In his baby blue tuxedo, my father receives the crown upon his head during his senior prom. The same night his mother Alice dies of cancer at the age of 49. After the festivities my father’s football coach told him the devastating news. My mother knew the whole Chandler family from living across the street at the time. She remembers my father sitting, keeping to himself and not saying a word to anyone after the visitation. Usually he was the most out going person in the family and had a smile that could melt your heart. This death would not be the only one that took a toll on my father’s emotions.
A song that always reminds me of my father is I’m Going Home by Hootie and the Blowfish. The lyrics make me think of not just the deaths that have happened throughout his life, but also him coming home. It is like him coming to me to help me understand, to try to be close with him.
Mama please don't go, Won't you stay here for one more day, I've been your boy for so long now, There's so much I still have to say,Sky rips open, and I hold my heart in my hand, Like a soldier on his very last day, Cried myself to sleep that night, and I listened, As I heard the angels sing, sha la la la, i'm going home
While sitting on a rock that has been eroding away in The Little Miami River for many years, my mind wanders through hundreds of memories from the past and dreams that I wish will come true in the future. I am sitting on this rock because I have come to this eroding memory since I was a little girl running around in the dirt with pigtails flopping up and down. I can close my eyes and let the sun hit my face with the warmth of rays pointing upon me. I can remember so many summers and springs that I have laid upon this rock. As the shining sun hits me, all of a sudden the light is blocked. Blocked by what? I quickly open my eyes to find my father standing in front of me. He smiles at me and quickly stumbles through the rocks. I am sure he is smiling with his bright green eyes, heading back to the land. He knew I would be down here because he is the one that introduced me to this river, The Little Miami River and the rock I lay upon.
The Little Miami River runs along what use to be called The Miami Purchase. John Cleves Symmes a congressman from New Jersey wanted one million acres of land from congress to start building in the Northwest Territory. The Little Miami River runs through Milford where my father and I have grown up all our lives. It also passes the American Legion Post 450 where my father and I have been many times throughout our lives. The Little Miami River and The American Legion have brought memories back to me that were between my father and I, that I am now realizing the effect they had on my father. (Miami Purchase)
My father’s oldest sister Linda explained to me how the other boys in the Chandler family were all involved with the American Legion Post 450 in Milford, Ohio. The American Legion is a war-time veteran’s organization that was chartered by Congress in 1919. (The American Legion) She thinks that since they were so involved it helped them get over the losses that happened to their family, but also to take pride in their country. My father was the only son in the Chandler family that never was in the service. The Chandlers are all about the legion. My uncle Donny spends every waking moment at the Legion, even Christmas Day. It is where I have grown up. I remember seeing a picture of me (2 years old) and my cousin Mark (9 years old) during an Easter egg hunt at the Legion the only one that I would be aloud to participate in. My mother didn't find it suitable for me to be down there, but my father since the legion was a place to escape, to be able to sneak down there sometimes, he wanted me to be a part of the tradition, “heading down to the legion,” as he called it.
Every first weekend in June there is a festival at The Legion. It has been a tradition to walk down there from our house just me and my dad on Saturday night. We speak very few words during the 5 minute walk. We pass all the old shops and the white lights intertwined in the trees make the cool night seem magical. This is one of my favorite traditions with my father. Once we arrive at the festival with the smell of feces lingering around the booths and drunks staggering everywhere even though its only 9 pm we laugh and know this will be an interesting night. Since my dad is a Chandler and the Chandlers are well known in Milford, or in this case the Legion we get free drinks and food all night. Friends and relatives come up to us, me and my father side by side and chat forever. This moment is in silence for me because I realize I love being a Chandler. I love my father for being who he is at all times. We hear Chandler and we both look back and recognize another member of the Chandler family. This repeats the entire night until my father and I start heading back home and laugh the whole way.
During every summer I always run down to the Legion from my house because of the small town everything is so close. I would have always found my grandpa smoking a cigarette in the basement when he knows he shouldn't be, or the bartender saying, “Hey Chandler,” to me while kicking some drunk out at noon. I have many memories at the Milford Legion with my Chandler cousins (some should not be mentioned). My mother still doesn't know half the stuff I enjoy doing with the Chandlers. It’s all because of my father. Whatever I did with the Chandler's, was usually kept from my mother for years. The legion and the river are my father’s safe havens to get away from the evils of the world. He can be himself, sitting with a big grin on his face, green eyes reflecting the light off of the river holding a Bud Light in his right hand.
