June 1935

“Motherless migrant children. They work the cotton. June 1935.”

                This is the only title to a photograph that depicts three sad looking children living on their own in the dusty, desolate area of a 1930’s cotton field. The center of the photo shows the trunk of a thick tree, with wavy bark and some vines hanging towards the top. Beside the tree to the left, you can see a section of a tent, obviously the dwelling of the three children in the photograph. The tent houses an old dilapidated stove with a bent smoke stack, a few pots and pans, a large wash pail, and a small table. To the right of the tree, in the distance you can see a field, dead looking and dusty, with an old pickup truck idling. The focal point of the photo is the three children that sit or stand near the tree. Two of the children, a boy perhaps nine years old and a girl maybe seven, sit at the base of the tree. They wear old, worn clothes, the boy overalls and a newsboy’s cap and the girl a tunic-like dress. Directly to the right of the tree is an older girl of approximately twelve years stands. Her face is turned towards the tree and she has her hands on the trunk, perhaps picking at the bark. Beside her are old, flattened tires. She wears a thin white dress that resembles the cloth of a food sack. All the children look rather hopeless and the youngest girl looks a little bit angry. The boy is simply staring off into the distance.

                The “story” of this photograph is clear: these children have next to nothing. They have no family except each other, no one to take care of them, no substantial sources of food, no warm place to spend the night, and no hope. The caption of the photo says that these children work in the cotton fields. That is certainly not an occupation that will give them very much money, especially considering that they are children. This leads the viewer of the photograph to infer that these unhappy children will perhaps always look this unhappy. They will never get ahead, for they will have few opportunities for advancement. It would take a miracle or the kindness of some well off stranger to help them succeed. The viewer sees that they must raise themselves and each other and with all that time working in the cotton fields they will have no time to attends school or even to play. It’s almost hard to imagine that they had time to pose for this photograph. Because of the time in which they live, the 1930’s during the Dustbowl, there will be virtually no one to care for them or to take them under their wing. The faces of the children add to this story. The younger girl’s face is hardened and angry but also a little sad; she knows what her future holds. She thinks that her life will never get better, and that she will never be happy. The boy is looking off into the distance looking dejected but not angry. His face is perhaps the shining focal point of the photograph. He is saddened by his situation but not yet defeated; he had not yet given into anger. On his face you can see the smallest glimmer of hope that says, “Maybe, just maybe, we can survive this.”

Death's Cruel Sting

Response to “The Death of the Moth”

                Moths are very small. They are seemingly in no way significant but this author found some significance. This author, Virginia Wolf, found a narrative in death. She was watching a moth flutter around between window panes one day and noticed how full of life it was. To the author’s credit, many people do not take the time to watch such little things with such rapt attention. But nonetheless Wolf was able to see that the moth had little to do with its life but buzz from one side of its window to another. When it fell she wanted to right it with her pencil but stopped seeing that it was near death. The author seems to want us as readers to infer that death is inevitable. If it was not she would have righted the moth so that it could properly fight death. However she hesitated knowing that the little moth did not have the power to conquer death.

                I am not sure whether the author means to say that humans also cannot fight death. For everyone knows that death is unavoidable. Perhaps the author means that there comes a point when we cannot fight death any longer. There comes a time when we are like the little moth; a time when death will not release us from its grasp. Like the moth we were once so full of life but then are not.       

Blindness... a gift?

Response to “Blindness”

                Very few people would see blindness as a good thing. Even fewer would say that it is a gift. Jorge Luis Borges thinks that his blindness was a gift. Through his blindness his eyes were opened to forms of literature he had not explored before. The irony of it all is that when he first began losing his sight he had recently begun working in a library. He found that he could not read the titles of the books off of their spines. Borges apparently (he doesn’t explain this in great detail) had to have others read to him. I myself would hate being blind. I love to look at art and see films. I cannot for the life of me understand how Borges could come to the conclusion that his blindness was a gift. Sure he ended up exploring other forms of literature that he had not before but at what cost? He said he was only about three-quarters blind and could still see a few colors. How can that be a gift? Perhaps if I was an optimist I could understand his reasoning. But I’m not so this piece has left me a bit confused. I see that he is trying to make the best of it, and he even cites other authors that also went blind. But to be a lover of reading and then to have that ability impaired would be awful. Sure people could read to him but that’s not quite the same.

All Cracked-Up

Ashley G

Professor Zoller

Life Narratives

11/6/12

Response to “The Crack- Up” by F. Scott Fitzgerald

                In this essay Fitzgerald speaks about a time in his life when he came to dislike most people and most things that had previously made him happy. He says that he suddenly realized it one day after two years of this behavior. He spent a great portion of those two years secluding himself from other people. I’m sure that many people have read this essay and been confused. Strangely enough, I think I can relate. I am by my very nature a reasonably introverted person, this may confuse some people. Over the years I’ve developed a very sturdy façade to use in social situations that I cannot escape from. It is easy for me to be in social situations but at some point I need a break, the socializing and other people make me tired. Fitzgerald had his “crack-up” after hearing some bad news at the doctor. His new behavior was a way to cover up his inner feelings of fear. He “cracked- up” in response to something traumatic; I seclude myself when I encounter social situations that become exasperating for me. So I understand, at some smaller level, how Fitzgerald felt and why he did what he did.        

Response to "On Being an American"

Ashley G

Professor Zoller

Life Narratives

11/1/12

Response to “On Being an American”

                I found this essay to be particularly confusing. Reading the first paragraph of it I assumed that the author was not American, in fact I turned back a page to see what country he hailed from. I found that he was in fact an American. Confused I decided to just read the rest of the essay. The author made the interesting choice to talk about Americans as if he was not an American. Perhaps it would have been easier to read if I had not known he was an American.

                The author spends much of the piece commenting on American politics and at one point makes the comment that American politics are the best. However he cites them as being the best because American politics are the most entertaining. I’ve never really thought of our politics as amusing. Truth be told I didn’t think that non- Americans (even though the author is American, he’s coming at the essay from the perspective of a non- American) really cared very much about our politics.

                I was slightly offended by some of the author’s comments about Americans. He makes us seem to be clowns running around like crazy children for the entertainment of the world. He calls us young and says that we act like youths, “It is easy to excite them. It is easy to fool them.” That is not the way that I would describe Americans.