The Confrontation

By Marisa Berner

Period 2

Tompkins

4/24/15

The Confrontation

It went like this.

“What’s this?”  My history teacher asked, pointing to the bruise on my face.

“This?  It’s nothing.”

Like I would tell you.  I barely even know you- I don’t even know your first name.  Besides, how do I know that you won’t go running with the details to a person of higher authority?  And if they take me away, where would I go?  What would I do?  I’d have no idea how to go about that.  I decide then that I need to be careful about how I proceed.

“Oh yeah?  Then you wouldn’t mind telling me how you got it, now would you?”  She raised her platinum blonde recently plucked eyebrow, issuing me a silent challenge.

Of course I would, and you know it.  “I fell down.”

She sighs and puts her hand to her forehead, exasperated with my excuse.  “This again?  You couldn’t even be bothered to choose a different excuse?”

“This one’s reliable.  It has history behind it.”  I shrug, trying to play it cool.  And it’s true.  I remember the first time this happened, and how this was my excuse, the only thought that came to my head that seemed logical.  It was the one that I had read about in the books, or seen in movies or TV shows, that the main character would say each time someone questioned the bruise.  And I so wanted to be one of those people -- the protagonist that, despite the sob story, always managed to defeat their antagonists and move on with their stereotypical, yet relatively happy, ending.

Without warning, she lifts her well-lotioned hand up to my face and I flinch and take a step back, only a few seconds later realizing the error in my actions.

“Relax.  I just want to see how bad it is.”  She tries again, and it goes against every principle, every well-trained instinct in my body to not back away as she reaches out and touches my face, pressing it gently to see where it hurts.

“It should be fine in a couple of days.”  Putting her hand down, she turns and reaches for an ice pack, the kind where you shake it and hit it until you hear a popping sound and it becomes cold.

I know.  This isn’t my first rodeo.  “Alright.  Thanks.”

“No problem.  You know...you can tell me anything, you know that right?”  She leans in close, so close her ombréd hair hanging inches away from my face.

“Yes.”  I’m not going to though, and that’s not ever going to change.  That’s one variable you can count on not changing.

“Why don’t you then?”  She leans back onto the cheap blue chairs the school only bought because they were the cheapest, not because they had the children’s comfort in mind, her annoyance giving her the strength she needs to make the ice pack cold.

“Why don’t I what?”  You want me to tell you something that will probably ruin my life forever?  That’s very illogical, and not helpful for defeating my antagonist.

“Why don’t you tell me about your home life?  We both know your dad--”

“We both know my dad what?”  I cut her off, hoping to stop her right then and there.  Quivering,  with fear and rage, I continue, hoping to stop this right now.  “There’s no problem.  He’s fine.  I’m fine.  We’re all fine.  The only thing that’s not fine is you and your meddling in my life, trying to tell me what is and isn’t okay.  I got these bruises for a reason, and even if he did give them to me, it was valid.  It was called for.  I deserved them.”

She stood still, shocked.  I could see the shine growing in her eyes, as though she might start to weep.  This is the most I’ve said all year to her - my dad made sure I kept quiet about such things.  Then, just as my fury  at her starts to join the bouts of butterflies in my stomach, she retaliates, her tinted lips spewing out the words coming out quickly s, her cheeks flushed nearly as dark as her knee-length red print dress.

“You’re fine, huh?  So fine.  It’s clear that you’re afraid of what he’ll do if you talk about it.  And obeying him because you’re physically afraid of him is understandable; he’s much bigger than you.  But you need to understand that I can help protect you.  And let me tell you this:  Nobody deserves bruises.  Nobody deserves cuts and burns, and to not be fed for days on end.  We learned about the gulags and the concentration camps in World War II.  Do you think those people deserved them?”

“N-no,” I stammer.  But those people were also worked to death.  Not to mention that they were put in there by others.  Nobody put me with my dad.  I mean, for Christ’s sake, he’s my dad.” .   My phones blares, but I just silence it.  I already know what it is.

He’s the person who’s supposed to raise me, and support and instruct me.  He’s the one who’s supposed to take me driving, and be stereotypical and stoic until I leave for college, which is when he breaks down.  I remember all the times we took a day, just the two of us, the rare ones where I didn’t have school.  The ones where I hadn’t messed up recently. The days where we would just drive down the coast or up into the hills, and how accepted I felt, even though no words were ever said.

The alarm goes off again.  I now need to leave in two minutes if I want to get home in time.

And in a blink of an eye, a snap of the fingers, I decide whether or not I should tell Miss Hutt anything.

I stand up, stuff my laptop in my bag, and head for the door, this conversation and my teacher already being shoved to the borders of my memory.

The Orphans of Disease

Marisa Berner

Ms. Tompkins

African Article

March 12, 2015

The Orphans of Disease

There are many stories about the origin of AIDS, and possibly even more about the ways to contract it.  There are rumors that have been flying about since AIDS first started becoming more well-known about being able to contract it from mosquitos, such as being around someone who tests HIV positive, or even being able to contract it by being coughed on by a person who has the disease.  All of these stories inflict upon hearers that their biggest worry is contracting AIDS.  However, that is no longer the case.  Now, unfortunately, it’s caring for the orphans whose parents who died at the hands of AIDS, a disease for which there is no cure, yet is easily contracted.