My father, not very wealthy growing up in the small town of Milford, is from a big family of 8. As children they would all sleep in the same room which was the attic of their house. When all the children were home together, they said it was like 8 wild animals roaming up the steps and out to their backyard. No wonder they turned out the way they did. All of my father’s siblings still reside in good old Milford. Some of the siblings have good lives with children, having a job and able to stay a float in this economy. Others haven’t had a real paying job and can barely get by with paying bills and their children suffer from their actions. My father was the only child to graduate from college. With so many kids and family members around I ask myself why my father is so quiet his family is huge they were always busy and chatty. Is it because when he was growing up with his brothers and sisters he would put all of his belongings, the few he had, in a little corner of the room so they wouldn’t get mixed up with the others. Maybe it’s because each child is so much different than the other; my father is not very close with any of his siblings. The only time the Chandlers get together is for holidays, running into each other at Skyline on the usual Friday night, or at Kroger’s. After living with my father for my whole life and now regretting the many times I said I never wanted to be a Chandler, I have realized how wrong I was. Since leaving Milford and my family to go to college, I really miss being around Milford. I realized if it wasn’t for my father I wouldn’t be who I am today. I have his athletic ability. I am very quiet at times. The latest is having a boyfriend, and he calling me out because I don’t share what I am feeling; I am my father’s daughter. I want to be a Chandler and will always be one to everyone I meet. It has only taking me forever to bring that fact from the bottom of the river to the surface of my life. I want him to know that I want to be close with him; I want us to be able to have a father-daughter dance with the voice of Eric Clapton spreading the joy through singing “Wonderful Tonight” at my wedding. Even though we are blood related and he was the one that held the bottle to my lips as a baby, helped me read, and helped me learn to ride free in the wind on a bike, I feel he is still on the other side of the river and the water is too high for me to cross and reach him. He is the one that I look up to, even though I barely speak to him while I’m at college. He seemed so far away to me, but he has been standing right next to me my whole life with the answers.
After talking to my mother and my father’s sisters, they seemed to think the earliest my father started being so kept to himself and never showing emotion was when his brother, Tommy died at a very young age to testicular cancer. My father was very close to Tommy, the only brother that he usually hung out with because they were so much alike even though Tommy was much older than my father. Tommy was stationed in Hawaii for the service, and his family would never see him again until he was shipped back to Ohio. My father says, “I felt numb after the funeral. It was shocking I hadn’t seen my brother in 2 years and here he comes in a box with stars and stripes hanging over his dead body.” Since his brother’s death, I believe that my father visits The American Legion because of Tommy.
I love my father very much; I am not writing this in hatred to him, I just wish he would show some affection to me or my mother. I can count on one hand how many times he has embraced me with his muscular used to be football arms. Every time I look at him he has this face that I can never and probably will never find what he his thinking about. I am never the one to pry open someone’s heart to know what they are feeling. I can’t say too much because lately I am becoming that lock to my feelings that are growing bigger each day and I have swallowed the key.
My father was never very good at speaking what he felt to anyone. Another moment in my life where my father could have told me differently was when my grandfather was in the last stage of his life. It was about a week before Christmas and I just got home from work complaining about how bad my feet hurt and the juveniles there. If I only knew what news I was about to receive. I took a glance at my father and even with the lights off I could tell he had been crying. I went upstairs got dressed in some comfy clothes and ran downstairs. Mother yelled dinner’s ready and my father didn’t move and his eyes were frozen on the TV. Something was definitely wrong. I got my plate of spaghetti and butter and sat back down on the couch.My father was sitting on the other couch closer to the TV. My father still staring at the TV, very bland explains to me that grandpa won’t make it to Christmas.I was shocked he just blurted it out like nothing was serious. That’s the way he dealt with death. Straight and to the point is the way he knew how to deal with the pain. I couldn’t breath and finally my mother came in took my plate as I ran out of the living room. It took me a couple of minutes to calm down and finally got my plate and sat by myself at the kitchen table. My mother and father were in the other room. I was so angry he told me about my grandfather like that. I was pissed. As I am about to break down again I see someone coming into the kitchen in the corner of my eye and turn to find my father in tears coming to give me a hug that I have never felt before. It was a rare moment in our household when my father would embrace they way he did, both of us crying. It is as if he squeezed the anger from me and put his heart and soul so close to me, but I still couldn’t grasp them. At that moment I understood that my father holds everything inside and sometimes it’s going to burst just like he held me in the kitchen with the annoying buzz of the light on the ceiling flowing through our ears.
I feel close to my father, but at times I feel like we are canoeing in the Little Miami River, but he keeps floating farther and farther away. My parents are always there for me, but I am closer to my father either way. I have lived my life the way he has. My father is a man that spreads a smile whenever he speaks. He's a man with little words and emotion. He is always packing a cooler to float in a canoe to have a good time to be himself. He's the man that I look up to even though when we say goodbyes he gives me an awkward handshake instead of an awkward hug with a pat on the back.
My father came to visit me for a weekend in Athens. My father Patrick is the type of guy that takes everyday at a time. The way a 52 year old gym teacher should be living life. I always question what he is thinking; I can never read him right. As an only child, not emotionally close with my parents I was actually very excited he was coming to OU, to visit me, his follower. While he came to visit on Saturday we went to dinner with my friends and then went to (I don't know if I'm allowed to say this) a bar and had drinks that helped me have a great morning after. At the end of the night when my father was leaving to go to his hotel room and after having an awkward night of standing next to each other with a distance of looking right then left and commenting on the drunks falling over in front of us until he left with complete intoxication and giving me a handshake and slipping a $20 dollar bill in my hand. It was at that moment that struck me as annoying. I stood there with my hand still out with the feel of paper on the palm of my hand shocked by knowing that this is his way of saying goodbye. It struck a nerve to the very core of my feelings towards my parents. Then as he leaves my friends Anna and Caylee give me this look of surprise because they both explain he gave them each a $20 dollar bill. Was I just his friend, or a girl he knows? I wanted to spend time with him, not for him to give me possessions that I don't want when I have time with him. It's a want to be close with him, a closeness that I want more than anything especially worth more than to have Andrew Jackson explain his feelings.
