Mr. Michael Settanni

During the novel Slaughterhouse-Five, Billy Pilgrim claims that he is kidnapped by an alien species called the Tralfamadorians. He insists that they take him to their home planet, Tralfamadore, talk to him about their theories on time, and then put him in a zoo with an attractive active, Montana Wildhack. Billy thinks that all of these events are true, and he even lives by the Tralfamadorian theories about time, but in reality, none of these events ever occur.

The first time Billy experiences time travel, which is something the Tralfamadorians believe in, is shortly after he returns from the war. We can assume that Billy suffers from post traumatic stress disorder after his horrible experiences during war. The night Billy first time travels is the night of his daughter’s weeding. “He said he had been kidnapped by the Tralfamadorians on the night of his daughter’s wedding. He hadn’t been missed, he said, because the Tralfamadorians had taken him through a time warp, so that he could be on Tralfamadore for years, and still be away from Earth for only a microsecond” (p. 26). In reality, Billy did miss he daughter’s wedding; he wasn’t gone for only a microsecond. This shows that his Tralfamadorian beliefs are fictitious and only in his head.

Another time that disproves the Tralfamadorians is when Billy is in New York City. He is walking around the city and sees a bookstore with one of Kilgore Trout’s novels in the window. He goes inside and sees a magazine with the cover: “What really became of Montana Wildhack?”. “He [Billy] knew where Montana Wildhack really was, of course. She was back on Tralfamadore, taking care of the baby, but the magazine, which was called Midnight Pussycats, promises that she was wearing a cement overcoat under thirty fathoms of saltwater in San Pedro Bay” (p. 204). This magazine clearly states that Montana is dead, yet Billy still believes that she is alive on Tralfamadore. He had just seen a movie of her playing in the store, so he is obviously thinking back to that. Billy thinks that since he just saw he alive at one time, she is still currently alive. The Tralfamadorian belief does not hold true.

The biggest thing that proves that the Tralfamadorians aren’t real is when Billy finds one of Kilgore Trout’s books in the store that he had never read before. “He got a few paragraphs into it, and then he realized that he had read it before—years ago, in the veterans’ hospital. It was about an Earthling man and woman who were kidnapped by extra-terrestrials. They were put on display in a zoo on a planet called Zircon-212” (p. 201). This Kilgore Trout book is the whole basis for Billy’s belief in the Tralfamadorians. As I stated earlier, the first time Billy experienced time travel was shortly after the war. Billy read this book while he was in the veterans’ hospital right after the war. His post traumatic stress disorder must have made him think that the book was real, and that he was part of the book. He had no sense of reality after the war, and this book must have made him feel like he did have a sense of reality, though he really didn’t.

The effect of war caused Billy to believe he was kidnapped by aliens. War caused him to lose a sense of what was real and what wasn’t real. Through this facet of the book, I think Vonnegut is trying to show that war is not only horrible physically through death, but that it also can destroy you emotionally and mentally. Billy was scarred from the war and never recovered. His mind was altered and he began to believe in imaginary things as a way to cope. War is a horrible thing that can effect people long after it is over.

The Hindenburg was a type of airship known as a Zeppelin. It was used for transporting people and goods across the world. Airplanes were just starting to develop, so the Hindenburg was considered the top way to travel. Its interior was luxurious. Meals were served three times a day on fine china, there was a rare grand piano on board, and it even had a high-tech smoking room (despite being filled with hydrogen, which is extremely flammable). The tickets were priced accordingly; it cost $400 to ride the Hindenburg one way. The trip only took 2½ days to travel between Germany and the US, which was twice as fast as a ship, and a lot more comfortable.

The Hindenburg was very large. It was 804 feet long and weighed 240 tons. In comparison to a jumbo jet, the Hindenburg was more than twice as long. It flew at a speed of 85 miles per hour.

Hindenburg took off from Frankfurt, Germany on May 3, 1937 heading to Lakehurst, New Jersey. This was the 19^th transatlantic trip the Hindenburg had taken, and it was supposed to add to its perfect safety record. On May 6, the Hindenburg arrived in New Jersey. Because of stormy weather conditions, the Hindenburg was forces to arrive over an hour later than planned. The ship had dropped its ropes when something went wrong.

In an instant, the Hindenburg had caught on fire and was slowly descending from the sky. The Zeppelin quickly became engulfed in flames. Hydrogen, which is highly flammable, was used to keep the ship afloat, so it was quickly singed. People tried jump from the burning Hindenburg to try and save themselves. In all, 35 out of the 97 passengers died. The tragic crash was recorded on video and described on the radio live by radio announcer Herbert Morrison.

