Can you think of a selfless good deed? I can't. Every time I volunteer at the homeless shelter and I see their smiling faces, I get something out of it. When I donate money, 90% of the time I get something back, a sticker, a piece of candy. That's not why I do it (well, maybe for the candy). The idea of them getting something better, being happy, being content. It's worth it.
The Missionary Circle doesn't understand that. They don't get that all other people want to do is live their lives, the way they want to live. They think everyone in the entire world wants to be one of them, a dainty lady, a strong man. They hate people of difference. They obviously don't like change either. They act like it never happens, nothing changes, for better or for worse. Tom's trial was change, it was a difference, and after it happened, they acted like it never happened. They forgot everything about it. "May---? No, child. That darky's wife. tom's wife, Tom---," exclaimed Mrs. Merriweather to Scout when she asked her if they were talking of Mayella Ewell. They totally forgot about what they had been gossiping about two months ago. They knew he was innocent, that he was good man. They forgot him, like a childhood friend.
Sitting in Atticus' house and eating expensive food, drinking out of Scout's mother's silver pitcher, in their petticoats, they spoke of the "savage" Mrunas. Living in the jungle, having no sense of what they think "family" is, Mrs. Merriweather sees them as people who need saving. When possibly, they are happy, just the way they are. That's what the people in Maycomb don't understand, being yourself and loving yourself for being yourself. No one else. Boo was himself and he is gossiped about, Scout is ridiculed, and Dill is seen as a lost soul. They never truly saw any of them.
While the Mrunas are living in the heat, most likely without clean drinking water, the Missionary Circle is drinking tea and being served by Cal, who is in her best apron. They talk of how poor the Mrunas, but no one ever wants to donate money or send supplies to them, they speak of only converting them into Christianity which every single one of the sees as the religion above all religion in the world. They are in a nice house, being fed delicious food, and pitying the Mrunas, who most likely are content in their world, just as the people of Maycomb are.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Love story rough draft 2
Free writing
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the exemplary parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen.
They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. A six month old, baby girl named Sahara arrived on their doorstep as if she was a present from the Stork. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in. When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to eat, eat, eat. By the time she was a year old, she had a Buddha belly that jiggled as she walked. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. It was like a death, I would never see her brown eyes again. Or her crooked teeth. Or the thumping of her heart. To me, she was terminal.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
Every day was a funeral, I dreaded every minute that went by, every breath was a pain that throbbed for hours on end. I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and we finished watching TV, Sahara in the back of all of our minds.
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the exemplary parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen.
They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. A six month old, baby girl named Sahara arrived on their doorstep as if she was a present from the Stork. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in. When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to eat, eat, eat. By the time she was a year old, she had a Buddha belly that jiggled as she walked. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. It was like a death, I would never see her brown eyes again. Or her crooked teeth. Or the thumping of her heart. To me, she was terminal.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
Every day was a funeral, I dreaded every minute that went by, every breath was a pain that throbbed for hours on end. I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and we finished watching TV, Sahara in the back of all of our minds.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Free writing
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the ideal parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen. They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. The baby's name is Sahara and she was six months old. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in.
When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. If it hit me that hard, I don't want to even imagine what Misty and Kelli are probably feeling.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and they finished watching TV.
My Goals
Focus and Meaning
None
Organization
None
Content and Development
Mechanics and Convention
None
Language use and style
Revision Goal 1: Focus your details.1. Highlight your details in green. Do you use too many details? Use details only when they are necessary.
Example:
Before Revision: I looked at my new watch that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Strategy: Unnecessary details drag down my writing and can confuse the readers.
After Revision: I looked at my watch and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Reflection: I deleted "new" and the phrase, "...that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one," because it is unnecessary for this story.
Writing Strategy
Goal 1: I want to add more details to the story to emphasize how much I loved and cared for Sahara. The love in this story in the main idea, so I want to show the reader how much I cared for her. I also want to add more details to enhance what an amazing person Sahara is.
