Every book I’ve read usually leaves me thinking with something. When I finish it I normally have new questions about the world around. Many books leave the reader with wonders on how the world, or universe is. One book definitely left me thinking, that book was Of Mice and Men. In Of Mice and Men, the reader books aspects; the characters, the conflict, and the themes. Each of these contribute to the books greatness, and help to leave the reader captivated.
The characters in a book can be the things that make a book. Of Mice and Men is no exception. All of the Characters in the book were interesting and real. The main two characters, Lennie and George, represent a brotherhood. They look out for each other, are always with each other, and have hopes for the future that they share with each other. Lennie, a slightly mentally challenged man, is large and strong, yet he is timid and peaceful. George is a shorter, tougher guy, who is like Lennie’s big brother. They make a perfect duo and represent real companionship. Other characters depict people of different social groups, like Candy, Crooks, and Curley’s Wife. Candy is an old man, thought to be useless, and unnecessary. Crooks is a black man who faces racial prejudice in the book. Curley’s Wife is a woman who is repressed by male chauvinism. They each have a story of their own, and in the end, they can all relate to eachother.
However, characters are important, but the story’s conflict is what makes a book. In Of Mice and Men, all of the characters face the conflict of finding companionship. When George an Lennie start working at the farm, people realize that they are very close, which is unusual among the other workers. George and Lennie’s companionship inspires other workers to seek companionship. Candy loses his closest friend, and old dog that the other workers kill because of its deteriorating age. Candy then starts speaking with George and Lennie, and becomes quick friends with them. Crooks, who has been lonely all his life, being the only black man for miles, craves for someone to be his friend. He doesn’t talk to anyone because they reject him for being black. Curley’s Wife doesn’t get to express her true feelings to anyone because people are afraid they will get in trouble by her over-protective husband. They all want to share what George and Lennie have, which eventually destroys what George and Lennie had.
The last great thing about Of Mice and Men was the themes in the book. Of Mice and Men has may themes such as companionship, isolation, hope, and fate. The book follows the true companionship of the two main characters, George and Lennie. All the other major characters suffer from isolation from the other characters, and may even envy George and Lennie’s relationship. The dreams George and Lennie have are revealed to all of the other characters, and, eventually, their hopes are torn down by fate, and that everything they hoped for, and all they planed, hade gone completely awry.
In Conclusion, the characters, the conflict, and the themes in Of Mice and Men are what make the book so incredible. Its so interesting how the story captivates the reader, and how the reader is able to connect with at least one of the characters in the book. The conflict is one that many people face on a daily basis, and the themes are revealing to the facts of life. All in all, the book is one of dreams and fate, and how sometimes we just can’t control what happens in our lives. This leaves the reader to wonder if we really even do have free will, or does the order of universe dictate how our lives turn out in the end.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Beyond the Line Questions
What is the main conflict of the story?
Humans, just like all creatures, have needs. We need food, shelter, water, oxygen, and these are just the basic essentials. Then it gets more complicated with carbohydrates, protein, lipids, et cetera. We have basic needs that help us survive, and live our short lives. However, in the book Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck identifies another human necessity: companionship. Companionship is just as important as water, food, and shelter.
In the book, Lennie and George are farm workers who travel from farm to farm, performing tasks to get a little more money. George states "Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no family. They don't belong no place....With us it ain't like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us." Lennie and George’s relationship is one of real companionship. They take care of eachother and look out for one another. Though at times it would seem that George only works in his best interest, he does care about Lennie, and tries to look after him.
George and Lennie, however, are the only characters that are real friends. Many of the characters in the book are loners. They only work to get their “stake”, or money. They’re not there to make friends, they’re there to make money, live, and be provided with the basic necessities. “’Ain’t many guys travel around together,’ he mused. ‘I don't know why. Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.’” Although this was true in the book, a few characters actually longed for companionship.
Candy, the old swamper, has an old, practically dying dog that he’s had for a long time. He loves this dog and takes it everywhere with him. It is his one companion on the ranch. In chapter 3, all the other workers, like Carlson and Slim, tell Candy that he should kill his dog because he is so old and needs to be put out of his misery. “…you ain’t bein’ kind to him keepin’ him alive.” “Carl's right, Candy. That dog ain’t no good to himself. I wisht somebody’d shoot me if I got old an’ a cripple.” They then took Candy’s dog out, and shot him in the back of the head. This sent Candy into a depression for a small period. He then began to realize that they killed his dog because he was old and useless. Candy already has one of these qualities. “You seen what they done to my dog tonight? They says he wasn’t no good to himself nor nobody else. When they can me here I wisht somebody’d shoot me. But they won't do nothing like that. I won't have no place to go, an’ I can't get no more jobs.” Candy lost his only true companion, and realized that there’s hardly any reason left for him to live.
John Steinbeck also added a representation of societal isolation in his book; a black man. Crooks was the stable buck in the book as well as the only black person for miles. Crooks is hardly seen in the book because he can’t hang out with the other workers because he is black. He lives alone in a room in the stable, and doesn’t really communicate with anyone. In the chapter when Lennie talks to Crooks, Crooks explains to him that he never gets to hang out with the others, no one talks to him, and how he is very lonely. “’A guy needs somebody-to be near him.’ He whined, ‘A guy goes nuts if he ain’t got nobody.’” Crooks admits that because he has no friends, he is miserable. All he wants is some socialization. He’s tired of being lonely.
The last character who suffers from a lack of companionship is Curley’s Wife. Curley’s Wife is an interesting character because she appears multiple times throughout the book, but you never find out her conflicts until the end. In the 5th chapter, when Curley’s Wife confronts Lennie, Lennie tries hard to avoid her, and refuses to talk to her. “Why can't I talk to you? I never get to talk to nobody. I get awful lonely.” Though Lennie was trying to ignore, Curley’s Wife insisted on him listening by telling her life story. Curley’s Wife is very conflicted with herself because she had many good opportunities offered to her in her life that she was forced to turn down. She admits that she only married Curley out of convenience and even admits that she truly doesn’t like Curley. Being isolated from all the others by her husband, she needed some way to vent to someone about what she is feeling. Her husband keeps her cooped up in the house, and she feels completely secluded. She eventually is set free of her own life when Lennie accidentally breaks her neck, instantly killing her.