After the Hindenburg disaster, airships were no longer used by the public for transportation. People were just too afraid to get on another and risk catastrophe. The general public took a short restraint from flying and became paranoid about bad things happening. Even the Hindenburg, with a perfect safety record, was one of the most vivid tragedies to ever occur, so rightfully the public didn’t want to take a chance with Zeppelins again.

The Hindenburg added to the Modernism in a few ways. Because the crash was so vivid, modernists saw the world as being chaotic and unstable. The huge flames would have made anyone think that. There was also a loss of faith. The Hindenburg had a perfect safety record leading up to the crash. People didn’t know what to believe in. There were no truths or certainties in the world. The Hindenburg also characterized the themes of decadence, decay, loss, and despair. The world seemed to be falling apart. Something as luxurious as the Hindenburg had burnt up in flames. It was supposed to symbolize the advancement of technology and leap into better times, but it ended up symbolizing the opposite.

Throughout my life, I have gone through some tough times. At moments I’ve wondered if it was worth putting out my best effort and striving to be the best I could be, or instead just falling into a lackadaisical state and forgetting about all my troubles. For whatever reason, I have avoided becoming dragged down by my misfortunes and I have worked my way to success. My drive has come in part to my will to make my father and family proud. Fighting through adversity is not always the easiest choice, and life can become arduous. Sometimes I like to think back to when my life was simple and less complicated…

4:30 on a Sunday morning. My dad nudges me and says, “Time to get up.” I awake out of my dream state, cranky because it is pitch black out and I do not realize what is happening. It is far to early for me, a ten year old, to wake up. I rub my eyes and try to fall back asleep, then something hits me and I realize that today is the day. Today is the day I am finally allowed to go to the Renningers farmer’s market in Adamstown! I sluggishly crawl out of bed and drag myself into my dad’s old beat up green van. He used the van for his work, which was salvaging old buildings for antiques – like stained glass windows and church pews – and then selling them for his business. The van had many dings and scratches on it and clutter in it, but I loved it. I liked how it stood out with its bold green color; it was almost like an extension of my dad. There were only two seats in the front, the rest of the van was seatless to store cargo and supplies. I crawl into the back of the van and lay on the ground trying to sleep again, but I was too excited. This was the day I would finally see the place my dad had told me about. He’d gone there several times, and the place sounded surreal. He told me about the antique dealers there and how they sold anything you could imagine. I was really eager to see if this was true. I couldn’t fathom what I was going to see in a short while.

The ride up to Adamstown seemed like five hours though it was really only one and a half. I couldn’t wait to get there. Though I never really considered him very religious, my dad tuned the radio to a religious channel, which played church songs played on a pipe organ. I guess that was supposed to be our substitute for church that day, as we would be missing it. I remember peering up to take a glance out of the windshield and seeing the sunrise – the sky was a bluish, purplish, reddish color with swirling clouds. It was serene, especially with the religious music in the background. We drove into the sunrise all the way to Adamstown.

We pulled into the entrance to Renninger’s and I hear the tires chew up the gravel. I look ahead and feel very disappointed; all I could see was a long, one story, boring white building with lots of doors. I look out the window to the right and I see some weird looking birds fenced off that resembled ostriches. My dad said they were emus. Where were all of the antiques? Where were all the toys? What is this place with weird looking birds and a vanilla building? We kept churning through the driveway and someone directed us toward parking. We pulled forward, and then behind the building I finally saw what we were here for. Hidden behind this mundane building was a cornucopia of vendors lined up with tables full of anything and everything, and people bustling about trying to claim whatever catches their eye.

My dad parked and I sprung out of the van. I couldn’t wait to get close up and see all the interesting things I had only glanced at, but first we ate a quick breakfast of hot chocolate and some oddly cut circular French fries with ketchup; the breakfast of champions. After finishing, I could look at everything there was to offer. I remember scanning the old, rickety, gray plywood tables stocked with items from the past. We went up and down the rows of tables examining all the interesting things. There were wooden chests, old magazines, glass bottles, comic books, iron gates, records, stained glass windows, sports cards, carved wooden figurines, clocks, and any other antique or knick-knack you could think of. My dad looked mainly for wrought iron gates, stained glass windows, and vintage glass bottles, which he could sell for his business. He would stop to look at the items that caught his eye, inspect them, and if he was satisfied, the bartering process would begin.

“How much is stained glass window?”

“Seventy-five dollars, it’s a very nice window.”

“Yeah, but it’s damaged, I think it’s only worth sixty dollars?

“Well, hmmmm, I can’t sell it that low, how about sixty-five dollars?”

“I’ll take it.”

It amazed me how well my dad was able to bargain with those people. He could talk almost anyone into selling something for less than they wanted. If they refused we would continue on, then come back later to find the item still sitting there. My dad would then offer them the same price again and they would reluctantly give in.