I added sentences like, "She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor, " for examples of how amazing a person Sahara is. I believe this helps the reader understand my affection for her.
For as long as I've lived on Angel Island Road, the neighbors across the street have been my safe haven. They've loved me, even when my parents were furious with me, they laughed with me, even when I went through that obnoxious stage, they held me, even when I didn't deserve their comfort. I've always seen them as the ideal parents. They showed more affection with each other than my own parents. The way Misty hugged Kelli or when they jokingly teased each other, they exuded love. Their relationship was my ideal, except one thing.
In many aspects of my life, they were my surrogate parents. Since I have four brothers and sisters, getting attention or affection in my house was a constant competition. Misty and Kelli listened and talked to me like an adult, in many ways they treated me as their equal. They were missing one thing though. A child. Two years earlier, Misty had to get one of her ovaries removed, and the idea of having a child was a fantasy. Kelli is ten years older than Misty who is now thirty-five, so her having a child was even less likely. Adoption was expensive and took years to happen. They decided to be foster parents, hoping that they could one day adopt a child. They applied and were accepted quickly and waited months on end to be assigned a foster child. Finally, they called. The baby's name is Sahara and she was six months old. Her mom was neglectful and her father was in jail for murder. Not exactly the best circumstances for a person to grow up in.
When Sahara arrived we were all taken back by her personality and the fact that she was one of the most beautiful babies any of us has ever seen. She was small for her age, this being understandable because of her mother. She couldn't crawl or walk, but her laugh.....it was the best thing about her. Misty would throw her up in the air to make her giggle while Kelli would watch and say, "You are gonna break her head open, and then I am gonna have to clean all the blood up."
Sahara loved it though; she loved to dance along to every sound she heard. While Kelli tried to push The Wiggles on her, Misty let her listen to Blue October or The Eagles. Whenever I bathed her, I always turned up the radio really loud and she would shake her shoulder to a Spice Girl's song. She had so much personality and spunk in such a tiny body. She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor. She was also going to be the next Keith Moon. When we would play Rockband she would run up to me and steal the drumsticks out of my hands and bang hard on the yellow and green. She grew more and more into a wonderful person as the months went on.
In late November, we got some depressing news; Sahara's parents had signed their rights to her away. Her aunt would soon start to file papers to adopt Sahara. My Sahara, the little girl that was now walking, the person I looked forward to see every day, she was leaving. If it hit me that hard, I don't want to even imagine what Misty and Kelli are probably feeling.
They estimated that she would leave just after Christmas, and then they said near Valentine's Day, but she never left. I started to hope that the aunt would see how happy Sahara is with Misty and Kelli. Maybe she couldn't handle an eighteen month baby? That's all it was though, hope. A week before Spring break, they heard, she would be leaving the next Friday. I started to sob right there. This wasn't fair, they deserved a baby so much, and to have one just stolen away from them, it just wasn't fair. They had basically raised my brother and kept him off the streets, they were definitely capable. Kelli came over and held me as I cried. "Cry after she's gone, she's here for a week, cry when she's gone," she kept saying over and over.
I tried my best to not cry; I played with her and walked with her. I cherished every smile or piece of "sugar" she gave me. I also let them have their time with her, she was theirs more than anyone else's. The day before she left, I said my goodbye; I wanted Misty and Kelli to be with her tomorrow, just them, no one else. I cried as I held her and played with the flowers in the garden. She was so beautiful, so happy here, why did she have to leave? As I walked across the street after saying goodbye, I stopped and stared at their house. I took a moment to remember her presence there, knowing it would never be their again.
I laid in bed until three in the afternoon the next day; I wanted to wallow in my grief. Having my mother make me take a shower and get up was the only reason I moved. At six I walked over there. They were sitting, watching TV, with tears streaming down their faces. I had never seen them cry before. I sat with them until they could breathe normally. When they didn't get an email telling them about Sahara and how their trip went, Kelli was explosive. She was sobbing and all Misty said was, "We'll find her, even if we have to hire a private detective, we have her social security number, we'll find her." Kelli finally calmed down and they finished watching TV.