This memory that was a big step with my father and I getting closer and that will be close to my heart was when my grandfather (my fathers, father) passed away in January. This is the greatest and strongest memory I have of my father and his emotions. It was a crazy night at my Aunt Linda’s house. It was the house that the Chandlers grew up in. All the children and grandchildren were spread throughout the one story house eating, sharing memories, or drinking heavily to get rid of the pain. My father took the role upon himself to make sure everyone had a drink. My father was beginning to drink more once he found out how sick my grandfather was. It was no surprise. I arrived late to my aunt’s house, but once I was there I was put to work on making collages for the visitation, with my older cousin Matt. Since Matt is skinny like a toothpick he was already drunk and not very much help with the work we had in front of us. I just sat there laughing not realizing my father was a bit buzzed and laughing at everything Matt was trying to do and trying to say. I hadn’t seen my dad laugh in a long time; it was nice to see. Well later that night after my dad influenced me to have a couple drinks, he informed me we had to write the eulogy. At this point, Matt is falling asleep about to fall out of the chair next to me, my father’s baseball hat is backwards and I, who has a good buzz has post it notes all over my shirt from other relatives with ideas for the eulogy. Getting started was difficult, but my father was next to me smiling at me with his green eyes and whispered to me, “thank you for being my daughter and I love you.” I knew he was proud to say it, but it took him 19 years and alcohol to finally say it to my face. He didn’t give me a hug, but a pat on the back and we continued on scribbling a rough draft of the eulogy that my father would read at his father’s funeral two days later.
I have figured I have fallen asleep on the “sunshine rock” as my dad calls it. It is lighter than it was before, but easily to look around without the sun shining down. Once my eyes have focused I see that the river has finally lowered. I look around and notice I am able to cross the river with ease. I see someone wide shouldered and taller than me approach the shore as I make my way out of the rocks. It is my father and I take his hand, because we are going home.
Miami Purchase. 5 March 2009. Miami Purchase-Ohio History Central-A Product of the Ohio Historic. 2009
The American Legion. 5 March 2009. American Legion Victor Stier Post 450, Milford, Ohio. 2008-2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
While sitting on a rock that has been eroding away in the Little Miami river for many years, my mind wanders in hundreds of memories from the past and dreams that will hopefully happen in the future. I am sitting on this rock because I have come to this eroding memory since I was a little girl running around in the dirt with pigtails flopping up and down. I can close my eyes and let the sun hit my face with the warmth of rays pointing at me. I can remember so many summers and springs this has happened to me. As the shining sun hits me all of a sudden the light is blocked. Blocked by what? I quickly open my eyes to find my father standing in front of me. We smile at each other. He knew I would be down here because he is the one that introduced me to this river. He is the one that introduced me how to really live and love life.
Even though we are blood related and he was the one that fed and held me close as a baby, I feel he is still on the other side of the river and the water is too high for me to cross and reach him. I am 19 years old and I still at times don't understand my father. He is the one that I look up to, the one I call to talk because my life is out of order. He feels so close, but so far away.
My father, not very wealthy growing up, is from a big family of 7. As children they would all sleep in the same room which was the attic of their house. When they got together, they said it was like 7 wild animals roaming the house. Also, their cousins the 7 Kelly children would also join their herd. No wonder they turned out the way they did. With so many kids and family members around I ask myslef why my father is so quiet and why he won't let me into his thoughts?
When Karr mentions the American Legion and her time spent there, I have memories just like her. The Chandlers are all about the legion. My uncle Donny spends every waking moment at the Legion, even Christmas Day. It is where I have grown up. I remember seeing a picture of me (2 years old) and my cousin Mark (9 years old) during an Easter egg hunt at the Legion the only one that I would be aloud to participate in. My mother didn't find it suitable for me to be down there. My father always relaxed with anything so he would sneak me down to the legion at any age. During every summer I would always run down there from my house because of the small town everything is so close, that I would always find my grandpa smoking a cigarette in the basement when he knows he shouldn't be, or the bartender saying hi to me while kicking some drunk out at noon. I have many memories at the Milford Legion with my Chandler cousins, some should not be mentioned. My mother still doesn't know half the stuff I enjoy doing with the Chandlers. Whatever I did with the Chandler's, was always kept from my mother for many years. The legion was like a safe haven from her. I don't understand how my father can listen to her complain about his family? He sits there just facing the TV. or reads the newspaper without looking up. He is probably used to it since growing up with her and being married to my mother
My parents are always there for me. They always make me feel welcome, but awkward at the same time. I don’t know how to act or feel to their actions towards me. I want them to acknowledge me for what I believe in and how I feel to live in the world they way I want to. I am closer to my father even though his family might be different than my mothers but were all the same we are family. My father is a man that spreads a smile whenever he speaks. He's a man with little words and emotion. He is always packing a cooler to float in a canoe to have time to be himself. He's the man that I look up to even though when we say goodbyes he gives me an awkward handshake instead of awkward hug with a pat on the back. My father came to visit me for a weekend in Athens. My father Patrick is the type of guy that takes everyday at a time. I think a 52 year old gym teacher should be living life. I always question what he is thinking; I can never read him right. Anyway, as an only child not really emotionally close with my parents I was actually very excited he was coming to OU, to visit me, his follower. While he came to visit on Saturday we went to dinner with my friends and then went to (I don't know if I'm allowed to say this, but went to a bar and had drinks that helped me have a great morning after). At the end of the night when my father was leaving to go to his hotel room and after having an awkward night of standing next to each with a distance of looking right then left and then saying one sentence then repeating again until he left with complete intoxication and giving me a handshake and slipping a $20 dollar bill in my hand. It was at that moment that struck me as kind of annoying. I haven't completely thought of how I really feel. It struck a nerve to the very core of my feelings towards my parents. It's a confusing feeling I still haven't understood. I wanted to spend time with him, not for him to give me possessions that I don't want when I have time with him without my mother around. It's a want to be close with him, a closeness that I want more than anything especially worth more than to have Andrew Jackson explain his feelings.