The things I was interested in were old comic books of Spiderman and the Hulk, vintage Pez dispensers, Star Wars memorabilia, Beanie Babies, actions figures, yo-yos, cap guns, and anything to keep a kid entertained. I had a great time looking at everything even though I never really bought anything. The intrigue of the different items kept me entertained.

Once we had found our treasures for the day, we dropped them off in the van and headed into the boring white building. The doors led inside to a comfortable, lively market full of more antiques. I couldn’t believe that the boring building was actually very exciting inside. It was filled with all the same types of antiques I saw outside, and more. My dad bought a few more random antiques inside, like an old doll or painting, talked to some buddies he knew, then we headed home. I was more than satisfied with the experience. I wanted to go back every Sunday, even at the expense of losing a few hours of sleep.

I cherish this experience because it is one of the best times I had with my dad. My memories of these times still live vividly in my mind. Since that day, I went with him to Renningers farmer’s market every other Sunday to search for antiques to buy and resell. Just me and him, then when my sister was old enough, she would come, too. It was a very special time that I spent with my father. This tradition continued until one day my world was turned upside down.

My dad had been on chemotherapy to help with his disease, amyloidosis. I had no idea what the sickness was, but my parents insisted that everything would just fine. I was a little worried, but I had reason to trust them. He had developed the disease a few months before I started sixth grade. The timing of this could not have come at a more inopportune time, as I was already anxious about making the jump from elementary to middle school.

I remember being fairly nervous during my first week or so in my new surroundings, but so was everyone else. There were so many new people to meet and a new building to learn my way around. I made some new friends during the first week, and met up with my old friends from Sugartown Elementary. Things seemed to be going well, until one morning. I awoke as normal on a Saturday morning until my mom, sobbing, said she had some bad news for me. My dad had to be rushed to the hospital during the night. His amyloidosis has developed become to complex and his body could not fight it any longer.

The news hit me hard. I was totally numb; I couldn’t believe what my mom had told me. I was in disbelief for a while, I was not ready to hear that kind of news, especially at my young age. I knew my dad was sick, but I didn’t think there was any chance he would die from his disease. My whole world was destroyed because my dad meant so much to me. He was always there to joke around and make me feel better when I was sad. He let me help him at his work, and this made me feel older than I was really was. He just had a way of making me feel special and feel good about myself. I would have done anything to help him get through his predicament because he was always there when I needed him. My dad always pulled through for me, whatever the circumstance, but this time he didn’t make it. I was crushed.

I didn’t go to school for about a week; I needed to stay home and try to deal with my grief. To cope, I either moped around the house or cried in my room. It took me a while to accept that he was gone. It was just so hard to fathom; my dad was gone forever. I didn’t know how I’d ever continue on with my life. The funeral services were very hard on me. So many people I knew came to the viewing for my dad. Seeing all of my family and friends come to pay respect to my dad made me happy, but in turn made me even more sad that he died. He meant a great deal to many people, which made me even more upset that he had to be taken from us.

Once I was ready, I made my attempt to come back to school. Coming back was difficult and awkward. All of my teachers were notified about the sad news, and I’m fairly sure they informed the kids in all my classes as well. This made fitting in difficult because I’m sure most people were nice to me because they felt bad, and thus making new friends became really hard. I couldn’t tell if someone simply felt bad for me or really wanted to be my friend. I had buddies from elementary school, but most of them weren’t in my classes. I was forced to make new friends or be alone with no one to talk to. That would not have been a good way to start middle school.

I also think it was hard to make friends because I don’t think I acted like myself. After my dad died, something changed in me. In elementary school, I was fairly popular and I was friends with almost everybody in my classes. Even if I wasn’t friends with everyone, I could at least talk to them comfortably. I was close friends with my friends; we would come over to each other’s houses quite often and spend time together. We could talk about anything and joke around. But after my dad passed away, I became a lot more shy. I wasn’t able to talk to people as easily. I didn’t do things with my friends as often. Making friends suddenly became hard and I had trouble just being myself. I became self conscious knowing that everyone knew what I had gone through. I was treated differently, and I didn’t feel comfortable. I became lost in the shuffle and never made a clean adjustment going from elementary to middle school. This made the social part of school difficult for me.

Somehow I made it through the school year with some new friends that I’m still

friends with today. I have trudged through most of my school years since then. My personality is still trying to recover from those few weeks surrounding my dad’s death. I think I’ve become more outgoing than I was since sixth grade, but I’m still shy. I can not help it, if I could, I would be more friendly and talkative, but it’s hard for me to do. Not having my dad during those middle school and these high school years was really hard. Those are the times I think it’s most important to have your father. Without my dad, I struggled at time, socially and emotionally, but I made it through in one piece. I have accepted his death, but I still think about him from time to time. I think about how my life would be different and how I might be different. There is nothing that can be done about it now, so all I can do it try to be the best person I can be every day. I’m still working on trying to be open, but it can be hard sometimes.