My Goals
Focus and Meaning
None
Organization
None
Content and Development
Mechanics and Convention
None
Language use and style
Revision Goal 1: Focus your details.1. Highlight your details in green. Do you use too many details? Use details only when they are necessary.
Example:
Before Revision: I looked at my new watch that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Strategy: Unnecessary details drag down my writing and can confuse the readers.
After Revision: I looked at my watch and realized that the meeting was five minutes away. "Where was everyone?" I thought.
Larry's Reflection: I deleted "new" and the phrase, "...that my parents gave me for Christmas because I lost my original one," because it is unnecessary for this story.
Writing Strategy
Goal 1: I want to add more details to the story to emphasize how much I loved and cared for Sahara. The love in this story in the main idea, so I want to show the reader how much I cared for her. I also want to add more details to enhance what an amazing person Sahara is.
I added sentences like, "She loved to be thrown around the room with Misty always catching her. She loved to give kisses and cuddle on the carpet. Whenever I babysat, Sahara always "helped" me dust the TV or sweep the floor, " for examples of how amazing a person Sahara is. I believe this helps the reader understand my affection for her.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
TKAM Response
If you live in a toxic environment, you are most likely toxic. If a drug addict is living in a crack house, it is almost impossible for him to get clean. If you were brought up in the middle east and were taught to hate Christianity, it is unlikely that you will marry a baptist. And if you grew up in Maycomb, it's unlikely you'll see clearly what fine folks are. Where you live has a noticeable affect on your views and opinions. As do your parent's ways and views, which is odd that Atticus and Jack are so different from Aunt Alexandra. She is prejudiced against anything that is against her version of what "fine folks" (pg. 130) are.
Aunt Alexandra obviously feels very comfortable at Finch's Landing. She believes that everything should and will stay the same. Maycomb is so isolated, so set in it's ideas, that it will never change. Though Maycomb is interbred and no "radical " will come down and change it's society overnight, it will someday change, and that change was in the form of a Cunningham. A Cunningham, a family that Aunt Alexandra once exclaimed as," Trash" (pg. 225). The Cunningham's were part of the most rural, secluded parts of Maycomb and yet they were the ones that had changed, just because of that pivotal moment at the jailhouse. Scout had put Mr. Cunningham into Atticus' shoes, and something had sparked and he saw how wrong he was acting.
Though many people still think the way their ancestors did 100 years ago, the people in Maycomb will have to succumb to change, whether bad or good. Along with the Great Depression came pain and heartache, and after pain and heartache comes fulfilling times. The Depression came because of many problems, and many of those problems were fixed after it left. It brought societies together and they were stronger because of it.
Jack and Atticus escaped Finch's Landing and they were better because of it. Alexandra stayed and kept the legacy of racist and pessimistic Finchs alive. Atticus and Jack learned of the world outside Maycomb and they accepted. Soon Maycomb will have to do the same.
Aunt Alexandra obviously feels very comfortable at Finch's Landing. She believes that everything should and will stay the same. Maycomb is so isolated, so set in it's ideas, that it will never change. Though Maycomb is interbred and no "radical " will come down and change it's society overnight, it will someday change, and that change was in the form of a Cunningham. A Cunningham, a family that Aunt Alexandra once exclaimed as," Trash" (pg. 225). The Cunningham's were part of the most rural, secluded parts of Maycomb and yet they were the ones that had changed, just because of that pivotal moment at the jailhouse. Scout had put Mr. Cunningham into Atticus' shoes, and something had sparked and he saw how wrong he was acting.