As a moral point of the book, and of this essay, the author of both would like to inform the reader that loneliness is humanities worst enemy. A life lived alone isn’t worth living. No human can live a fulfilling life without a person to share it with. The characters in this book all conflict with George and Lennie and their close companionship. Candy, Crooks, and Curley's Wife all need companions. The author doesn’t want to force the reader to find love, or even marry, or anything like that, but everyone should have a person there, just to be there. A companion, someone to find company in, and speak to, and share with, and have a common goal is more important than any other human necessity, because it makes life worth living.
Humans, just like all creatures, have needs. We need food, shelter, water, oxygen, and these are just the basic essentials. Then it gets more complicated with carbohydrates, protein, lipids, et cetera. We have basic needs that help us survive, and live our short lives. However, in the book Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck identifies another human necessity: companionship. Companionship is just as important as water, food, and shelter.
In the book, Lennie and George are farm workers who travel from farm to farm, performing tasks to get a little more money. George states "Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the world. They got no family. They don't belong no place....With us it ain't like that. We got a future. We got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us." Lennie and George’s relationship is one of real companionship. They take care of eachother and look out for one another. Though at times it would seem that George only works in his best interest, he does care about Lennie, and tries to look after him.
George and Lennie, however, are the only characters that are real friends. Many of the characters in the book are loners. They only work to get their “stake”, or money. They’re not there to make friends, they’re there to make money, live, and be provided with the basic necessities. “’Ain’t many guys travel around together,’ he mused. ‘I don't know why. Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.’” Although this was true in the book, a few characters actually longed for companionship.
Candy, the old swamper, has an old, practically dying dog that he’s had for a long time. He loves this dog and takes it everywhere with him. It is his one companion on the ranch. In chapter 3, all the other workers, like Carlson and Slim, tell Candy that he should kill his dog because he is so old and needs to be put out of his misery. “…you ain’t bein’ kind to him keepin’ him alive.” “Carl's right, Candy. That dog ain’t no good to himself. I wisht somebody’d shoot me if I got old an’ a cripple.” They then took Candy’s dog out, and shot him in the back of the head. This sent Candy into a depression for a small period. He then began to realize that they killed his dog because he was old and useless. Candy already has one of these qualities. “You seen what they done to my dog tonight? They says he wasn’t no good to himself nor nobody else. When they can me here I wisht somebody’d shoot me. But they won't do nothing like that. I won't have no place to go, an’ I can't get no more jobs.” Candy lost his only true companion, and realized that there’s hardly any reason left for him to live.
John Steinbeck also added a representation of societal isolation in his book; a black man. Crooks was the stable buck in the book as well as the only black person for miles. Crooks is hardly seen in the book because he can’t hang out with the other workers because he is black. He lives alone in a room in the stable, and doesn’t really communicate with anyone. In the chapter when Lennie talks to Crooks, Crooks explains to him that he never gets to hang out with the others, no one talks to him, and how he is very lonely. “’A guy needs somebody-to be near him.’ He whined, ‘A guy goes nuts if he ain’t got nobody.’” Crooks admits that because he has no friends, he is miserable. All he wants is some socialization. He’s tired of being lonely.
The last character who suffers from a lack of companionship is Curley’s Wife. Curley’s Wife is an interesting character because she appears multiple times throughout the book, but you never find out her conflicts until the end. In the 5th chapter, when Curley’s Wife confronts Lennie, Lennie tries hard to avoid her, and refuses to talk to her. “Why can't I talk to you? I never get to talk to nobody. I get awful lonely.” Though Lennie was trying to ignore, Curley’s Wife insisted on him listening by telling her life story. Curley’s Wife is very conflicted with herself because she had many good opportunities offered to her in her life that she was forced to turn down. She admits that she only married Curley out of convenience and even admits that she truly doesn’t like Curley. Being isolated from all the others by her husband, she needed some way to vent to someone about what she is feeling. Her husband keeps her cooped up in the house, and she feels completely secluded. She eventually is set free of her own life when Lennie accidentally breaks her neck, instantly killing her.
As a moral point of the book, and of this essay, the author of both would like to inform the reader that loneliness is humanities worst enemy. A life lived alone isn’t worth living. No human can live a fulfilling life without a person to share it with. The characters in this book all conflict with George and Lennie and their close companionship. Candy, Crooks, and Curley's Wife all need companions. The author doesn’t want to force the reader to find love, or even marry, or anything like that, but everyone should have a person there, just to be there. A companion, someone to find company in, and speak to, and share with, and have a common goal is more important than any other human necessity, because it makes life worth living.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Two Between-the-Line Questions
1.) Why does Curley’s Wife try so hard to talk to people?
a.) Curley’s Wife craves companionship. She wants to talk to people, because she has so much on her chest that she wants to get off. She’s just like any other person, needy for companionship. She has no companionship with her husband, because he only married for self-gratification. He keeps her cooped up in the house because he doesn’t want anyone to talk to her, and vice versa. In the scene where she talks to Lennie, she completely comes out, telling about how she could’ve been in the “pictures”, and how she could be an actress. She even admits to the fact that she truly doesn’t like her husband, Curley. She just wanted someone to know that she really is a good person; she just longs for attention. She needed someone to vent to. She was finally able to let someone know of her feelings, just before she died.
