In all great works of writing there is a great deal of symbolism. There are also characters which are combination of qualities or features that distinguishes one person, group, or thing from another. In The Piano Lesson by August Wilson, an important symbol and character would be the piano. It symbolizes the past and the hardships the Charles family encountered. Berniece herself does not like the piano because of all the bad memories it brings, yet she does not let anyone get rid of it. On the other hand, Boy Willie embraces the past of the piano yet wants to sell it to buy land off of Sutter. The piano is a character as well because it has qualities of it own. It has carving engraved and a past. People have cried, died and bled over it.
The fight for the piano is very interesting because there is a great deal of thought that has to go into the decision being made. Should Boy Willie sell his family legacy for a piece of land or should Berniece keep the piano without really embracing the meaning and value of it? I like the piano because toward the end it brings Boy Willie and Berniece closer together. They are no longer at war and I’m glad that Boy Willie tells his niece about the family history. This is when I start to see that the piano is a character. It resolved the conflicts between a brother and sister.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Bully Me
It may be because I am a nice person or it may be because I didn’t mess with anyone and I didn’t do anything radically mischievous but I cannot think of one time when I was bullied. The only time that I can recall harassment was when I was about 6 years old. When I turned three my mom put me in a day care because she had to work. My father was not around so he could not help us out. This day care was next to what would be my school for the next five years, Grant Elementary. This is the place where I made all of my childhood friends. When I arrived at the day care I played in the sandbox or in the doll house with the girls until about twelve which was when we would sleep. I would never sleep because I was a restless child who just wanted to play some more, at one we would have cookies and milk and at three or four o’clock my mom would pick me up.
At the age of four or five I no longer liked hanging out with the girls. I wouldn’t paint or dress up in cute little costumes located next to the pretend kitchen. I became one of the boys. At recess I would run with the boys, I would fight with the boys and I would have burping contest. I won most of the time. My best friends Xiomara and Stephanie had no problem with the change but other girls did and I think I know why.
When I hung out with the boys I would arrive to school with clean fingernails, nice white shirts and clean sneakers by time school was over, I was covered in dirt and looked as if I had rolled in it. My mom hated to pick me up and I hated when she did too because she had to see how dirty I would be at the end of the day and she would scold me all the way home. My sister on the other hand would encourage me to get dirtier she would say things like “You’re a kid, do what you need to do.” Now that I think about it, it’s not very good advice but she meant well.
I was one of the boys; I had to act like them. Whatever they did I would do too. I was like their little sister in a sense because if anyone tried to pick on me they would be there to be on my side. As a group we picked on everybody. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t thrive in this but whatever we wanted we would have. It wasn’t constant suffering for the rest of the kids either and we didn’t rule the day care, we just had an upper hand. We would always cut in line, get the good cookies and use up all the supplies before anyone even saw them. Thomas, Elvis (the boys I hung out with) and I would play practical jokes on everyone like when we put stink bombs in the teachers’ lounge or placed whoopee cushions on different seats. Once we filled a cup of milk with glue but nobody drank it. (Darn it!) We were bad.
One day I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and when I got to school Thomas and Elvis didn’t show up which made me angrier so I decided to play with the girls. They were playing with dolls as their children. I don’t know why, but we all decided to pretend to be someone else. Instead of our real names we used fake names; I clearly remember wanting to be Stacy but Celina also wanted to have that name. Strike one. Then she took my apron. Strike two. After, she followed to insult my baby doll and take her clothes off. Strike three and the last one. I popped like the cork of a champagne bottle. I started yelling at her for doing all those things, and then I threw some plastic food she had placed neatly on the little table and broke the head off all her dolls. I was so mean to her that she started to cry. I showed no compassion but I know I felt bad because when I was sitting in the corner by myself I started to feel it. I think I felt worse because I was going to get it when mom heard about this.
Luckily the day care called while my sister was at home. Our care taker was upset when she heard my sister laughing at what had just occurred. She picked me up later that day and promised she wouldn’t tell my mom on the condition that I would be nicer and keep my temper under control. I was relieved when I heard this but when I got home her messy room and dirty laundry was waiting for me. I did this for a whole week which is like a month in kid years. I learned my lesson and never again did something that mean. My last day at Grant Elementary, I apologized to Celina and she didn’t seem to remember what happened but I felt better about myself.
At the age of four or five I no longer liked hanging out with the girls. I wouldn’t paint or dress up in cute little costumes located next to the pretend kitchen. I became one of the boys. At recess I would run with the boys, I would fight with the boys and I would have burping contest. I won most of the time. My best friends Xiomara and Stephanie had no problem with the change but other girls did and I think I know why.
When I hung out with the boys I would arrive to school with clean fingernails, nice white shirts and clean sneakers by time school was over, I was covered in dirt and looked as if I had rolled in it. My mom hated to pick me up and I hated when she did too because she had to see how dirty I would be at the end of the day and she would scold me all the way home. My sister on the other hand would encourage me to get dirtier she would say things like “You’re a kid, do what you need to do.” Now that I think about it, it’s not very good advice but she meant well.
I was one of the boys; I had to act like them. Whatever they did I would do too. I was like their little sister in a sense because if anyone tried to pick on me they would be there to be on my side. As a group we picked on everybody. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t thrive in this but whatever we wanted we would have. It wasn’t constant suffering for the rest of the kids either and we didn’t rule the day care, we just had an upper hand. We would always cut in line, get the good cookies and use up all the supplies before anyone even saw them. Thomas, Elvis (the boys I hung out with) and I would play practical jokes on everyone like when we put stink bombs in the teachers’ lounge or placed whoopee cushions on different seats. Once we filled a cup of milk with glue but nobody drank it. (Darn it!) We were bad.
One day I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and when I got to school Thomas and Elvis didn’t show up which made me angrier so I decided to play with the girls. They were playing with dolls as their children. I don’t know why, but we all decided to pretend to be someone else. Instead of our real names we used fake names; I clearly remember wanting to be Stacy but Celina also wanted to have that name. Strike one. Then she took my apron. Strike two. After, she followed to insult my baby doll and take her clothes off. Strike three and the last one. I popped like the cork of a champagne bottle. I started yelling at her for doing all those things, and then I threw some plastic food she had placed neatly on the little table and broke the head off all her dolls. I was so mean to her that she started to cry. I showed no compassion but I know I felt bad because when I was sitting in the corner by myself I started to feel it. I think I felt worse because I was going to get it when mom heard about this.
Luckily the day care called while my sister was at home. Our care taker was upset when she heard my sister laughing at what had just occurred. She picked me up later that day and promised she wouldn’t tell my mom on the condition that I would be nicer and keep my temper under control. I was relieved when I heard this but when I got home her messy room and dirty laundry was waiting for me. I did this for a whole week which is like a month in kid years. I learned my lesson and never again did something that mean. My last day at Grant Elementary, I apologized to Celina and she didn’t seem to remember what happened but I felt better about myself.
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