When your parents tell you something you want to trust and believe what they say. The view of my mothers about the Chandler's has always made me question her. Since both sides of my family are strange in many ways, the way each of them act is totally different. My father’s side, not very wealthy growing up, is the big family of 7. As children they would all sleep in the same room which was the attic of their house. When they got together they said it was like 7 wild animals roaming the house. Also, their cousins the 7 Kelly children would also join their herd. No wonder they turned out the way they did. On the other side of my family, my mother's side was also big with 5 children, but they were all brought up proper and always following the rules. My mother's view on the world around her is much different than my father's. They were so close by living across the street from each other, but they were so different.
When I was younger I wasn't very close with many of the Chandlers because my mom did not think I would learn anything good from them. My dad was supposedly the only "normal" one to her because he was the only child that graduated from college. My mom thinks this way about them till this day. It upsets me because now that I have grown up and have realized my mom still views them the same way, it makes me want to get closer with all of them. I want to figure out why she has this view. I am one of the middle grandchildren so I get along with my older cousins. The younger ones I barely see. I have a lot in common with them and they know the real me. They know that I am just like my father who keeps to myself, but also the one that believes that you have to take care whatever cards you’re dealt in life. It's my mother’s hatred for the Chandler side that pushes me closer to their open arms. They accept me even when I have faults.
The Chandlers are all about the legion. My uncle Donny spends every waking moment at the Legion, even Christmas Day. It is where I have grown up. I remember seeing a picture of me (2 years old) and my cousin Mark (9 years old) during an Easter egg hunt at the Legion the only one that I would be aloud to participate in. My mother didn't find it suitable for me to be down there. My father always relaxed with anything so he would sneak me down to the legion at any age. During every summer I would always run down there from my house because of the small town everything is so close, that I would always find my grandpa smoking a cigarette in the basement when he knows he shouldn't be, or the bartender saying hi to me while kicking some drunk out at noon. I have many memories at the Milford Legion with my Chandler cousins, some should not be mentioned. My mother still doesn't know half the stuff I enjoy doing with the Chandlers. Whatever I did with the Chandler's, was always kept from my mother for many years. The legion was like a safe haven from her. I don't understand how my father can listen to her complain about his family? He sits there just facing the TV. or reads the newspaper without looking up. He is probably used to it since growing up with her and being married to my mother.
I can’t go in the past and see why my mother thinks of the Chandlers as some type of disease that she doesn’t want to spread in me. She speaks to them like they are under her. Maybe it’s that she tells me stories of before I was born and explain to me events that took place that I had no idea happened. My father would never speak a word of them. It was in the past and we need to deal with the present, his thoughts of it all. It’s moments in the past how my father’s sister Mary Jo was a knock out in high school and she married the biggest low life twice. Since I’ve been around they have two children and have no money, they try to ask for it from their siblings, but no one budges. Or maybe it’s my father’s other sister Betsy that has been married three times and has I can’t even count how many kids. Back in the day when my mother and Betsy lived across the street from each other they were enemies. Betsy would always steal anything she could get her paws on. My mother remembers every item Betsy took from her. Betsy till this day has not changed. Another blow to my father’s side is when my cousin Allison (one of Betsy’s children) who just turned twenty-one and is about to have her second child. In my mother’s eyes, she thinks this is ludicrous. My mother never wanted me to hang around Allison because of her actions. Maybe it’s because Allison has had two abortions, got married to a soldier that went a-wall, and because of who her mother is.
My parents are always there for me. They always make me feel welcome, but awkward at the same time. I don’t know how to act or feel to their actions towards me. I want them to acknowledge me for what I believe in and how I feel to live in the world they way I want to. I am closer to my father even though his family might be different than my mothers but were all the same we are family. My father is a man that spreads a smile whenever he speaks. He's a man with little words and emotion. He is always packing a cooler to float in a canoe to have time to be himself. He's the man that I look up to even though when we say goodbyes he gives me an awkward handshake instead of awkward hug with a pat on the back. My father came to visit me for a weekend in Athens. My father Patrick is the type of guy that takes everyday at a time. I think a 52 year old gym teacher should be living life. I always question what he is thinking; I can never read him right. Anyway, as an only child not really emotionally close with my parents I was actually very excited he was coming to OU, to visit me, his follower. While he came to visit on Saturday we went to dinner with my friends and then went to (I don't know if I'm allowed to say this, but went to a bar and had drinks that helped me have a great morning after). At the end of the night when my father was leaving to go to his hotel room and after having an awkward night of standing next to each with a distance of looking right then left and then saying one sentence then repeating again until he left with complete intoxication and giving me a handshake and slipping a $20 dollar bill in my hand. It was at that moment that struck me as kind of annoying. I haven't completely thought of how I really feel. It struck a nerve to the very core of my feelings towards my parents. It's a confusing feeling I still haven't understood. I wanted to spend time with him, not for him to give me possessions that I don't want when I have time with him without my mother around. It's a want to be close with him, a closeness that I want more than anything especially worth more than to have Andrew Jackson explain his feelings.