2.) Does George look out for Lennie’s best interest?
a.) George and Lennie have a great relationship. George is like Lennie’s big brother. He tries to keep Lennie out of trouble, by keeping him quiet, and such. However, that may not be so much in Lennie’s interest as it is in George’s interest. George doesn’t want Lennie’s actions to get George in trouble. George tries to keep Lennie under control, and demands that Lennie learn to look out for himself. George does promise to take care of Lennie all his life, however, George knows very well that this isn’t possible. In the end, George eventually learns he can’t continue his life saving Lennie all the time, and takes Lennie’s life to end it. However, George does have a feeling of regret at the end of the book, after he takes Lennie’s life. This shows that though George may have not always looked out for Lennie’s best interest, but he certainly did care for him, and cares about him.
a.) Curley’s Wife craves companionship. She wants to talk to people, because she has so much on her chest that she wants to get off. She’s just like any other person, needy for companionship. She has no companionship with her husband, because he only married for self-gratification. He keeps her cooped up in the house because he doesn’t want anyone to talk to her, and vice versa. In the scene where she talks to Lennie, she completely comes out, telling about how she could’ve been in the “pictures”, and how she could be an actress. She even admits to the fact that she truly doesn’t like her husband, Curley. She just wanted someone to know that she really is a good person; she just longs for attention. She needed someone to vent to. She was finally able to let someone know of her feelings, just before she died.
2.) Does George look out for Lennie’s best interest?
a.) George and Lennie have a great relationship. George is like Lennie’s big brother. He tries to keep Lennie out of trouble, by keeping him quiet, and such. However, that may not be so much in Lennie’s interest as it is in George’s interest. George doesn’t want Lennie’s actions to get George in trouble. George tries to keep Lennie under control, and demands that Lennie learn to look out for himself. George does promise to take care of Lennie all his life, however, George knows very well that this isn’t possible. In the end, George eventually learns he can’t continue his life saving Lennie all the time, and takes Lennie’s life to end it. However, George does have a feeling of regret at the end of the book, after he takes Lennie’s life. This shows that though George may have not always looked out for Lennie’s best interest, but he certainly did care for him, and cares about him.
Monday, April 20, 2009
The 5 Things I Learned about My City's Budget
I learned that our city income...
1.) Is acquired mostly through wage tax, which is a little disgraceful.
2.) Receives too little money from property tax; a measly 10%.
3.) Needs to increase the Real Estate Transfer Tax.
4.) Should also increase the Sales Tax.
5.) Should also increase the Business Privilege tax.
I learned hat our city budget...
1.) Needs to Decrease the amount we spend on prisons. Legalizing marijuana might help.
2.) Should Increase the amount we pay for Public Health.
3.) Needs to Decrease the amount we pay for benefits and pensions
4.) Should Increase amount for Judicial Systems
5.) Should Decrease a small amount from human services. SMALL!
1.) Is acquired mostly through wage tax, which is a little disgraceful.
2.) Receives too little money from property tax; a measly 10%.
3.) Needs to increase the Real Estate Transfer Tax.
4.) Should also increase the Sales Tax.
5.) Should also increase the Business Privilege tax.
I learned hat our city budget...
1.) Needs to Decrease the amount we spend on prisons. Legalizing marijuana might help.
2.) Should Increase the amount we pay for Public Health.
3.) Needs to Decrease the amount we pay for benefits and pensions
4.) Should Increase amount for Judicial Systems
5.) Should Decrease a small amount from human services. SMALL!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
SEPTA strikes, Students Psyched!
“They don’t deserve a cent more than what they make”, Said sophomore Kate Chapman, a regular user of SEPTA services. “They have [expletive] service and dirty buses and trains, plus a ridiculous price to get on a [expletive] bus!”
This was a common reaction, among many SEPTA users, to the threat of a SEPTA strike that was supposed to occur on Sunday, March 15, at 12:00 AM. When news of this strike hit the school, the administration became worried. If SEPTA would go on strike, many students wouldn’t even bother coming to school.
Many students actually wouldn’t mind a SEPTA strike. “I think it’s cool because I don’t have to go to school”, Said sophomore Nataly Ortiz, apathetic at the idea of a strike, “I wouldn’t be able to.”
SEPTA workers threatened to strike because of the SEPTA administration’s contract expiration date. SEPTA workers’ contracts are supposed to expire March 15; hence the reason workers planned to go on strike on March 15. The Transport Workers Union Local 234 is disgruntled with SEPTA because they cannot come to a contract agreement. The TWU has been fighting SEPTA’s proposals to the contract. "[SEPTA] is unable to articulate any real justifications for their proposals," said TWU spokesperson Bruce Bodner. "They're unable to show factually the premise behind any problem." However, how does the third party feel about a SEPTA strike? SEPTA and the TWU can have their disputes, but how do the people that “actually matter”, the users of SEPTA services, feel?
At Constitution High School, Dr. Davidson sent out papers around the school for students to take home to their parents. The paper warned both students and parents about the possible upcoming SEPTA strike, and what the school, the school administration, and parents, would or should do if said strike were to occur. The paper informed parents, students, and staff that regardless of a strike school “would continue as scheduled.” It also said that if students “are not present in school they would be marked ‘excused absence’.” This was a relief to most students, because they have a hard time getting to school regardless of SEPTA working or not. “I would not be able to attend school because my mother has to go to work, so she can't take me,” exclaimed sophomore Reshay Johnson. “My other family members have to go to work also, so no one would be able to drop me off to school and pick me up.”
While some students were simply worried, others were livid. Kate Chapman exclaimed her anger about the strike. She gave reasons as to why SEPTA “has no right” to strike. ““They have [expletive] service and dirty buses and trains, plus a ridiculous price to get on a [expletive] bus! Everything is dirty and it smells like [urine]. Getting thrown up on by a drunk isn’t exactly the way I like to end my day! The drivers are ignorant and so are some of the people. What makes them think they should go on strike?” Kate wasn’t the only one with opinions on SEPTA and the point of them striking. “I feel like it’s a little bit of a waste of time because there services are not going 2 improve”, Reshay stated. “The workers pay might go up, but that’s about it.”
However, the huge thing concerning students is what the strike means to SEPTA workers. Many students had differing opinions on whether or not, due to the state of the economy, SEPTA workers needed, or even deserved any benefit from this strike; as well as if we could pay for SEPTA after a new contract was agreed on. “They don’t deserve it (most of them) and we certainly can’t afford it”, Kate said. “Our city can use the money (more than SEPTA) for so much more. We can rebuild neighborhoods, make them safer, and beautify this city beyond [the] tourist trap we call “center city”.”