In South Africa alone, there’s reported to be 1.4 million orphans who lost their parents to AIDS as of the year 2007.  There have been families of children that have been devastated, economically and emotionally, by their parents’ deaths.  The eldest siblings, now the head of the family, are forced to drop out of school and abandon their education in order to get a job and care for their younger siblings, hopefully to finish the job that their parents couldn’t.  Lora Doman, a social worker for South Africa, presumes that even if she was able to close one family case a day in every year, she still would not be moving fast enough to help lower the rates of the orphans who are left on their own to care for themselves and their younger siblings(Baudalf).  According to Yuda Sanyu Kitali, who was both ten and the eldest when he was orphaned, spoke of being the eldest by saying  “‘Since I was the oldest, I had to build another house," Sanyu says.”’  He used mud, poles, and leaves to build them another one, and dropped out of school, along with the other two eldest siblings(Newsweek).  Unfortunately, despite the fact that all three of them were working around the clock, they all still went to bed cold and hungry on a nightly basis.

While children are being orphaned daily, the government isn’t nearly as sufficient as we would wish.  As stated in an article by The Christian Science Monitor, they would need about 16,000 social workers to be able to make a dent in the heaping pile of children’s cases, but as of now only have about 12,500, leaving the whole country wildly understaffed.  There are of course, some citizens that try to help, such as a woman who has a “Moses basket” of sorts- if a child isn’t wanted, the mother or father can go up to the front door and drop the child off in a basket set on the porch.  When a child is put in, the owner of the house is notified, and takes care of the child for as long as is necessary.  While more and more parents are dying from AIDS, the child is no longer able to be taken care of and is even deemed a burden.  And this is for the healthy children, not the ones that have contracted AIDS from their parents, or even other diseases.  Not to mention that the children have gone through the loss of a parent, and in Africa News Service, are more susceptible to suicide and depression without the proper psycho-social care that the children need.

In short, while more and more people are succumbing to AIDS, even more are succumbing to an unsightly future full of disease, poverty, and little to no education.   Education is one of the most powerful tools that a person can have, and because of AIDS, the majority of the children in Africa are unable to receive a decent education.  There is a widely renown saying that states that “The children are the future”, and as of right now, simply because of the situation in South Africa with AIDS, the future seems to be looking more and more bleak.

Works Cited

Baldauf, Scott, and Melanie Stetson Freeman. "South Africa AIDS Orphans Overwhelm Social Work Services." The Christian Science Monitor 10 May 2010: n. pag. Opposing Viewpoints in Context. Web. 9 Mar. 2015.

"Five Ways to Reduce Trauma in HIV Orphans." Africa News Service 11 Nov. 2010: n. pag. Opposing Viewpoints in Context. Web. 9 Mar. 2015.

"10 Million Orphans: For the Children Who Have Lost Their Parents to AIDS, Grief Is Only the Beginning of Their Troubles. The Disease's Lasting Victims." Newsweek 17 Jan. 2000: 42. Opposing Viewpoints in Context. Web. 9 Mar. 2015.

Let Sleeping Roosters Lie

Rooster Alarm Clock

“After that historic morning we got into the habit of re-adjusting the time on the alarm clock.  It all depended on how we were feeling, physically and mentally.  Sometimes, instead of turning the clock back, we would put it forward by an hour or two, so as to finish the day’s work early.”(15).

“In the end we had changed the position of the hands so many times that we had no idea what the time really was.”(15).

Thesis-  Sijie uses the symbol of the alarm clock as a representation of how much Lou and the main character have left to grow up.  By moving the hands on the alarm clock, Lou and the main character are showing just how immature they are, and what they’ll do in order to be able to have a bit of freedom.  Sijie especially uses the symbol of the alarm clock to demonstrate that even Lou and the main character are being forced to grow up on their own, and to do their own amount of work every day, they’re still not fully grown up yet, but they’re without parental supervision to catch them in the act.  

Lice

“I had a vision of my body as a rallying ground for armies of lice, all thrilled at the change of diet, ravenous for the delights offered by my poor veins.” (71).

“His thin bony body was dotted all over with angry red bumps, and the skin was broken and bleeding and covered in scratch marks...Lining the seams there were rows and rows of black eggs, gleaming like tiny glass beads.  Just glimpsing them was enough to give me goose flesh from head to toe.”(63).

Thesis: The lice demonstrates the struggle one will go through in order to be reunited with their family, and to keep a connection to the past and their memories, especially what they’re familiar with. Sijie uses the symbol of the lice as a connection to the topic of coming age. Luo and the narrator are willing to do anything in order to stay connected to their old roots, and old way of life. Both boys are not ready to give up on their past, emphasizing their reluctance to grow up and change who they are.  

Play-Doh

Be like Play-doh

Malleable

Multi-purpose

Multi-color

Stained

With bits of toy or food remnants

Twisted

Smushed

Squashed

Stretched

Like a piece of taffy

Right before it snaps

Different Perspectives, Different Memories

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