I need feedback, editing, etc...

Topic: Write an essay about a person who has influenced you, and describe that influence.  

My essay:

Jack
My confidant, my mentor and my best friend.

On February 16th, 2007 at roughly 8:30 p.m, I was blessed. I met Jack Jenkins, a squirrelly and skinny blonde boy, through a mutual friend and mutual adoration of the band Of Montreal. I had known of Jack for nearly a year prior to meeting him-- he had quite the reputation of mystery and coolness at our high school. I had heard of his skills in drumming, as well as his countless awards won through argumentation on the school debate team. No one ever had anything bad to say about him. "What a character! What a cool guy!" seemed to be the general consensus about Jack Jenkins.  

The period of my life in which I had met Jack was not a particularly happy one. I was ridden with teen-angst and had, disillusioned, painted myself as the most pitiful of victims of high school social drama and domestic daddy problems. I was under the impression that no one understood me, particularly not at Westlake. But Jack seemed to get it. I was first drawn to him because I believed him to be like me: bitter, recklessly hedonistic, outwardly stoic and inwardly tormented. I wanted someone with whom to be cynical and scornful and pretentious. But that was not to be.

Jack was joyous and tolerant and thoughtful and aware, more genuinely so than I had ever thought a 17-year-old could be. He would patiently and willingly absorb every self-important and whiney lament I would pour into him with no cynicism, scorn or pretension. He would not judge me, nor would he humor my pity-party. He would reply constructively and bluntly, with my best intentions in mind. Jack seemed to have some untouched insight into all that was good to share with me. With his passionately profound yet simplistic rhetoric and life-philosophies, he taught me to embrace and treasure the beauty and diversity around me, accept that which I had once abhorred, and, above all, be confident in my own ability to find happiness.  

Jack was generous and always willing, in fact, so much that I often found myself taking advantage of his good nature. He never released a single complaint when I suggested he drive 20 minutes out of his way at six in the morning to pick me up so that we could go watch a building be knocked down, or when I'd demand that he come on a four-mile uphill hike in the blazing Texas summer sun with me in the name of the taco stand on the other side of the greenbelt. Jack was so delighted and eager to do anything to make others happy. It was not uncommon for him to discuss the meaning of life with a hobo before handing him a 20 dollar bill, or to pick up a friend stranded on the other side of town in the early hours of the morning. He would give his time, possessions and money to others with a beaming smile and a warm "you're welcome."  

Ofttimes, I'd stand in awe of Jack. He was, in the most genuine and true sense, an astoundingly unique and bold individual. He liked what he liked for no other reason than simply because he liked it, and was not one to follow the flow of social norms. One of my fondest memories of Jack is the time he purchased a pair of rainbow paisley biker shorts from a garage sale and then confidently wore them to school the next day. He strutted around the halls, the gaudy shorts clinging to his boney frame, completely oblivious to the stares and giggles flying at him from every direction. Another time, when his P.E. coach ordained that girls were permitted to walk around the track while the boys were required to jog, Jack argued with him relentlessly. He pointed out the inherently sexist nature of such a rule, and then went on to assert that, on that day, he was identifying as a female and his lack of the appropriate genitalia was by no means the deciding factor in whether or not he should have to jog for the duration of the class period. He won; he walked.  

I spent almost every day of the summer of 2007 with Jack. He would pick me up at my house and off we would go, drifting aimlessly through downtown Austin, discussing the winding maze that is adolescence. Both of us were perpetually indecisive as to what adventure on which to next embark, and were more than content to cruise in his car, classical music tinkling from his ancient stereo, enjoying each other's company. At some point on one of these many car rides, Jack became more than just my confidant and mentor; Jack became my best friend.  

There was nothing too frivolous, too neurotic, too shallow to tell to Jack. I knew I could go to him regardless of the circumstances, and he would listen to me and share with me the world of wisdom I could hardly begin to fathom by myself. It seemed to me that Jack and I had an unspoken affinity; we grasped our closeness and needed not to constantly validate it or undermine its depth with trite terms of endearment. Of course I loved Jack, of course I cared for him and appreciated him and admired him-- it simply never occurred to me that I should tell him so.  

Jack died in a car crash on August 17th, 2007, ten days before the start of what would've been his senior year. He had volunteered to be the designated driver and transport a friend safely home from a party. When the passenger became ill from intoxication and vomited in the car, Jack swerved on the wet pavement and collided with a tree. The passenger climbed out of the vehicle with only minor scrapes and bruises. Jack was killed on impact. He was 17 years old.  

The immediate effect of Jack's death on me personally was overwhelming grief, regret and self-directed anger-- it hardly seemed real and in no way felt fair that such a young and beautiful person with such a bright future ahead of him could be ripped from this world, from his family, from his friends, from me. Why had I seldom told Jack what he meant to me? Why had I seldom told him that I loved him? How could I let someone who had done so much for me, who was so dearly important to me, disappear from my life without ever fully expressing to him that I am eternally thankful?

I knew Jack Jenkins for six months. But in that short period of time, he became my closest friend and had managed to begin a transformation within me for the better. Jack helped me to reach a level of self-awareness and contentment of which I did not know I was capable. I am not the hateful and angst-ridden teenager I was when I met Jack, and I grow farther and farther from that person every day. I know that I am truer to myself now than I have ever been before, I know that I am growing in the direction of the person I one day want to be, and I know that Jack was the catalyst for my maturity. I thank Jack every day for the world of things he exposed me to, and as I thank him, I can just see that familiar beaming smile as he warmly says "you're welcome."

Post edited at 8:37 am on Dec. 2, 2008 by ForeignFishes

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Punk rock died when the first kid said, "Punk's not dead."

Post edited at 7:59 am on Dec. 2, 2008 by filliam

Post edited at 4:10 pm on Dec. 2, 2008 by girlygrl

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It's funny how you think I care