The section that I just read was very good. Michael Ondaatje's writing is different than what I have read in a long time. It was very interesting to hear about him and his sister going to the church and finding their ancestors on the chiseled slab.
In the chapter, "Monsoon Notebook" (i) Michael is descriptive in his writing.
Running In the Family, by Michael Ondaatje is a good read so far. His memories have me wanting to keep reading. This memoir is my favorite out of all the memoirs that we have read for class. It has kept me entertained and wanting more from this author. One of my favorite chapters is The Courtship, Page,31. I am fond of this chapter because of his father's life at this age was very humorist. The way Michael tells the story of his father's way of life living in England and his parents not knowing his where a bouts. Also his father's few engagements. When Michael's grandfather just sat back and kept silent during all of the craziness it was very comical too. Towards the end of the chapter I came to realize that his father would like to jump around a lot and not stay in one place. It seems when he would be bored he would just get up and leave. Of course his grandparents were not happy with their son especially when he was going to get fish and two days later wound up in Trincomalee. When his fiance sent him a letter to break off the engagement, his father decided it was time for a road trip to Colombo. His father would not let him have the car so he found a ride with his uncle Aelian. The arrived in Colombo very intoxicated, but Michael's mother decided to marry his father after all. During this chapter it helps me recall that there are people in the world that have crazy ideas just to pack up and leave just for the thrill. Michael's father just wanted to get away from his family, he wasn't like the rest of them. This chapter made me very intrigued to what else is to come in the next chapters. The Memoir and the Memoirist hasn't really held my attention. When reading the twenty pages there were some lines that I liked. "No alternative is possible: the story commands us to write it as a way of sentencing it to memory" (80). In Kathryn Harrison's memoir she writes, "I'd heard myself speak what I hadn't yet thought" (84). That happens to all of us that write and speak. I am still questioning what it really means to me. Also when Larson is mentioning Eggers who auditioned for The Real World, he mentions he "admires the fearlessness" in him, "he gets sucked back into the past as he writes about it" (98). This is true to all who write of the past. We all get sucked back trying to remember every intricate detail to help us remember. We have to get sucked back in, to understand what really happened to get back out and move forward.
During our lives we all have these moments of silence. The silence wants to reach us. This silence is triggering our thoughts to hear something else. At any moment the silence will hit you like a wave crashing down. It's the true meaning of the silence that we find the need, the want to know the silence. Through the memoir, Fathers, Sons, and Brothers, by Bret Lott, Lott has many experiences from childhood to adulthood with the secret silence. The silence is a vine in our thoughts, which is intertwined with memories of past and present. The silence makes an appearance in Bret’s life a number of times to give the reader a questionable thought, “Can silence really be heard?” Silence gives a number of meanings to Bret Lott during his life which is expressed through his essays.
The first sign of the rising silence in Bret's mind was when he had a job with doing the paper route through his neighborhood. After the rush of riding down the hill and chugging 16 ounces of RC Cola he would jump into his bed. Bret said, "I lay there in bed listening to that sound, wondering where it had come from, why it was here, what purpose it served; and imagined that perhaps I was the only one on earth who ever heard it.... Sometimes, then, I fell asleep. But most times I only lay awake, waiting for what could happen next, that sound passing through me swallowing me whole, me that much alone in the world" (22). There are times in everyone's life that we have a moment of brilliance and there is only one thing our ears pick up, the silence. The silence wants to be heard. It crawls out into the world around us enlightening, or scaring us because we feel we are the only ones that hear it. While we hear the silence are thoughts are blank because we are trying to find what truly is inside the silence. We don’t want to let the silence disappear. We want to clutch until it reveals why it is hear with us, at this moment. We may feel alone hearing the silence, but it is a shield around us that wants us to remember the moment. The silence is helping us remember those special moments.
Reading the chapter “Hugo”, Bret Lott explains this silence when taping the windows up and putting X's on the windows. "The wind was up, shifting through the pine boughs, whispering and we only listened, no words between us," (121). The silence is always around us. It keeps people alone and together at the same time. Even if there are no words spoken, the same silence can have so many different meanings. It also happens to Bret when the family is living with Deno and Kathy, "...the wind out here-there'd been no wind all day long, simply an overcast sky-charged through the boughs, bent the pines side to side in big, slow arcs, the air through needles whistling furiously, and I wondered why no one else was up, no one else out here, startled from sleep by this sound. There were no clouds, only that moon, and these trees, and that wind," (124). Reading this section made me think of all the times each human being has those silences during hectic or crazy times and we all ask ourselves why I can hear something else in the silence. There is a moment when we are by ourselves and the silence is irritating our minds. It's wrapped around our little finger, that sound in the silence we just can't seem to untie that thought. The silence is maybe a comfort to us, to know everything is going to be alright, or help us to understand our thoughts. Bret seems to be alone whenever he hears the silence. His wife or children might be there during the silence, but they are either weeping, or sleeping. There are no words spoken between them. He is left alone.