Though many people still think the way their ancestors did 100 years ago, the people in Maycomb will have to succumb to change, whether bad or good. Along with the Great Depression came pain and heartache, and after pain and heartache comes fulfilling times. The Depression came because of many problems, and many of those problems were fixed after it left. It brought societies together and they were stronger because of it.
Jack and Atticus escaped Finch's Landing and they were better because of it. Alexandra stayed and kept the legacy of racist and pessimistic Finchs alive. Atticus and Jack learned of the world outside Maycomb and they accepted. Soon Maycomb will have to do the same.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Real Courage
6/16/10
If you ever grew up with anything peculiar about you, you know what its like to get made fun of. Though for most kids it's the way their nose is flat or their hair is frizzy, but my situation is a lot different from most kids. For my entire life, that fact that I'm Jewish has never really sat well with people for some reason. They always find it entertaining or easy to make fun of. Even now, when I go to high school and I am around people who you would think are more mature, they find it hilarious to give me the nickname "Jew." I might be odd, but I don't get it. I don't get the humor in the name, it's the truth, I am Jewish. I just don't really want that as the name people put in their contacts or the name they write on the board. I'm more than just a "Jew." I'm a person, who just happens to be Jewish.
Having relatives or ancestors who were in the Holocaust is a burden. Whenever you see pictures of a concentration camp, or when someone mentions Hitler, your mind automatically jumps to seeing the tattoo on their arms. A tattoo that was put there against their will, a tattoo that's there to mark them as someone else's property. When people make a joke about it, you wince because you think of them, starving, trying to survive. For most of your childhood you take it, brush it off and act like it's no big deal. It is a big deal though.
Sometimes when people make jokes, I laugh too, I don't want to make them feel awkward. I don't think they know their being offensive. It's pretty obvious though. The most vivid "joke" I remember was in seventh grade. One of my friends was sitting behind me, we weren't close, but we talked about bands and music, superficial stuff. I was reading a book when he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, hoping to talk about The Grateful Dead or The Pixies; I saw the big grin on his face. His finger went up in the air, I didn't know what he was doing. A heart, maybe? Then I realized a Swastika, a symbol that once meant peace, but now mean something totally different. He started laughing, assuming I would join in. The person who sat next to me saw and began chuckling too. I sat there, bewildered by what he had just done. In my mind, it wasn't funny. In my mind, I saw people suffering. In my mind, I saw my family being killed off one by one.
I kept it in, I kept the tears and the hyperventilating in. How could something so simple, so little, hurt me this much? I sat there, staring at the board, when suddenly the bell rang, and I was off to Orchestra. As I was walking, breathing deeply to keep the feelings down, I saw the office door, I saw it open. I ran to it, I felt the adrenaline pump through me. I have never been in the office other than to be picked up or to be congratulated by the principal on my grades. It looked completely different. I waited for the blonde woman in front of me to finish. As soon as she moved, and I saw the woman behind the desks eyes, tears began pouring out. I was so embarrassed, nothing like this has ever affected me this intensely before. She came around the desk and held me. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, like a candy bar. She slowly sat me down and asked what happened. Through the wheezing and the snot, I got it out. She gave me a tissue, I guess the snot was everywhere. "I grew up Jewish, I know what it feels like," she said.
With that statement, I felt normal. She gave me a couple of minutes before sending me into the vice principals office. With my red eyes and puffy cheeks, I held my head high, and marched myself in there. The Urbanator, that's what they called him, he was that strict. When he saw me though, he smiled and said, "Come in honey."
I told him everything. I cried, a lot. So many years of pent up anger, of feeling like a weirdo, had finally come out of me. I stood up to it, I didn't tattletale, I told someone. I felt proud because for the first time in my life, I wasn't ashamed of being a "Jew."