Losing my dad was the most difficult time in my life. His death is still affecting my life, even though it happened six years ago. I hope that eventually I will become more like I was in elementary school, friendly and outgoing, but it is something I think will take a few more years. I have just recently started feeling more comfortable socially, and I hope this positive trend continues. As long as I keep being myself, I think I can get back to where I was socially before my father’s death.

The second hardest time in my life was when my mom remarried. This was another big shock to me. I was in eight grade, so this was only a couple years after my dad passed away. She had been seeing Mr. Sullivan for several months, and I had met him and his five children, aging from five to twelve, numerous times. I even knew his daughter from school. Their mother died just a week or so before my father died. We were all pretty friendly with each other, but I couldn’t believe that our family of four was actually going to combine with their family of six. There would be ten people all living under one roof! I knew this would be another monumental change in my life.

Before our parents married, all of us children got along fairly well. We liked having extra people around to play games or doing things with. I liked having siblings older than my young brother to talk to, but my positive outlook on things soon changed. Once our parents married, all ten of us moved into my family’s house. Our house only had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. There was no way ten people could live under those conditions, so an addition was necessary. While the construction was going on, my mom and step-dad slept upstairs while all seven of my siblings and I had the basement to ourselves. We were stuck down there for six months. During those six months, our living quarters turned from a pleasant, jocular area to a war zone.

We children had never been so close together. There were three bunk beds set up for the boys, and the two girls had control of the couches. I’m fairly sure there is a law forbidding this many children from living in such close proximity. I didn’t realize how annoying seven younger siblings could be. I had been able to to deal with all my new siblings at first, but that was mostly just time spent with one or two of them at a time. When all of them were together, they were unbearable. I never recalled my real brother and sister being that annoying. My brother, my sister, and I felt outnumbered; we just couldn’t take the constant yelling and screaming, the throwing of toys through the air, and mostly the nonstop talking coming from our new family.

My side of the family was more quiet and laid back than the Sullivan side, so we did not know how to adjust. I tried yelling to make them quiet down; no affect. I tried being more subtle and friendly; nothing. I tried beating them over the head; still the same constant chaos. My brother, my sister, and I did not adjust to their company very well during that time in the basement. As a result, our relationship with our new siblings started to deteriorate.

Once the addition on the house was finished, I could not wait to get out of the basement. All eight of us children received our own room. Words cannot express how happy I was. I moved all my belongings into my new room and just stayed in there by myself for a while. I finally had some solitude and a sanctuary where I could get away from everyone. My relations with my new siblings were still not going well, however.

My brother, who was the second youngest in the family, was picked on constantly. I, being the oldest, was not pestered much at all. I had to constantly stand up for my little brother. Whenever they played a game, they would make sure my brother and lost and try to make him angry. They fought with him and tried to hurt him. His things were stolen from his room and broken. I became furious at my other side of the family and began to hate them. Everything they did annoyed me. I was embarrassed to be around them. I hated them for being mean to my little brother. He was the only one in my family they could pick on and get away with it. I heard them complaining about my side of the family, and that upset me too. I tried to stay as far away from them as possible even though they lived in the same house as me.

Our family went through some tough times for a few years. My parents made us go to counseling to try to fix our problems, but it didn’t really work. We, the children, didn’t want it to work. We couldn’t stand each other and wanted to get away. The time we spent stuck in the basement started an anger toward one another that just grew and grew. Our parents didn’t know what to do.

Fortunately, over the last year or two, things have gotten a lot better. All the kids are a couple years older and more mature. Our own rooms have given us a chance to cool down. Things have gotten bearable again. My brother is not picked on nearly as much as he was before. I don’t have to look out for him every minute of the day. Everyone is less annoying than they were before. I can tolerate my step-siblings and joke around with them. I still don’t treat them quite like my real brother and sister, but I can at least treat them like friends. Things still aren’t perfect, but I guess things are never perfect with a family. Things are not as crazy anymore and that suits me well.

Overall, getting a step-family has been a trying experience. I don’t really know if it was for the best, though. My mom thought it would be the best thing for us, but I don’t know if I agree with that. I guess things turned out decently, but I know I the experience could have been handled better. If all the kids hadn’t all been stuck together for six months, I think our relationships could have had a chance to grow instead of being forced. My parents also put a lot of emphasis on being one family, not two separate families living together. Again, I think this added pressure to everyone to try and make the everything work right away. I will be off in college next year, so I’m not sure how well I’ll keep in touch with my step-siblings. Only the future will tell how well the family sticks together and how concrete our relationships become.