We never know what the silence can bring us. Can we really hear silence? Silence is silence. You’re not supposed to hear, but we do in ways that only ourselves can describe it. Through the drive in the rain to “Wadmalaw Island”, Bret finds the silence, "I see up there, in the darkness of those trees, in the black-green of them, a kind of silence it's hard to find anymore: silence like a treasure, a secret worth the drive out here and whatever wrath my children might wreak upon me once they awaken to no orange soda and M&M's" (144). I don't think you have to drive somewhere to find the silence. It comes to you no matter what. If you're by yourself, or with friends there is always a silence lingering through everyone. We can allow ourselves to experience it whenever we would like. I think Lott is correct when he mentions that “silence like a treasure.” The silence is a treasure to each person that experiences it. The treasure grows inside of you. The silence is something we crave, we want to find it and keep it forever. Silence is the gold that keeps us wanting more.
Lott gives the reader his view on the silences that fill his life; to help him remember his past. The silence is the magic mirror that brings the past alive in his thoughts. We all have some form of a magic mirror to help us remember our past. Lott is maybe telling his readers that we need some silence in our lives to remember the past, but also to help deal with the present. The silences are the peace that comes with life that helps us through good and difficult times. It’s the buried treasure at the end of the rainbow.
A. Mary's relationship with her grandmother was not strong. Since the beginning Mary has always blamed her mother's Nervous on her grandmother. "I always associate my grandmother's house with mother's silence and the old woman's endless bossy prattle" (29). She never got along with her grandmother which is difficult for me to understand because I have always grown up close to my grandmothers and they have never been so hostile like Mary's grandmother. In the words that Mary writes you can tell her hatred for her grandmother, "Maybe it's wrong to blame the arrival of Grandma Moore for much of the worst hurt in my family, but she was such a ring tailed bitch that I do" (41). Mary's grandmother is suffering from cancer and that is why she has to come live with Mary's family. Right as her grandmother first moved into the house, she started criticizing everything about the family and what they did in that house.
She was an angry woman all the time. Mary and her family would eat meals on their parents bed, but since grandmother was there they had to eat at the table. Mary and Lecia were not allowed to run around naked when the heat was intolerable with clothes on, because grandmother was watching. Mary's grandmother was really into faith so she bought the two girls white leather bibles. Mary says that when her grandmother moved into the house "she brought with her that same kind of slightly deranged scrutiny" (44). Also on page 46, "Still, I remember not one tender feeling for her or from her" as Mary talks about how she feels towards her grandmother at the end of chapter 2. According to Mary's grandmother, "These children are being ruined!" This is when Mary's grandmother is going "batshit" over the braided whip. Her grandmother revealed to Mary that Lecia and her supposedly have a brother Tex and a sister Belinda that their mother never told them about.
B. The family runs from Leechfield because there was a class 4 hurricane headed toward where they lived. Mary, Lecia, their mother and grandmother were the ones in the car on the bridge going to their aunts house. Their father was staying at where he worked. When they first got on the bridge out of town, Mary's mother started singing the scariest part of "Mack the Knife" then the car went into a 360 degree spin. According to Lecia, they crashed into the railing because her mother was trying to get a hold of Mary in the back seat. That was the first time that Lecia gave any sign of affection in sisterly relationship to Mary by lacing her fingers between her sisters.
During our lives we all have these moments of silence. This silence is triggering our thoughts to hear something else. At any moment the silence will hit you like a wave crashing down. It's the true meaning of the silence that we find the need, we want to know the silence. Through the memoir, Fathers, Sons, and Brothers, by Bret Lott, Lott has many experiences from childhood to adulthood with the secret silence. The silence gives another meaning to Bret Lott's life in his essays.
[adding example SOUND]
Reading the chapter Hugo, Bret Lott explains this silence when taping the windows up and putting x's on the wood. "The wind was up, shifting through the pine boughs, whispering and we only listened, no words between us," (121). It also happens to Bret when the family is living with Deno and Kathy, "...the wind out here-there'd been no wind all day long, simply an overcast sky-charged through the boughs, bent the pines side to side in big, slow arcs, the air through needles whistling furiously, and I wondered why no one else was up, no one else out here, startled from sleep by this sound. There were no clouds, only that moon, and these trees, and that wind," (124). Reading this section made me think of all the times each human being has those silences during hectic, or crazy times and we all ask ourselves why can I hear something else in the silence? There is a moment when we are by ourselves and that silence is irritating our minds. It's wrapped around our little finger, that sound in the silence we just can't seem to untie that thought. The silence is maybe a comfort to us to know everything is going to be alright, or help us to understand our thoughts.
[adding example from the essay WADMALOW]
Lott gives the reader the silences that fill his life, to help him remember his past. The silence is the magic mirror that brings the past alive in his thoughts. We all have some form of a magic mirror to help us remember our past. Lott is maybe telling his readers that we need some silence in our lives to remember the past, but also to help deal with the present. The silences are the peace that come with life that help us through good and difficult times.
It is easy for Bret Lott to write about his memories of his childhood because of his own sons. I think my thesis is kind of weak. I would love to make it stronger. Input would be great. --Also, I thought I was going to do something else to make up the quiz, but I can answer the questions by tomorrows class time. Is that ok?