Others had different opinions. “Yes they should because they might not be getting paid enough, and prices on everything these days are going up higher and higher”, Reshay said. “People have families to support and they might not be getting enough money to support their families. I do, but I don't think they deserve more money because some of SEPTA’s workers are rude: they’re late, off schedule, sometimes leave you, or they shut the doors in your face. But others do work hard, and are nice.”
Students also felt that a SEPTA strike wouldn’t change a thing about SEPTA. “I don’t think their services will improve because they’ve been on many strikes before and nothing has changed”, Reshay said. “They still are late and rude. They just hire anybody these days!”
Fortunately, for Constitution High School Student’s, and most people in Philadelphia, SEPTA workers and the TWU have agreed to not go on strike. However it is clear that Philadelphians need their SEPTA, but it is evident the SEPTA must recognize their passengers’ plea for change.
This was a common reaction, among many SEPTA users, to the threat of a SEPTA strike that was supposed to occur on Sunday, March 15, at 12:00 AM. When news of this strike hit the school, the administration became worried. If SEPTA would go on strike, many students wouldn’t even bother coming to school.
Many students actually wouldn’t mind a SEPTA strike. “I think it’s cool because I don’t have to go to school”, Said sophomore Nataly Ortiz, apathetic at the idea of a strike, “I wouldn’t be able to.”SEPTA workers threatened to strike because of the SEPTA administration’s contract expiration date. SEPTA workers’ contracts are supposed to expire March 15; hence the reason workers planned to go on strike on March 15. The Transport Workers Union Local 234 is disgruntled with SEPTA because they cannot come to a contract agreement. The TWU has been fighting SEPTA’s proposals to the contract. "[SEPTA] is unable to articulate any real justifications for their proposals," said TWU spokesperson Bruce Bodner. "They're unable to show factually the premise behind any problem." However, how does the third party feel about a SEPTA strike? SEPTA and the TWU can have their disputes, but how do the people that “actually matter”, the users of SEPTA services, feel?
At Constitution High School, Dr. Davidson sent out papers around the school for students to take home to their parents. The paper warned both students and parents about the possible upcoming SEPTA strike, and what the school, the school administration, and parents, would or should do if said strike were to occur. The paper informed parents, students, and staff that regardless of a strike school “would continue as scheduled.” It also said that if students “are not present in school they would be marked ‘excused absence’.” This was a relief to most students, because they have a hard time getting to school regardless of SEPTA working or not. “I would not be able to attend school because my mother has to go to work, so she can't take me,” exclaimed sophomore Reshay Johnson. “My other family members have to go to work also, so no one would be able to drop me off to school and pick me up.”
While some students were simply worried, others were livid. Kate Chapman exclaimed her anger about the strike. She gave reasons as to why SEPTA “has no right” to strike. ““They have [expletive] service and dirty buses and trains, plus a ridiculous price to get on a [expletive] bus! Everything is dirty and it smells like [urine]. Getting thrown up on by a drunk isn’t exactly the way I like to end my day! The drivers are ignorant and so are some of the people. What makes them think they should go on strike?” Kate wasn’t the only one with opinions on SEPTA and the point of them striking. “I feel like it’s a little bit of a waste of time because there services are not going 2 improve”, Reshay stated. “The workers pay might go up, but that’s about it.”
However, the huge thing concerning students is what the strike means to SEPTA workers. Many students had differing opinions on whether or not, due to the state of the economy, SEPTA workers needed, or even deserved any benefit from this strike; as well as if we could pay for SEPTA after a new contract was agreed on. “They don’t deserve it (most of them) and we certainly can’t afford it”, Kate said. “Our city can use the money (more than SEPTA) for so much more. We can rebuild neighborhoods, make them safer, and beautify this city beyond [the] tourist trap we call “center city”.”
Others had different opinions. “Yes they should because they might not be getting paid enough, and prices on everything these days are going up higher and higher”, Reshay said. “People have families to support and they might not be getting enough money to support their families. I do, but I don't think they deserve more money because some of SEPTA’s workers are rude: they’re late, off schedule, sometimes leave you, or they shut the doors in your face. But others do work hard, and are nice.”Students also felt that a SEPTA strike wouldn’t change a thing about SEPTA. “I don’t think their services will improve because they’ve been on many strikes before and nothing has changed”, Reshay said. “They still are late and rude. They just hire anybody these days!”
Fortunately, for Constitution High School Student’s, and most people in Philadelphia, SEPTA workers and the TWU have agreed to not go on strike. However it is clear that Philadelphians need their SEPTA, but it is evident the SEPTA must recognize their passengers’ plea for change.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Narrative Essay
I remember the good days. The days that most people envy. The days that they wish they could get back, relive. All people know those days. Some know only those days. Those that forget those days, can’t live without them. Those days are gone; a distant figure of the past. They have disappeared into the past, and can only be retrieved by memory. My “those days” have past, and I only seem to recall a few specific memories. One of those memories, one that did not occur in “those days”, did not occur in “these days” either. In the nebulous between “those days” and “these days” is where this specific memory occurred. The specific memory? My, excuse me, our transition into “these days”. “Our?”
I can remember the fun times. Most of the pleasurable memories of my youth, are memories of times I’d spent with my cousins. My cousins represented the innocence of my youth. We represented our innocence. A day didn’t go by when we were young where we didn’t pray that we would see each other soon, to play together, or have fun some other way. Then, one summer, our prayers were answered.
Our older cousin, Joe McCourt, attended Lafayette College, and played for their football team. As the main runningback, he had to be at every game, and to every game, everyone was invited. My family and I, and my cousins, aunts and uncles, went to almost all of Joe’s football games. However, one football game, my cousins and I will never forget.
The football game took place at Georgetown University in Washington D.C., in the middle of a sweltering August. The temperature reached about 90°, stifling hot. We packed our food in our coolers, our fold-up chairs and tables, condiments and napkins, bags of chips and pretzels, packages of hot dogs and hamburgers, and plenty of water, soda, beer. We pulled into the stadium and we went on the search for parking spaces.