During these arduous times in my life, I needed some means to get away from all of the stress I was dealing with. One of the things that took my mind off of the problems at home was simply schoolwork. I spent a lot of time studying and doing homework. When I think about it now, I don’t why I cared so much about my grades. Back then, I didn’t know what I wanted to become or where I wanted to go to college, and I still don’t know the answer to either of those questions today. I invested many hours working just for the sake of getting an “A”. I guess getting good grades helped me feel better about myself. The other main thing I invested my time in was sports.

I played ice hockey all throughout middle school. The sport was such a rush for me, especially because I was goalie. Being goalie was very difficult, but also very rewarding. During my first year on the middle school team, our team was pretty atrocious. We won only one game the whole year, and I was hard on myself whenever we lost. I never considered quitting however; I made friends from playing hockey, which was a big step for me. Hockey helped me meet new people and keep my self esteem up, despite our team being dismal.

We started our second year off just as we ended the first, with a bad loss. I figured we would have the same kind of season as the previous year. However, the second game of the year, a miracle happened; we won a game. Then we won another game and then another. We ended up first place that year losing only that first game. I was enthusiastic that we did so well. For once in my life, I was a winner. I won the most improved player award, and then the next year, the most valuable player award. I gained a lot of confidence from this experience and it helped me feel much better about myself.

Once it was time for high school, I ended up quitting hockey. I thought it would be too much for me to handle along with all the work I would get from being a high schooler. I regret that I quit, though. I know now I could have easily managed school. Since I stopped playing hockey, I needed another sport to play to keep my mind off of all my problems at home. I had to choose a sport that was less time consuming than hockey (because I thought my work would become overwhelming), so I decided to take up tennis.

Tennis came to me quickly and I had fun doing it. I started off taking lessons at the Upper Main Line YMCA. I worked my way through my classes and improved, and then made the junior varsity at school during my freshman year. Tennis was another positive experience for me. I made many friends from my classes and on the team. This again helped me at school by helping me become more confident in myself. I also learned a lot about myself playing tennis for the school team.

During my sophomore year, I made the varsity tennis team. I played third doubles, which is the lowest rank on the team, but nonetheless I was proud to be on the varsity squad. During the season, my partner and I won all the matches we were supposed to win and lost all the matches we were supposed to lose. We never pulled any upsets. Our team was second in the league going into the last meet. For our final match, we played against league leading and undefeated Unionville High School.

Unionville had been the dominant team in our league for a number of years. When I was a freshman, Great Valley lost to them 7-0. No one on our team won a set, let alone a handful of games. Most of our team went into the meet with a pessimistic attitude. I, on the other hand, was very excited for the match; I wanted to prove myself. My coach had moved me up to second doubles because I had been playing well leading up to the match. I didn’t want to let my team down.

Before the match started, we went through our normal warm-up drills with our opponents. They didn’t seem that impressive to me. The match started. Before I knew it, the first set was over. We had lost 6-0. None of our shots worked; the Unionville players hit the ball back faster and more accurately than us every time. My partner and I went back to our coach discouraged, but not defeated. Our coach told us simply to keep a positive attitude and try a different strategy: “Do nothing but lob shots.”

My partner and I went back out for the second set. We put the plan into action, and our invincible opponents seemed to have a chink in their armor. They were mystified by our constant barrage of lobs; they didn’t know what to do. They became flustered and started to make errors. We ran down every ball they hit and lobbed everything back. We started to rack up games and eventually won the set! This was the first time in recent memory that Great Valley had taken a set against Unionville.

By the time we had started the third and final set, the rest of the team had already lost. We were the only ones still playing, and all eyes were on us. Our team could not win the meet, but my partner and I wanted to win our match. We kept up with our strategy of lobbing the ball and outhustling our opponents, but Unionville recovered and raised their play to a higher level. We were down match point. I did not want to lose. The ball was hit towards me, but barely within my reach. I dove, sacrificing my body, to return the ball. I made contact with the ball and fell, scraping my knuckles. I looked up, but the ball didn’t make it over the net. We lost.

This was a time that all my difficult experiences helped deal with adversity. Playing with my effort was not the easiest thing to do. The rest of the team was not very interested in the match, but I was focused to do well. Even though we lost the first set badly, I played even harder the second set. I learned from losing my dad that you can’t just lay down and fold when something bad happens. You have to pick yourself up and work keep trying to accomplish your goals.

So here I am today. I have struggled through some hardships, but I haven’t let my emotions get the best of me. I have survived all my hard times and have had success in life. When I look back at everything, I do wish that I could have done some things differently, but I can’t say that I’m disappointed with where I am today. I have a good bunch of friends and hobbies that keep me going. My future looks good thanks in part to my grades which I cared so much about at one point. I’m still not sure what I want to do with my life, but I think if I keep striving to be my best, I’ll be just fine.

