Russian Revolution

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Cry, The Beloved Country

            In Cry, The Beloved Country Paton uses great detail to describe the land in South Africa, this is symbolic in relation the Patons over all message in his book.  The metaphors and similes he uses describe how the land and the native people are alike.  He shows how the land is greatly influenced by the people of South Africa.

            In chapter one of the book, Paton describes the land and the influences people make on it.  The land starts out wonderful and full of “life” to drab and lifeless.   He describes the land as “lovely, beyond any singing” and that the “grass is rich and matted, you cannot see the soil.” The land is “well-tended and not too many cattle feed upon it.” In this place in the book the land is very well tended to, the land is held with the upmost respect by the natives.  The land represents the beauty and goodness of Africa. The land is able to nourish and sustain a large number of people and give them happiness. 

            The lifelessness begins as you venture into the valley the theme changes, the happiness and liveliness changes to despair and lifelessness. “Where you stand the grass is rich and matted, you cannot see the soil” but as you “fall into the valley bellow” the grass is not rich and matted “for they grow bare red and bare, it cannot hold the rain and the mist” because there is “too many cattle who feed upon the grass.” The poor land and living conditions are damaged by poor farming and over grazing.  With the lack of education and the limited farming land, the villagers damage the land and the beauty of it. 

Shots of the Past

Shots of the past

The day I’ve been dreading is here.  My mom and I are getting in my dad’s police car.  The less than five minute drive from Marion to West Memphis is lasting forever.  I simply want this to be over with.  We are finally getting out, and the huge arena is standing before me.  As I look out into the parking lot all I can see is police cars.

We are starting to walk inside.  As we go through the doors, I realize I’m holding my breath.  The vision of police uniforms and people blur my eyes.  It’s here the funeral.  As we sit down, I look around and realize this arena that holds so many people is filled.  All of these people are here for my uncle.  I turn to look at my dad and I see tears forming in his eyes.  I began to cry.

We are loading back into the car once again, beginning this dreadful drive to the graveside.  Looking out my window I realize how long the precession actually is, the sea of cars go on and on for forever.  Getting closer makes me dread this even more.  Taking deep breaths help with my nerves.  The worst part is about to begin.  The sharp piercing noise of the bag-pipes jerks my attention back to reality.  The preacher begins to talk and I zone out, trying to avoid what’s going on.  A loud army style “attention” snaps me back once again.  Here it goes.  The twenty-one gun salute, the most heart wrenching ritual at a police officer’s funeral.  The first round of shots goes off and my heart jerks, I instantly feel the tears sting my face. 

My mom and I are standing on the front porch watching my dad and Uncle Bill run around the yard chasing an almost six foot long snake.  Bill lets out what sounds like a war cry.  He comes around to the front yard dragging this snake with my dad following close behind.  Dad and Uncle Bill begin dragging the snake down the road to dispose of it.  All of a sudden the snake comes up and snaps at Uncle Bill.  He drops the snake and takes off running while screaming like a little girl.

I feel my dad’s arm around me, and the second round of shots goes off.  The tears flow even harder, I clench my eyes shut.   

I am sitting in my room, when out of nowhere I hear this loud noise coming from outside.  I look out my window and there is Uncle Bill and his prized possession, his tractor.  I’ve been waiting to drive the tractor for years.  I run to my mom and scream “Momma, Momma, can I pleassee ask him if I can drive it??”

Before she could answer, I hear knocking at the door.  I whirl around and I see Uncle Bill at the door.  I run to the door and open it as fast as I can, the words flow out of his mouth like music to my ears.  “Wanna drive?”

The third and final shots ring in my ears, piercing the air around us.  I hold my eyes even tighter, trying to fight back the tears.

My neighbor and I are driving down the road picking up election signs.  She receives a phone call and her face turns pale white.  I look at her searching for answers.  Her voice comes out like a whisper, “There’s been a shooting.”  I immediately start asking a thousand questions.  Finally, after what seems like an eternity she says “It was your uncle”

All I can think about is my dad, I call him and as soon as he answers he says “I know, it’ll be okay, we’ll make it through it.”