Of all the parking lots we could have parked, we drove around the stadium until we found this lowly, dusty, desolate parking lot, behind a huge beige building. This lot was the designated lot for families of football players. The lot seemed small, just a dry dirt pile, like a desert. Lots of cars were parked her, because Georgetown University doesn’t have any suitable parking spaces. However, we pulled into a less crowded part of the parking lot.
Our portion of this large desert felt lonely, empty, and deserted. Around this dusty lot was the building’s wall that rose 20 ft high. Scattered around the parking lot were trees, possibly just large weeds and ivies, which were meant to provide the only source of oxygen in this arid place. Then, the one thing that all parking lots must have, this one was evenly coated with a lovely layer of trash, of all sorts, as well as a pile of cut stone for some reason. This was our parking lot, our temporary place of residence.
The game wasn’t going to start for another hour or two, so we had unpacked our bounty and ate a little. Then, when the game started, we all walked into the huge stadium, which was very close; another advantage of this parking lot. I can’t remember much of the game, I wasn’t very interested, so, before halftime, my brother and I, and a few of my younger cousins, Sean, Pat, and Tara, went to and stayed in the parking lot.
After leaving that anticlimactic game, the parking lot no longer seemed so desolate. It was quiet and peaceful, only broken by the echoes of the cheering stadium. The tall tree-like weeds provided a cooing flock of pigeons shelter. The plastic wrappers on the ground seemed to glimmer in the sun. Not only that, but in this parking lot, there was a plenty of food and drink. It was like our own private oasis; a quiet retreat; a place where we could have fun and just chill out. So we just ate and sat around and talked for a while.
When halftime came, the parking lot below ours swelled with people. Not so many people came to our parking lot, except for our families. The families were the two McSheas, the Langdons, and the McCourts. My brother Liam and I made up the “Y” generation of my family. My cousins Marty, Maureen, Trish, and Tara made up the other McSheas. My cousins Ryan and Sean made up the Langdons. And my cousins Molly and Pat made up the McCourts. As well as all the respected aunts and uncles.
We all gathered in our parking lot at halftime and ate and drank. Halftime came and went, and when it was over, all the parents walked back to the Stadium, and so did all the other tailgaters in the entire desert parking lot. The lot went back to being our private oasis.
All the cousins stayed, being too lazy to walk back to the stadium, and ate, drank, and played around. We all decided to have some fun, so my cousins suggested an idea.
“You guys wanna play football?” My cousin Marty asked while Ryan stood next to him with a large football.
“Yeah!” Pat shouted with much enthusiasm; more than what was called for.
“OK, sounds cool.” Cousin Sean said, in sympathetic agreement.
Everyone stood up, some eagerly, some obligatorily, like flies to a light. I sat still, drinking my precious water in the sandy lot, until my cousin Maureen approached me.
“Come on Ian, let’s play. What are you a girl?”
“Alright, fine.” I responded, trying to contain my excitement.
We all gathered around in a circle, (though I don’t think I could justly classify the shape we made as a circle) and began to divide teams. However, in the division process, we soon discovered that the quantity of boys outnumbered the quantity of girls, 6 to 4.
“There’s more boys than girls” Trish pointed out.
“Thanks captain obvious” Ryan stated sharply, however appropriately.
“OK, so one of the boys will just have to play on the girls team.” Molly suggested.
“Alright, who do you want?” Marty inquired.
“How ‘bout Ian?” Maureen proposed, “Since he already is a girl.” All of my cousins began to giggle, and though I was embarrassed and offended by her remark, I complied. With my tongue in cheek, I joined the girls team.
We started the game with everyone lined up, facing each other. With ball in hand, Ryan shouted “HUT!”, and the game began. A brown football flew through the air, with bodies running after to catch it. The hot sun baked our bodies, boiling our sweat and turning the ground into a bed of hot coals. When one’s sweat dripped onto the ground, you could hear the steam rise up from the dust. Dry dirt blowing in our faces from the sudden, skidding stops we made. Then, when one throw was made for me, I took the chance, however, I missed it. That miss was the match that lit the fire.
“IAN! HOW COULD YOU MISS?!” Maureen shouted in frustration. “You really must be a girl!”
This caused all my cousins to, once again, laugh and mock me. My masculinity had been shattered enough. I needed retribution. I ran over to the icy coolers, reached in and pulled out a freezing, cold water bottle. The droplets condensing on the outside of the bottle sparkled in the sun. They boiled as they slid off the bottle onto the sandy ground. As I ran toward Maureen, I unscrewed the lid, and I poured the frigid water onto her head and down her back. My act of retaliation had filled me with a kind of sadistic pleasure.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Maureen shrieked in shock, terror, and anger; a swirling torrent of emotions. She turned around, her eyes in a fiery rage. She took my water, and tried to splash the rest on me, however, my reaction of jumping to the side resulted in her splashing my cousins Trish and Tara. Trish shrieked in horror, while Tara just grabbed herself a water bottle, and splashed Maureen with even more water. Pat, Liam, and Sean then decided to join what they thought was “fun”. While everyone was off preparing their selves, Molly grabbed traumatized Trish and ran for Molly’s car to take shelter. Marty had also taken up arms, while Ryan rushed off for the stadium. All came out, bottles ready, and we all started splashing each other.
The cool water was a refreshing relief, but this wasn’t about fun. For some of us, it was about survival; for Maureen and I, it was about retribution. It was every man for himself, however the rogues tended to drift to either Maureen’s cause or mine. This desolate parking lot, our serine escape, had been turned into a battle field. We fought with these water bottles till we were ry. Seemed harmless fun, until water ran low. We were down to our last water bottle, and we had no idea who had it. I suspected Maureen had been fortunate enough to have obtained it, and I was right. Maureen did have the last bottle. We were defenseless ,and terrified.
Sean had come out of the blue to me, with a deductible treat, a can of soda. The bright blue Pepsi can shimmered a gleam of temptation. Sean opened the can, as soon as Maureen appeared to us. He unleashed the cans sticky contents onto Maureen. This innocent game of Splish Splash no longer seemed so innocent. Maureen was devastated to be splashed with a can of soda.