In the short story “What Katie Did,” the author Sid Chaplin portrays a young lady who can not escape from her place in society. Once Katie finishes her education, her life revolves around making bricks all day, and then cooking dinner and cleaning boots during the night. She must do these same tasks everyday, and eventually she can’t take it anymore. She leaves home to start a new life. Katie moves in with her Aunt in the country and lives comfortably for a while. She then applies for a servant job at a mansion. She is accepted for the vacant position and he life seems to be improving. Katie is on her way out of the lower class until one day Katie has an outburst. She is forced to leave and return to her life of making bricks and cleaning boots at home.

Chaplin shows how Katie can’t get away from her place in society. She is part of a working class family that has almost no leeway to move up or down in society. Katie has basically no choices in her life; she either has to work all day at the brick factory or get married like her sisters have. Katie instead tries to be rebellious and break out of her role. She leaves home and tries to earn a better life for herself. Her seems to work for a while, but she can’t quite break from her working class heritage. Even though she was close to escaping, Chaplin tries to show us that her attempt is futile. No matter what Katie does, she can’t leave her lower, working class. Even when she is on the verge of making a new name for herself, she is shot down.

Chaplin also points out restrictions resulting from her gender. Because Katie is a female, she has no say in her profession. She is a brick maker; that is what a female from the lower class must become. If she could choose a different job, she would, but she can’t. Katie must also cook dinner and clean boots because she is a female. She detests doing this, but she has to because she is a woman. Being a female restricts her greatly because she can’t choose to do things that she enjoys. She must do what every other working class woman does. The responsibilities they receive do not allow them to become better individuals and accelerate in life. They are stuck in their place in society.

“What Katie Did” shows how class and gender create limitations for individuals. Being in the lower class allows very little room for improving one’s social and financial situation. Katie tries to leave the working class, but her attempt fails. It is just not possible for her to leave. Gender also plays a great role in life. Because Katie is a female, she is forced to take a certain profession and chores. She has no say in what she does. She may not like her job, but she can’t leave it. Gender and class play a great role in defining who a person is.

During my sophomore year at Great Valley High School, I made the varsity tennis team. I played third doubles, which is the lowest rank on the team, but nonetheless I was proud to be on the varsity squad. During the season, my partner and I won all the matches we were supposed to win and lost all the matches we were supposed to lose. We never pulled any upsets. Our team was second in the league going into the last meet. For our final match, we played against league leading and undefeated Unionville High School.

Unionville had been the dominant team in our league for a number of years. When I was a freshman, Great Valley lost to them 7-0. No one on our team won a set, let alone a handful of games. Most of our team went into the meet with a pessimistic attitude. I, on the other hand, was very excited for the match; I wanted to prove myself. My coach had moved me up to second doubles because I had been playing well leading up to the match. I didn’t want to let my team down.

Before the match started, we went through our normal warm-up drills with our opponents. They didn’t seem that impressive to me. The match started. Before I knew it, the first set was over. We had lost 6-0. None of our shots worked; the Unionville players hit the ball back faster and more accurately than us every time. My partner and I went back to our coach discouraged, but not defeated. Our coach told us simply to keep a positive attitude and try a different strategy: “Do nothing but lob shots.”

My partner and I went back out for the second set. We put the plan into action, and our invincible opponents seemed to have a chink in their armor. They were mystified by our constant barrage of lobs; they didn’t know what to do. They became flustered and started to make errors. We ran down every ball they hit and lobbed everything back. We started to rack up games and eventually won the set! This was the first time in recent memory that Great Valley had taken a set against Unionville.

By the time we had started the third and final set, the rest of the team had already lost. We were the only ones still playing, and all eyes were on us. Our team could not win the meet, but my partner and I wanted to win our match. We kept up with our strategy of lobbing the ball and outhustling our opponents, but Unionville recovered and raised their play to a higher level. We were down match point. I did not want to lose. The ball was hit towards me, but barely within my reach. I dove, sacrificing my body, to return the ball. I made contact with the ball and fell, scraping my knuckles. I looked up, but the ball didn’t make it over the net. We lost.

I was exhausted and hurt, but I still felt like a winner. I gave the match my best effort, and though we did not win, we did something the rest of the team could not do; we won a set and played a highly competitive match. I learned that in the face of any great challenge, there is always opportunity for success. Ultimately hard work and aspiration will pay off, and it will be possible to achieve all my goals.

Racism is one of the prevalent themes in the novel Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. The author Fannie Flagg portrays this theme in a few different ways. One ways she shows racism is through Big George and Onzell’s twin sons Artis and Jasper. Jasper has a much lighter skin tone than that of Artis. This seemingly minor difference leads them down completely separate paths in life. The lives of Artis and Jasper are greatly affected by their skin tone.

