. My older brother moved in to help but was stopped by my father who humorously started chanting “Arnold! Arnold!” in a thick Polish accent.
He loves Arnold Schwarzenegger, and I don’t know how many times he’s told us that he watched a pirated version of The Terminator back in communist Poland. It was his favorite movie. I exhaled and pushed, with my arms and chest burning, and placed the bar back onto its resting place. My father was smiling, and the chant continued.
In Poland, my father opened a gym, which is the reason there’s more exercising equipment in my basement than in most small fitness establishments. Ever since we were children, he’d always urge my brother, sister, and I to exercise regularly. “Exercise is healthy, good for your heart, it makes you strong. One day, you will say ‘Gee Tata, I am so healthy and strong, thank you for forcing me to exercise.’” We’d often respond by rolling our eyes and just trying to do what he said, my sister always adding some adolescent female remark about how things weren’t fair. “Nothing is fair,” responded my father.
Whenever I was doing sit ups, my father would call me Bruce Lee. He always did that, using superhuman examples of fitness to encourage and inspire us. It seemed like a joke, but eventually I began aspiring to those superhuman examples. I’d look in a mirror and flex, not quite a Bruce Lee, but man was I healthy and strong. It drove my brother and sister crazy, the fact that I began to start enjoying to work out. I’d go downstairs by myself sometimes and just enjoy the challenge of adding heavier weights, stopping to look at the large mirror on the wall from time to time. I didn’t see Arnold Schwarzenegger or Bruce Lee in that mirror; I saw me. I grew happy with who I was and I was thankful my father had pushed me so hard. It was his way of teaching me to value perseverance and family.
I sat up on the bench and smiled, feeling that tingling feeling in my arms that I knew would hurt like hell in the morning. I flexed.
“Look Tata, check it out!” I grinned. Sternly, I tried at my thickest Austrian accent. “‘You’re clothes, give them to me.’” He smiled.
“Jeszcze raz.”
This particular work of Alex’s stands out as one of his best pieces. There is an authentic and raw quality in the piece that is genuinely honest and enjoyable to read. The realism and tone of the work is accentuated by various subtleties that are as equally relatable as they are foreign, letting the reader see Alex’s world through Alex’s eyes.
The character development of Alex’s father begins with the very first sentence, and in more ways than one. Alex uses one phrase to not only reveal ethnic and cultural characteristics but also to reveal an ideological characteristic centered around perseverance. The piece continues and Alex’s father is molded into a unique character through his actions and dialogue, through Alex’s own thoughts, as well as through the very environment that the piece is set in.
Due to the required brevity of the piece, the brother and sister characters were not developed as fully as the father, but in doing so Alex retains focus, and only leaves in details that matter to the overall work and the overall story about Alex’s relationship with his father. The piece is effective in showing that relationship instead of telling, and the tongue-in-cheek ending leaves readers with a smile.