“Sean, what’s wrong with you?” She said, on the verge of crying. Sean looked at her, not sure of what he had done. She was livid. She went for a cooler and grabbed a soda can herself. In response to all this, everyone grabbed cans of soda.
Now it had gotten serious. Water was one thing, but soda was a whole other thing. We no longer splashed each other for fun; we did it out of anger. The sticky soda unnerved us. It was so uncomfortable to be covered with a syrupy liquid, it drove us insane. However, we had to defend ourselves; defeat was not an option. The sand, once wet with water, was now sticking to the soles of our shoes. This arid desert was slowly filling up with water. We were transforming it into a new giver of life.
Soon, we began to run out of soda, as we did with the water. This time however, we weren’t sure who had the last can. Tara had been working with Maureen, and Pat and Sean were helping me out, while somewhere among the sands were Liam and Marty, doing what they could to avoid our wrath. During a quick ceasefire, Marty had come up to me.
“Ian!” Marty shouted for my attention. “Listen, we need to stop before we start fighting.”
“Why, it’s not my fault, Maureen got me mad with all the stupid gir…” And then suddenly, Maureen and Tara ran from behind a car, armed with soda cans, and started splashing. Me and Marty ran to my Aunt Marian’s car, Where Trish and Molly had been hiding. Sean and Liam had been trying to convince Molly and Trish to let them in, and eventually they gave in. Marty and I had ran to their car just as Molly was closing the door.
Marty quickly ran to the driver’s side and jumped in. I had ran for the sliding door, which was now shut and Locked.
“MOLLY! LET ME IN! LET ME IN PLEASE!” I screamed in horror.
“NO! This is all your fault. You splashed Maureen and now it’s crazy.” The arguing continued until I could see a glimmer in their eyes, and I felt a presence. Then, all of the sudden, it hit me; a huge splash of Pepsi was pouring down my back. Maureen had got to me. I turned around, in rage, and screamed at her.
“I HATE YOU! WHY DID YOU DO THAT? WHY DID YOU SPLASH ME?” Then I turned around to the van, and screamed at Molly and Trish. “SEE WHAT YOU DID. YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME INTO THE CAR. NOW LOOK. AAAAAAAAAGH!”
When I turned back to Maureen, I saw everything. Pat had ran up behind Maureen with the forbidden ; the root of all that is evil. A large can of Yuengling. He unleashed its evil all on top of Maureen’s head. My jaw dropped in amazement. At that moment, everything changed. Maureen looked at me with a new face. She put her hands to her face, and cried.
“My mom’s going to kill me,” she sobbed, “you can smell the beer.”
You could. The Yuengling had a strong scent. It penetrated the nose, and in the middle of all the chaos, Aunt Trish came to the scene, horrified. Trash all over the ground, wasted drinks, and a daughter covered in alcohol.
“What the hell happened here?” She screamed. We all stood in silence. “GET IN THE VAN!”
We all gathered into Aunt Trish’s church van, I sat in the far back. Aunt Trish lectured about our wrongdoings. “…and your going o pick up EVERY bottle on that ground…” It was too much for us. We sat quietly, and listened. Her harsh ruling pierced through us, and we were aware of the consequences.
Finally, Aunt Trish finish her rant, left the car, and closed the door. We stared at each other for a brief minute, in silence. Then, we cried. We cried our eyes out. The car was filled with “I’m Sorries” and “Why did we do thats”. We felt so bad for what we had done, for the familial bond we had broken. This stuff never happened before. We always used to have such innocent fun. We had now seen the true side of our humanity, and it was frightening.
While everyone wiped the tears from their eyes, and the apologies had stopped, I turned around to look out the back window. I saw the destruction. The trail of bottles and cans that now lie on the cold, sticky, wet grown. The stench of alcohol floated heavily in the air. The sun baked the earth back to the arid desert it once was, and the last streams of water, soda, and alcohol met each other and fused, and trickled down the slope into the dirt parking lot. All the Earth returned to normal.
One thing, however, did not. That day had changed all our lives. That outburst of rage had shown us a darker side of ourselves, a newer side. At first what seemed a harmless little game turned into a serious fight. We had enraged each other, and had expressed our suppressed feelings long enough. We all shared a similar thought; “what now? What do we do after this?”
From that day on, our relationships had changed. We no longer valued our companionship as much as we did before the outburst. We were separating, as cousins often do as they age. We realized our differences, and couldn’t embrace each other the same. Our paths changed. We all moved on with our lives. Do I still see my cousins? Of course, but I’ll never feel that feeling that I got in my stomach whenever I used to see them. I’ve grown up. I have other friends who share similar things with me, and so do they. It may never be like our childhood again.
To end this moralistic story, I’ve come to my own conclusion. We’ve entered the beer of our lives. Intoxicating and no longer innocent, we’ve seen a different part of us that represents our separation, and, ultimately, our maturity. Our innocence almost lost. The “those days” almost lost.
However, we, just as all people should do, we fight for our innocence. We need our innocence, all people do. Innocence represents the only part of our lives that makes us believe. Makes us act and take risks, and makes us learn, the hard way. Don’t let yourself become drunk with too much maturity; sober up a little. Maturity isn’t always good. Yes, grow up, and learn from your mistakes, but never lose them Fight for that innocence you once had, and keep the maturity you’ve gained. “These days” are fine, but let’s never forget “those days” We all have only so much innocence, and it judges our life. Don’t give up your innocence so easily, no matter what type of innocence it is, because once its completely gone, you may never get it back.
I can remember the fun times. Most of the pleasurable memories of my youth, are memories of times I’d spent with my cousins. My cousins represented the innocence of my youth. We represented our innocence. A day didn’t go by when we were young where we didn’t pray that we would see each other soon, to play together, or have fun some other way. Then, one summer, our prayers were answered.
Our older cousin, Joe McCourt, attended Lafayette College, and played for their football team. As the main runningback, he had to be at every game, and to every game, everyone was invited. My family and I, and my cousins, aunts and uncles, went to almost all of Joe’s football games. However, one football game, my cousins and I will never forget.