From the time the two boys are born, there is already tension between them. They are first described in this way: “The oldest son, whom she named Jasper, was the color of a creamy cup of coffee, and the other one, named Artis, was black as coal (75).” Already Jasper, the lighter skinned boy, is compared to a “creamy cup of coffee,” which is something typically thought of to be pleasant and warming. Artis, on the other hand, is compared to coal, which is something that is dirty and found in dark dreary places. These comparisons are almost symbolic of their lives. Jasper makes a good living working on a high-end train. He lives a very respectable life. Artis is poor and spends his life living in destitute cities. He also constantly chases women around. His life is a lot lower in merit than Jasper’s life. The way they end up in these situations is directly affected by their skin colors.

Early in their lives, the affect of their skin colors is apparent. When Ms. Threadgoode describes the boys to Evelyn, she says, “Jasper went on to become the president of the Brotherhood of the Sleeping-Car Porter’s Union. He and his brother Artis moved to Birmingham when they were young. . .but Artis wound up in jail two or three times (103).” This shows that Jasper was successful, but does say why he was successful. It also shows that Artis was considered a bad person because he went to jail a few times, but it doesn’t say why he went to jail. They are both brothers raised by the same parents. It doesn’t seem logical that one would turn out good and the other would turn out bad. The only way they are different is their skin color. Jasper has lighter skin color, and he is able to hold a steady job and become president of his union. Artis has darker skin color, and he ends up in jail and wandering the streets. Racism is the only thing that could separate the two brothers and lead them to completely different lives.

Artis wants to be accepted, but his skin color won’t allow him to be. When Artis is in Chicago, he realizes how bad his situation is. “As Artis stood there today in the doorway, he was hurting so bad, he thought he would die. He missed Birmingham and he wanted to go back (226).” Unfortunately, Artis cannot go back. He knows he can never fit in with the racist society living there. The only place he can live without those pressures is in desolate shagtowns. He doesn’t want to be in this situation, but he has no way out. A dark African American is often prejudged and has a harder time in life. When Artis tries to save his friend’s dog, he cuts the rope tying the dog to the truck and sets him free. The dogcatchers claim that Artis pulled a knife on them, and Artis ends up spending six months in prison. This is just one instance that shows how his skin color is detrimental to his being, while Jaspers light tone allows him to marry a wealthy respected woman, hold a good job, and live amongst white people.

All of these examples show how Artis’s dark skin led him to a hard, tough life, while Jasper’s light skin showed him a life his brother could never dream of. Racism is abundant in the book, and this one piece portrays that problem well. Their skin color directly represents the kind of life they will live. Though they are twin brothers, their two lives are like night and day. The lives of Artis and Jasper are shaped by their skin color and tone.

Losing my dad was the hardest event to go through in my life. It was a horrible time emotionally for me. I had just started middle school, and I was trying to adjust to the leap from elementary school. I was in school for about a week, trying to make new friends and become situated with my new surroundings. That was tough enough, just becoming comfortable in middle school. I was stressed from that whole process, but not nearly as emotionally distraught from the news my mom told me one morning. My dad had to be rushed to the hospital during the night and died.

The news hit me hard. I was totally numb; I couldn’t believe what my mom had told me. My whole world was destroyed. My dad meant a lot to me. He was the person I could joke around with. He would play games with me and be my friend. He treated me like I was older than I really was. He let me help him at his work. He was the world to me, and I really thought he was going to survive his illness. I had no doubt that he was going to get through it. He had been on chemotherapy to help with his disease, and survived through that. He and my mom said that he was going to be fine. I don’t know if they were just saying that to make life easier for me while I started middle school, but either way I would have been crushed.

I didn’t go to school for about a week; I needed to stay home and try to deal with my grief. I was either moping around the house or crying in my room. The funeral services were very hard on me. So many people I knew came to the viewing for my dad. Seeing all the people come made me happy, but in turn that made me even more sad that he died. He meant a great deal to many people, and that made me even more upset that he had to be taken from us.

Once all of that was over, I made my attempt to come back to school. Coming back was very hard and awkward. I am fairly sure all my teachers were notified and told the kids in all my classes. This made fitting in difficult because I’m sure most people were nice to me because they felt bad, and thus making new friends became really hard. I didn’t know if someone simply felt bad for me or really liked me. I had friends from elementary school, but most of them weren’t in my classes. I needed to make new friends. It was also hard to make friends because I don’t think I acted like myself. After my dad died, I think I became a lot quieter and conceited. Along with just being in a new place with new people, this made me very shy. In elementary school I was definitely a lot more outgoing, but all these events changed me.