The dreadful twenty-one shots are over.  They leave us with our heart on our sleeve.  My mom, Dad, and I walk together hand in hand to his casket to say our final goodbyes.  Like my mom said, we’ll make it through this. 

  



Reading? Who Needs it, Anyway?

Reading and I have never really gotten along.  It always been kind of like a “I only do it if I have to” kind of relationship.  When I was younger my mom used to make me read to her to try and make me like it.  She always hoped that it would be something I loved to do.  As I got older everyone always said that I would grow into reading.  Looking at the reality of things, I slowly go more and more distant from it. 

            When I was about three or four I would lay in bed with my dad and read books by Dr. Seuss.  Dr. Seuss was always one of my favorite authors.   My dad and I would read whenever we, or mostly he, had time.  With him being a police officer he would always work weird hours, which always changed.  Whenever we had time we would crawl into bed and read for hours.  I love my dad very much and this was a way for us to spend quality time together. 

Around 2^nd or 3^rd grade reading became a necessity that every student had to do.  We had this program called A.R. or accelerated reading.   Every student had a “goal” that we had to make by the end of the nine weeks.  I always hated being forced to read, my personal opinion is that we should be able to choose weather we wanted to read or not.  Anytime that I am forced to do something it normally won’t happen.  I always want to have an option on what I want to do. 

Now that I am almost in the adult world, I know that reading is something that we will need in our everyday life.  My mother absolutely loves to read, it is one of her favorite things to do to pass time.  She is always reading, she is constantly downloading new books on her IPad and her Kindle; she always has a new book to read.  My dad, brother, and I are very alike when it comes to reading.  We all try and avert reading when possible. 

If I ever do pick up a book, it is more than likely going to be something about murders or mysteries.  I love to read books that literally keep me on edge, that make me finish.  For me, books that I actually enjoy reading would be books that make me want to skip a few pages ahead to figure out what’s going to happen next. 

So needless to say, my relationship with reading is an up and down rollercoaster.  One day I’m readings best friend, and the next it’s my worst enemy.  Reading doesn’t really fit into my life.  It’s one of those things that is irrelevant to my current lifestyle, maybe one day I will be able to fit it in.  I really hope I can.

I am.

I am an optimist and unpredictable
I wonder exactly who I am
I hear all things are possible
I see good things are ahead
I want everything to be "normal"
I am an optimist and unpredictable

I pretend words don't phase me
I feel confusion
I touch my dreams
I worry what tomorrow brings
I cry because I am me
I am an optimist and unpredictable

I understand nothing and nothing understands me
I say what I mean and I mean what I say
I dream of no worries
I try to prevail
I hope for better days
I am an optimist and unpredictable
What are you?

Wait, What?!

In the story The Very Old Man with Enormous Wings  Peylo enters his courtyard and finds a "very old man with enormous wings laying face down in the mud, who in spite his efforts, couldn't get up impede his enormous wings".  In this instance the author asks a lot of his readers to actually step into his fantasy world. 

To actually understand his story.  In today's society we would not know how to act if we were to find an angel in our courtyard, or even if we were to witness a miracle. 
The character in this story stares in disbelief at the man, who coincidentally, is actually an angel.  The fact being that if he was actually an Angle, or if the people wanted him to be an angel, they would treat him with the up most respect.  But maybe they don't want him to be an Angel, or believe that he is, because they wouldn't know how to treat him. They treat this angle like a human prisoner.

In today's society no one would know how to actually act if an angel, or even a miracle appeared in front of you.  How does that make us look?  We are people who would rather watch a pathetic T.V. show than welcome an angel into our home.  In the story there is a spider woman that comes to town, all of the townspeople go to see this "freak attraction".  The spider woman symbolizes the actual fact of how we are.  Everyone, including myself, focuses on what people have to offer.  No one cares how we may make them feel.  What we care about is what they can physically give us.  The angel could actually give them SO much but the people don't treat him well enough for him to want or feel the need to give them anything.  In fact, isn't the golden rule "treat others the way you want to be treated"?