When your parents tell you something you want to trust and believe what they say. The view of my mothers about the Chandler's has always made me question her. Since both sides of my family are strange in many ways, the way each of them act is totally different. My fathers side, not very wealthy growing up, is the big family of 7. As children they would all sleep in the same room which was the attic of their house. When they get together they said it was like 7 wild animals roaming the house. Also, their cousins the 7 Kelly children would also join their herd. No wonder they turned out the way they did. Their dinners would always be of lima beans and bread. On the other side of my family, my mother's side was also big with 5 children, but they were all brought up proper and always following the rules. My mother's view on the world around her is much different than my father's. When I was younger I wasn't very close with many of the Chandlers because my mom did not think I would learn anything good from them. My dad was supposedly the only "normal" one to her because he was the only child that graduated from college. My mom thinks this way about them til this day. It upsets me because now that I have grown up and have realized my mom still views them the same way, it makes me want to get closer with all of them. I am one of the middle grandchildren so I get along with my older cousins. I have a lot in common with them and they know the real me. They know that I am just like my father who keeps to myself, but also the one that believes that you have to take care whatever your dealt . It's my mothers hatred for the Chandler side that pushes me closer to their open arms. They accept me even when I have faults. When Karr mentions the American Legion and her time spent there, I have memories just like her. The Chandlers are all about the legion. My uncle Donny spends every waking moment at the Legion, even Christmas Day. It is where I have grown up. I remember seeing a picture of me (2 years old) and my cousin Mark (9 years old) during an Easter egg hunt at the Legion the only one that I would be aloud to participate in. My mother didn't find it suitable for me to be down there. My father always relaxed with anything so he would sneak me down to the legion at any age. During every summer I would always run down there from my house because of the small town everything is so close, that I would always find my grandpa smoking a cigarette in the basement when he knows he shouldn't be, or the bartender saying hi to me while kicking some drunk out at noon. I had my first beer in Milford Legion with my Chandler cousins. My mother still doesn't know that fact. Whatever I did with the Chandler's it was always kept from my mother. The legion was like a safe haven from her. I don't understand how my father can listen to her complain about his family? He sits there just facing the t.v. or reads the newspaper without looking up.
The first chapter of Fathers, Sons and Brothers, was interestingly focused around a garage. Brett Lott remembers his family when he was a child to the present day with his wife and two children. He says, "a house is not a home,"(2). Lott writes about the house is not complete without a garage. It's as though the garage is what is holding everything in place. When Lott was younger, he, his father and brothers would be together in the garage. Fond memories are in the garages of their homes. Lott says on page 5, that their families garage was a "haven". When it comes to Lott's memories of his childhood his garage is making a big impression. It's only a garage that pulls the chapter around.
My favorite part in the reading thus far is when he has the paper route and remembers every street he delivered too and the intricate details of the paper route. "The wind grew, whistled in my ears, the handlebars lighter than anything I could imagine after having been so full so long. The bags ballooned out with the rush of air into them..."(20). You're on top of the world, the wind blowing past you knowing you get to go home to a bottle of R.C Cola. That is a perfect childhood memory every child would like to have. As we grow older those moments as a child get behind us. We never get to experience those innocent bike rides, or playing with the neighborhood kids in the street anymore because time is flying by like your riding down the hill wanting to finish the paper route as soon as possible, but as soon as your finish and your at the bottom of the hill your childhood is gone and you are a grown up and have to take on more responsibility. It's your life flashing before your eyes.
"Sometimes, then I fell asleep. But most times I only lay awake, waiting for what could happen next, that sound passing through me and swallowing me whole, me that much alone in the world."(22) He started hearing the sound as he would lay in bed after his paper route. For him to remember this "sound" must have been extremely important. It's the sound of silence that enlightens our childhood. The rush after something exhilarating.
Another important line in the reading is, "I remember-no true picture, necessarily, but what I have made the truth by holding tight to it, playing it back in my head at will and in the direction I wish it to go,"(28). No one has a clear picture of their own memories. We try so hard to remember to piece together what happened. At some point in time that whole memory comes into action playing in our mind. It's our choice whether we want to remember every critical moment of the memory. Our family moments good or bad will be with us, we just have to find them in our memory. It's hard for the real truth to finally come out.
"Anyway Mother's back to me in that rocker conjured that old Alfred Hitchcock movie she'd taken us to in 1960 Psycho...Mother turned around slow to face me like old Tony Perkins. Her face come into my head one sharp frame at a time. I finally saw in these instants that Mother's own face had been all scribbled up with that mud colored lipstick. She was trying to scrub herself out"(148). It seems that in, "The Liar's Club," by Mary Karr, Mary can relive this agonizing memory. There is something wrong in her childhood if she is comparing her mother to an awful fiction movie. I believe that Mary does not see her mother as a parental figure, but a psycho who can't be cured.
I have seen the movie Psycho, so picturing her mother sitting in the rocker, is very disturbing, but an awesome comparison. I am thankful for my mother. It's a tragedy the way Mary's childhood is that of something evil in the world. I think the word Psycho is a perfect adjective for Mary's mother. it is sad that her memory connecting this point in her life to that of a killer in a movie. I think there are points where we always connect something make believe with what happens in our true lives. We hope that what we make believe will come true and that sadness of our lives will disappear.
At this point in reading we all know that Mary's mother is an alcoholic and there is something going on in her head, maybe evil thoughts? We finally understand that she did snap. I think that her father is putting up with these antics for the kids. He wants to protect them from the evil, or craziness that is in Mary's mothers mind. It's crazy to think Mary's father didn't do something sooner. This is all stemming from the heartache that Grandma put on Mary's mother. Her mother gets Nervous resulting from her Grandmother. It is sad that died, but it's a big change from when Mary's mother drives the body across Texas and back home. That road trip made her angry and compile all the damage her mother had done to her. At that point the psycho is leaving her flesh, but the alcohol is returning into her bloodstream. It's really awful to hear of these hardships knowing that they really did happen, or did something else happen?