If you ever grew up with anything peculiar about you, you know what its like to get made fun of. Though for most kids it's the way their nose is flat or their hair is frizzy, but my situation is a lot different from most kids. For my entire life, that fact that I'm Jewish has never really sat well with people for some reason. They always find it entertaining or easy to make fun of. Even now, when I go to high school and I am around people who you would think are more mature, they find it hilarious to give me the nickname "Jew." I might be odd, but I don't get it. I don't get the humor in the name, it's the truth, I am Jewish. I just don't really want that as the name people put in their contacts or the name they write on the board. I'm more than just a "Jew." I'm a person, who just happens to be Jewish.
Having relatives or ancestors who were in the Holocaust is a burden. Whenever you see pictures of a concentration camp, or when someone mentions Hitler, your mind automatically jumps to seeing the tattoo on their arms. A tattoo that was put there against their will, a tattoo that's there to mark them as someone else's property. When people make a joke about it, you wince because you think of them, starving, trying to survive. For most of your childhood you take it, brush it off and act like it's no big deal. It is a big deal though.
Sometimes when people make jokes, I laugh too, I don't want to make them feel awkward. I don't think they know their being offensive. It's pretty obvious though. The most vivid "joke" I remember was in seventh grade. One of my friends was sitting behind me, we weren't close, but we talked about bands and music, superficial stuff. I was reading a book when he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, hoping to talk about The Grateful Dead or The Pixies; I saw the big grin on his face. His finger went up in the air, I didn't know what he was doing. A heart, maybe? Then I realized a Swastika, a symbol that once meant peace, but now mean something totally different. He started laughing, assuming I would join in. The person who sat next to me saw and began chuckling too. I sat there, bewildered by what he had just done. In my mind, it wasn't funny. In my mind, I saw people suffering. In my mind, I saw my family being killed off one by one.
I kept it in, I kept the tears and the hyperventilating in. How could something so simple, so little, hurt me this much? I sat there, staring at the board, when suddenly the bell rang, and I was off to Orchestra. As I was walking, breathing deeply to keep the feelings down, I saw the office door, I saw it open. I ran to it, I felt the adrenaline pump through me. I have never been in the office other than to be picked up or to be congratulated by the principal on my grades. It looked completely different. I waited for the blonde woman in front of me to finish. As soon as she moved, and I saw the woman behind the desks eyes, tears began pouring out. I was so embarrassed, nothing like this has ever affected me this intensely before. She came around the desk and held me. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, like a candy bar. She slowly sat me down and asked what happened. Through the wheezing and the snot, I got it out. She gave me a tissue, I guess the snot was everywhere. "I grew up Jewish, I know what it feels like," she said.
With that statement, I felt normal. She gave me a couple of minutes before sending me into the vice principals office. With my red eyes and puffy cheeks, I held my head high, and marched myself in there. The Urbanator, that's what they called him, he was that strict. When he saw me though, he smiled and said, "Come in honey."
I told him everything. I cried, a lot. So many years of pent up anger, of feeling like a weirdo, had finally come out of me. I stood up to it, I didn't tattletale, I told someone. I felt proud because for the first time in my life, I wasn't ashamed of being a "Jew."
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Isn't that ironic?
For many of us, school is a burden. We find it boring or a waste of our time, this is exactly how the majority of the children who attend Scout's school feel. They take it for granted and how lucky they are compared to black people who basically have no chance at an education.
In To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee makes fun of and ridicules the public school system through her characters. Scout is bored and hates school because she feels held back and her intelligence is stifled. She persistently tries to get out of school. Atticus is firm in his stance for her education. This is very unlike the Ewells and how they are lackadaisical about the people they are and their education. Even though the Ewells are white and are "fine" folks (at least in Aunt Alexandra's eyes), they still choose to be victims of society and continue to be illiterate.
To Calpurnia and her family, she chose to overcome this obstacle and educate herself and her children. They had less resources than the Ewells. They had no one pushing them like the Ewells. The Ewells had a social service workers push them, Calpurnia and her family had no one. They had no incentive to learn to read, most people in their community were illiterate. Calpurnia wanted a better life for them, she wanted a better future for her family. Unlike Mr. Ewell who would rather buy alcohol than feed his family, this is why he must hunt out of season. Calpurnia would never let that happen.