The football game took place at Georgetown University in Washington D.C., in the middle of a sweltering August. The temperature reached about 90°, stifling hot. We packed our food in our coolers, our fold-up chairs and tables, condiments and napkins, bags of chips and pretzels, packages of hot dogs and hamburgers, and plenty of water, soda, beer. We pulled into the stadium and we went on the search for parking spaces.
Of all the parking lots we could have parked, we drove around the stadium until we found this lowly, dusty, desolate parking lot, behind a huge beige building. This lot was the designated lot for families of football players. The lot seemed small, just a dry dirt pile, like a desert. Lots of cars were parked her, because Georgetown University doesn’t have any suitable parking spaces. However, we pulled into a less crowded part of the parking lot.
Our portion of this large desert felt lonely, empty, and deserted. Around this dusty lot was the building’s wall that rose 20 ft high. Scattered around the parking lot were trees, possibly just large weeds and ivies, which were meant to provide the only source of oxygen in this arid place. Then, the one thing that all parking lots must have, this one was evenly coated with a lovely layer of trash, of all sorts, as well as a pile of cut stone for some reason. This was our parking lot, our temporary place of residence.
The game wasn’t going to start for another hour or two, so we had unpacked our bounty and ate a little. Then, when the game started, we all walked into the huge stadium, which was very close; another advantage of this parking lot. I can’t remember much of the game, I wasn’t very interested, so, before halftime, my brother and I, and a few of my younger cousins, Sean, Pat, and Tara, went to and stayed in the parking lot.
After leaving that anticlimactic game, the parking lot no longer seemed so desolate. It was quiet and peaceful, only broken by the echoes of the cheering stadium. The tall tree-like weeds provided a cooing flock of pigeons shelter. The plastic wrappers on the ground seemed to glimmer in the sun. Not only that, but in this parking lot, there was a plenty of food and drink. It was like our own private oasis; a quiet retreat; a place where we could have fun and just chill out. So we just ate and sat around and talked for a while.
When halftime came, the parking lot below ours swelled with people. Not so many people came to our parking lot, except for our families. The families were the two McSheas, the Langdons, and the McCourts. My brother Liam and I made up the “Y” generation of my family. My cousins Marty, Maureen, Trish, and Tara made up the other McSheas. My cousins Ryan and Sean made up the Langdons. And my cousins Molly and Pat made up the McCourts. As well as all the respected aunts and uncles.
We all gathered in our parking lot at halftime and ate and drank. Halftime came and went, and when it was over, all the parents walked back to the Stadium, and so did all the other tailgaters in the entire desert parking lot. The lot went back to being our private oasis.
All the cousins stayed, being too lazy to walk back to the stadium, and ate, drank, and played around. We all decided to have some fun, so my cousins suggested an idea.
“You guys wanna play football?” My cousin Marty asked while Ryan stood next to him with a large football.
“Yeah!” Pat shouted with much enthusiasm; more than what was called for.
“OK, sounds cool.” Cousin Sean said, in sympathetic agreement.
Everyone stood up, some eagerly, some obligatorily, like flies to a light. I sat still, drinking my precious water in the sandy lot, until my cousin Maureen approached me.
“Come on Ian, let’s play. What are you a girl?”
“Alright, fine.” I responded, trying to contain my excitement.
We all gathered around in a circle, (though I don’t think I could justly classify the shape we made as a circle) and began to divide teams. However, in the division process, we soon discovered that the quantity of boys outnumbered the quantity of girls, 6 to 4.
“There’s more boys than girls” Trish pointed out.
“Thanks captain obvious” Ryan stated sharply, however appropriately.
“OK, so one of the boys will just have to play on the girls team.” Molly suggested.
“Alright, who do you want?” Marty inquired.
“How ‘bout Ian?” Maureen proposed, “Since he already is a girl.” All of my cousins began to giggle, and though I was embarrassed and offended by her remark, I complied. With my tongue in cheek, I joined the girls team.
We started the game with everyone lined up, facing each other. With ball in hand, Ryan shouted “HUT!”, and the game began. A brown football flew through the air, with bodies running after to catch it. The hot sun baked our bodies, boiling our sweat and turning the ground into a bed of hot coals. When one’s sweat dripped onto the ground, you could hear the steam rise up from the dust. Dry dirt blowing in our faces from the sudden, skidding stops we made. Then, when one throw was made for me, I took the chance, however, I missed it. That miss was the match that lit the fire.
“IAN! HOW COULD YOU MISS?!” Maureen shouted in frustration. “You really must be a girl!”
This caused all my cousins to, once again, laugh and mock me. My masculinity had been shattered enough. I needed retribution. I ran over to the icy coolers, reached in and pulled out a freezing, cold water bottle. The droplets condensing on the outside of the bottle sparkled in the sun. They boiled as they slid off the bottle onto the sandy ground. As I ran toward Maureen, I unscrewed the lid, and I poured the frigid water onto her head and down her back. My act of retaliation had filled me with a kind of sadistic pleasure.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Maureen shrieked in shock, terror, and anger; a swirling torrent of emotions. She turned around, her eyes in a fiery rage. She took my water, and tried to splash the rest on me, however, my reaction of jumping to the side resulted in her splashing my cousins Trish and Tara. Trish shrieked in horror, while Tara just grabbed herself a water bottle, and splashed Maureen with even more water. Pat, Liam, and Sean then decided to join what they thought was “fun”. While everyone was off preparing their selves, Molly grabbed traumatized Trish and ran for Molly’s car to take shelter. Marty had also taken up arms, while Ryan rushed off for the stadium. All came out, bottles ready, and we all started splashing each other.
The cool water was a refreshing relief, but this wasn’t about fun. For some of us, it was about survival; for Maureen and I, it was about retribution. It was every man for himself, however the rogues tended to drift to either Maureen’s cause or mine. This desolate parking lot, our serine escape, had been turned into a battle field. We fought with these water bottles till we were ry. Seemed harmless fun, until water ran low. We were down to our last water bottle, and we had no idea who had it. I suspected Maureen had been fortunate enough to have obtained it, and I was right. Maureen did have the last bottle. We were defenseless ,and terrified.
