'Don\'t Judge a Book by It\'s Cover'

'The serene-looking old(a) lady alongside me softly tugged my gird as I prickered aside from the chestnut-colored casket, short of breath. She whispered, Its okay, sweetie, your acquaintance rests in a better move now; he wouldnt want you shouting, now.  I nodded inertly as I matte the look of the throneed package of the congregation impetuous holes into my back, precisely I could not ac agniseledge myself to think of anything else but my friend since place train, lying in the casket in front of me. As I took my seat in the pew, I put my headspring down amongst my legs at a loss for words. It was a rush of emotions I had neer see in my life, and I did not know how to struggle with it. The funeral and display of Keith Morgan was a be moment in my life, because at that very(prenominal) moment, I see immense individualized growth that wholly changed the way I viewed life and acted towards other.\nMy reaction at Keiths body during the viewing exactly show ed that death was plainly something I had never really had to deal with. It knock me hard, and hit me deep. Keith Morgan jump-started nerve center school with me at Garcia back in 2006. He was always a great somebody: the kid who dual-lane his lunch with you when you forgot yours at home. The kid who patted you on the back and verbalize Dont worry, its okay  when you mixed-up your free throws during practice. Keith was an boilersuit beautiful person, with a personality I had seldom encountered in my life. He brightened up the whole tune of the school on a miserable day; he was a eyeshade spreading its spring chicken leaves pop out of the botch up at the start of spring. In middle school, people perpetually teased me because of my looks: creation too chubby, having severe skin, upright nearly anything people felt like pointing out to make themselves feel better. Too uncertain to ever stomach up for myself, I usually just let the insults pile up and kept quiet. But, whenever Keith precept me being picked on or teased, he would always articulate something. Whether he gave me a shoulder to cry on or stoo...'