Another disturbing image is, "If I tried to slide in with Mother too, she'd have unwrapped my arms from her neck, saying I made her hot,"(180-181). It's a tragedy when a child, or even an adult is not comforted. Mary is not close with anyone. Since the beginning of the book she has somewhat become closer to her sister, Lecia. Their relationship is that of two people exchanging an awkward hug. No wonder Mary is so close with her father. It's still not a close relationship, but its the best one she has. The alcohol and mother's Nervous is a guard between all of them. I guess back then there wasn't that much affection between family members. Her mother chooses to be close to Lecia because she would refill her addiction.
Mary's mother was affected by her own mother, but as daughters we are all a piece of our mothers whether positive or negative. From her mother's actions, Mary will not follow in her footsteps. She has witnessed her mother during her childhood. I am sure Mary is grateful for her childhood, but also angry at the way her mother treated her. I am blaming her mother because of her psycho and alcoholic way of life. Her father may have some faults, but she never mentions them as neatly as her memories from her mother. In the end Mary's mother and father were brought back together, just as Mary's one relationship ended with her father having a stroke. Her mother growing old made her stronger for who she was even if her father wasn't present.
After reading The Liar's Club, Mary Karr, I thought it was a great novel. Karr was very skilled in writing her memories with such descriptions. When reading the first ten pages I had no idea what was going on, but Karr was keeping the reader wanting more of her novel. It is very sad the way her parents turned out. By the end of the book, we find out that Mary's mother is explaining her life and how she had lied to her two children. They find out there are two other children. It seems as though Mary loved growing up, but her father hated seeing her grow up and leave him in Texas. I loved how Mary got to go travel around the U.S to get out of the problems at her home. When Karr, is describing her memory of her fathers first fight in front of her, I got a different vibe about her father. The whole time Mary is always on her fathers side. She was always putting down her mother, but by this time when they are at the Legion he is a totally different person. Karr's fathers drinking problem was what changed him. Being in that small town, retired and drinking everyday took his well being. Some of the comments he says to Mary is just plain hurtful that no father should ever say to their children. Mary was worried about her father and his response,"what I got was way worse. Daddy shrugged. I don't give a shit." All along I thought the mother was the bad parent. After reading about Mary Karr's life it lets me know that we might not always have the family we want, but they will love us and make us stronger no matter what. And that we will always go back to where we came from whether its good or bad.
"Anyway Mother's back to me in that rocker conjured that old Alfred Hitchcock movie she'd taken us to in 1960 Psycho...Mother turned around slow to face me like old Tony Perkins. Her face come into my head one sharp frame at a time. I finally saw in these instants that Mother's own face had been all scribbled up with that mud colored lipstick. She was trying to scrub herself out"(148). It seems that she doesn't see her mother as a care giver, or a role model. I don't understand how Mary can relive this memory when she compares it to the awful fiction of a movie. I have seen the movie Psycho, so picturing her mother sitting in the rocker,is very weird, but an awesome comparison. It makes me thankful for how great my mother is. It’s a tragedy the way Mary's childhood is that of something evil in the world. I think the word Psycho is a perfect adjective for Mary's mother. It is sad that her memory is connecting this point in her life to that of a killer in a movie. I think there is points where we always connect something make believe with what happens in our true lives. We hope that what we make believe will come true and that sadness of our lives will disappear. At this point in reading we all know that Mary’s mother is an alcoholic and there is something else going on in her head. We finally understand that she did do to the loony place for awhile. I think that her father is putting up with these antics for the kids. He wants to protect them from the evil or craziness that is in Mary’s mothers mind. It’s crazy to think Mary’s father didn’t do something sooner. This is all stemming from the heartache that Grandma put on Mary’s mother. Mary’s mother gets her Nervous issue resulting from her Grandmother. It is sad that she died, but it’s a big change from when Mary’s mother drives the body across and comes back home. That road trip just made her mad. It’s if a light bulb came on and these horrible memories growing up came back to her. It’s really sad to read these hardships knowing that they really did happen, or did they? Maybe it isn’t as bad as we think. Another disturbing image is, “If I tried to slide in with Mother too, she’d have unwrapped my arms from her neck, saying I made her hot”(180-181) It’s a tragedy when a child or even an adult is not comforted. It seems that Mary is not close with anyone. Since the beginning of the book she has some what has become closer to her sister, Lecia, but not like a sister relationship. There are so many descriptions of her mother ignoring her. No wonder she is closer to her father. It still not a close relationship. The alcohol and her mothers Nervous is a guard between all of them. I guess back then there wasn’t that much affection between family members. There was work and chores to be done. Her mother chooses to be close to Lecia because she would refill her alcohol intake. Mary’s mother was affected by her own mother. It seems as though Mary will not fall into her mothers footsteps. She has seen what her mother did to her childhood. I am sure Mary is grateful for the way she grew up, but also angry at the way her mother treated her. I am putting the blame mostly on her mother. Her father might have some faults, but she never describes them as neatly as her memories from her mother. Hopefully it will change. Maybe her mother will grow up and start being an adult.