With all of the racism and discrimination, Calpurnia should be the victim, not the Ewells. Calpurnia understands her situation though and she rises above it. The Ewells succumb to it.
In To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee makes fun of and ridicules the public school system through her characters. Scout is bored and hates school because she feels held back and her intelligence is stifled. She persistently tries to get out of school. Atticus is firm in his stance for her education. This is very unlike the Ewells and how they are lackadaisical about the people they are and their education. Even though the Ewells are white and are "fine" folks (at least in Aunt Alexandra's eyes), they still choose to be victims of society and continue to be illiterate.
To Calpurnia and her family, she chose to overcome this obstacle and educate herself and her children. They had less resources than the Ewells. They had no one pushing them like the Ewells. The Ewells had a social service workers push them, Calpurnia and her family had no one. They had no incentive to learn to read, most people in their community were illiterate. Calpurnia wanted a better life for them, she wanted a better future for her family. Unlike Mr. Ewell who would rather buy alcohol than feed his family, this is why he must hunt out of season. Calpurnia would never let that happen.
With all of the racism and discrimination, Calpurnia should be the victim, not the Ewells. Calpurnia understands her situation though and she rises above it. The Ewells succumb to it.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Calpurina
4/11/2010
For many parents in society, they feel taken for granted, not needed. When really they are the babckbone of the family. This is how Scout and Jem feel about Calpurnia in To Kill a Mockingbird. They see her as part of the family that will always be there. When really she has her own family and own responsibilities she has to take care of.
Harper Lee hints about Cal's real feelings about her job when it snows and Atticus asks Cal to spend the night. Cal declines and says she would rather enjoy the snow at her own home. This doesn't mean she doesn't love the Finch family, it just means her family is the thing she loves and cares for above anything else, is her own family. She does however, put 110% into making the Finch home a happy and safe place.
In chapter ten, when the rabid dog visits Scout and Jem's street, Cal is the true hero of the day. Without her, someone could have been attacked, or bitten. She put in so much energy to help others, when she could have been hurt. No one saw that though. No one saw how much she cared for everyone, when really some of the people she helped could be racists and think of her as nothing but as an animal. She could have just gotten Scout, Jem, and herself inside, but she risked her safety to warn the Radleys. No one saw this though, they only saw Atticus.
Cal was never thanked. She was never congratulated for her efforts. Nor did she ever ask for thanks. She was just happy that everyone was safe. For some reason, I have a feeling she would rather it be that way, just happy that everyone is safe.
For many parents in society, they feel taken for granted, not needed. When really they are the babckbone of the family. This is how Scout and Jem feel about Calpurnia in To Kill a Mockingbird. They see her as part of the family that will always be there. When really she has her own family and own responsibilities she has to take care of.
Harper Lee hints about Cal's real feelings about her job when it snows and Atticus asks Cal to spend the night. Cal declines and says she would rather enjoy the snow at her own home. This doesn't mean she doesn't love the Finch family, it just means her family is the thing she loves and cares for above anything else, is her own family. She does however, put 110% into making the Finch home a happy and safe place.
In chapter ten, when the rabid dog visits Scout and Jem's street, Cal is the true hero of the day. Without her, someone could have been attacked, or bitten. She put in so much energy to help others, when she could have been hurt. No one saw that though. No one saw how much she cared for everyone, when really some of the people she helped could be racists and think of her as nothing but as an animal. She could have just gotten Scout, Jem, and herself inside, but she risked her safety to warn the Radleys. No one saw this though, they only saw Atticus.
Cal was never thanked. She was never congratulated for her efforts. Nor did she ever ask for thanks. She was just happy that everyone was safe. For some reason, I have a feeling she would rather it be that way, just happy that everyone is safe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)