Sean had come out of the blue to me, with a deductible treat, a can of soda. The bright blue Pepsi can shimmered a gleam of temptation. Sean opened the can, as soon as Maureen appeared to us. He unleashed the cans sticky contents onto Maureen. This innocent game of Splish Splash no longer seemed so innocent. Maureen was devastated to be splashed with a can of soda.
“Sean, what’s wrong with you?” She said, on the verge of crying. Sean looked at her, not sure of what he had done. She was livid. She went for a cooler and grabbed a soda can herself. In response to all this, everyone grabbed cans of soda.
Now it had gotten serious. Water was one thing, but soda was a whole other thing. We no longer splashed each other for fun; we did it out of anger. The sticky soda unnerved us. It was so uncomfortable to be covered with a syrupy liquid, it drove us insane. However, we had to defend ourselves; defeat was not an option. The sand, once wet with water, was now sticking to the soles of our shoes. This arid desert was slowly filling up with water. We were transforming it into a new giver of life.
Soon, we began to run out of soda, as we did with the water. This time however, we weren’t sure who had the last can. Tara had been working with Maureen, and Pat and Sean were helping me out, while somewhere among the sands were Liam and Marty, doing what they could to avoid our wrath. During a quick ceasefire, Marty had come up to me.
“Ian!” Marty shouted for my attention. “Listen, we need to stop before we start fighting.”
“Why, it’s not my fault, Maureen got me mad with all the stupid gir…” And then suddenly, Maureen and Tara ran from behind a car, armed with soda cans, and started splashing. Me and Marty ran to my Aunt Marian’s car, Where Trish and Molly had been hiding. Sean and Liam had been trying to convince Molly and Trish to let them in, and eventually they gave in. Marty and I had ran to their car just as Molly was closing the door.
Marty quickly ran to the driver’s side and jumped in. I had ran for the sliding door, which was now shut and Locked.
“MOLLY! LET ME IN! LET ME IN PLEASE!” I screamed in horror.
“NO! This is all your fault. You splashed Maureen and now it’s crazy.” The arguing continued until I could see a glimmer in their eyes, and I felt a presence. Then, all of the sudden, it hit me; a huge splash of Pepsi was pouring down my back. Maureen had got to me. I turned around, in rage, and screamed at her.
“I HATE YOU! WHY DID YOU DO THAT? WHY DID YOU SPLASH ME?” Then I turned around to the van, and screamed at Molly and Trish. “SEE WHAT YOU DID. YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME INTO THE CAR. NOW LOOK. AAAAAAAAAGH!”
When I turned back to Maureen, I saw everything. Pat had ran up behind Maureen with the forbidden ; the root of all that is evil. A large can of Yuengling. He unleashed its evil all on top of Maureen’s head. My jaw dropped in amazement. At that moment, everything changed. Maureen looked at me with a new face. She put her hands to her face, and cried.
“My mom’s going to kill me,” she sobbed, “you can smell the beer.”
You could. The Yuengling had a strong scent. It penetrated the nose, and in the middle of all the chaos, Aunt Trish came to the scene, horrified. Trash all over the ground, wasted drinks, and a daughter covered in alcohol.
“What the hell happened here?” She screamed. We all stood in silence. “GET IN THE VAN!”
We all gathered into Aunt Trish’s church van, I sat in the far back. Aunt Trish lectured about our wrongdoings. “…and your going o pick up EVERY bottle on that ground…” It was too much for us. We sat quietly, and listened. Her harsh ruling pierced through us, and we were aware of the consequences.
Finally, Aunt Trish finish her rant, left the car, and closed the door. We stared at each other for a brief minute, in silence. Then, we cried. We cried our eyes out. The car was filled with “I’m Sorries” and “Why did we do thats”. We felt so bad for what we had done, for the familial bond we had broken. This stuff never happened before. We always used to have such innocent fun. We had now seen the true side of our humanity, and it was frightening.
While everyone wiped the tears from their eyes, and the apologies had stopped, I turned around to look out the back window. I saw the destruction. The trail of bottles and cans that now lie on the cold, sticky, wet grown. The stench of alcohol floated heavily in the air. The sun baked the earth back to the arid desert it once was, and the last streams of water, soda, and alcohol met each other and fused, and trickled down the slope into the dirt parking lot. All the Earth returned to normal.
One thing, however, did not. That day had changed all our lives. That outburst of rage had shown us a darker side of ourselves, a newer side. At first what seemed a harmless little game turned into a serious fight. We had enraged each other, and had expressed our suppressed feelings long enough. We all shared a similar thought; “what now? What do we do after this?”
From that day on, our relationships had changed. We no longer valued our companionship as much as we did before the outburst. We were separating, as cousins often do as they age. We realized our differences, and couldn’t embrace each other the same. Our paths changed. We all moved on with our lives. Do I still see my cousins? Of course, but I’ll never feel that feeling that I got in my stomach whenever I used to see them. I’ve grown up. I have other friends who share similar things with me, and so do they. It may never be like our childhood again.
To end this moralistic story, I’ve come to my own conclusion. We’ve entered the beer of our lives. Intoxicating and no longer innocent, we’ve seen a different part of us that represents our separation, and, ultimately, our maturity. Our innocence almost lost. The “those days” almost lost.
However, we, just as all people should do, we fight for our innocence. We need our innocence, all people do. Innocence represents the only part of our lives that makes us believe. Makes us act and take risks, and makes us learn, the hard way. Don’t let yourself become drunk with too much maturity; sober up a little. Maturity isn’t always good. Yes, grow up, and learn from your mistakes, but never lose them Fight for that innocence you once had, and keep the maturity you’ve gained. “These days” are fine, but let’s never forget “those days” We all have only so much innocence, and it judges our life. Don’t give up your innocence so easily, no matter what type of innocence it is, because once its completely gone, you may never get it back.
Friday, February 13, 2009
"Sympathy", by Paul Lawrence Dunbar
I KNOW what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
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