Somehow I made it through the school year with some new friends that I’m still friends with today for the most part. I have trudged through all my school years since then. My personality is still trying to recover from those few weeks during my dad’s death. I think I’ve become more outgoing than I was since then, but I’m still shy. Not having my dad during those middle school and high school years was really hard. Those are the times I think it’s most important to have your father. Without my dad, I struggled, but I made it through in one piece. I accepted his death fairly quickly when it first happened, but I still think about him from time to time. I think about how my life would be different and how I might be different. There is nothing that can be done about it now, so all I can do it try to be the best person I can be every day. I’m still working on trying to be open, but it can be hard sometimes. Losing my dad was the most difficult thing in my life. It has and is still affecting my life, even though it happened six years ago. I hope that eventually I will become more like I was in elementary school, friendly and outgoing, but it is something that will take a few more years.

When my mom first told me she was going to remarry, I was shocked. She had been seeing Mr. Sullivan for a several months, and I had met him and his five children numerous times. We were all pretty friendly with each other, but I couldn’t believe that our family of four would combine with their family of six. There would be ten people all living under one roof! I knew this would be a monumental change in my life.

Before our parents married, all of us children were pretty friendly with each other. We got along well and enjoyed our company. This soon changed. Once our parents married, all ten of us moved into my family’s house. Our house only had three bedrooms, so an addition was necessary. My mom and step-dad slept upstairs while all seven of my siblings and I had the basement. We were stuck down there for six months. During those six months, our living quarters turned from a pleasant jocular area to a war zone.

Us children had never been so close together. There were three bunk beds set up, and the two girls had control of the couches. I’m fairly sure there is a law forbidding this many children to be living in that close of a proximity. I didn’t realize how annoying seven younger siblings could be. I had been friendly with all my new siblings at first, but that was mostly just time spent with one or two at a time. When all of them were together, they were unbearable. I think my brother, my sister, and I felt outnumbered; we just couldn’t take the constant yelling and screaming, the throwing of projectiles in the air, and mostly the nonstop talking.

My side of the family was more quiet and relaxed than the Sullivan family, so we did not know how to adjust. I tried yelling to make them quiet down; no affect. I tried being more subtle and friendly; nothing. I tried beating them over the head; still the same constant chaos. My brother, my sister, and I did not adjust to their company very well during that time in the basement. As a result, our relationship with our new siblings did not start out very well.

Once the addition on the house was finished, I could not wait to get out of the basement. All eight of us children received our own room. Words cannot express how happy I was. I moved all my belongings into my new room and just stayed in there by myself for a while. I finally had some solitude and could get away from everyone. My relations with my new siblings were still not going well, however.

My brother, who was the second youngest in the family, was picked on constantly. I, being the oldest, was not pestered much at all. I had to stand up for my little brother very often. Because everyone picked on him, I became angry at my other side of the family and began to hate them. Everything they did annoyed me. I was embarrassed to be around them. I hated them for being mean to my little brother. He was the only one in my family they could pick on and get away with it. I heard them complaining about my side of the family, and that upset me too. I tried to stay as away from them as possible even though they lived in the same house as me.

Our family went through some tough times for a few years. My parents made us go to counseling to try to fix our social problems, but it didn’t really work. We, the children, didn’t want it to work. We couldn’t stand each other and wanted to get away. The time we spent stuck in the basement started an anger toward one another that just grew and grew. Our parents didn’t know what to do.

Fortunately, over the last year or two, things have gotten a lot better. All the kids are a couple years older and more mature. Our own rooms have given us a chance to cool down. Things have gotten bearable again. I am friends with my step-siblings again. I can finally tolerate and enjoy their presence. Things still aren’t perfect, but I guess things are never perfect with a family. I still don’t treat all five of them like brothers or sisters, but at least a few of them I am comfortable with. Things are not as crazy anymore and that suits me well.

Overall it has been an experience; I’m not sure what kind of experience, but it has definitely been one. If we hadn’t all been stuck together for six months, I think things could have gone better and our relationships could have grown more. I will be off in college next year, so I’m not sure how well I’ll keep in touch with everyone. The future will tell how well the family sticks together and how good our relationships become.

In this week’s headline news, Al Capone has been sentenced to 11 years in prison and fined $50,000 for evading the payment of his Federal income tax. He was said to owe $215,000 in taxes from his underworld profits. The Government has been trying to rid Chicago of its gangsters and for a few years now. The plan is to send undercover agents into the ring of gangsters and find proof to convict them of evasion of income tax. Capone was the seventh and most important victim. He had been the objective of the plan since day one. During the sentencing, Capone seemed very nervous. He fiddled with his fingers and laughed oddly. Perhaps his days of crime are over.

In other news, Amelie Earhart became the women to complete a flight over the Atlantic ocean. The President sent a message to Earhart saying “You have demonstrated not only your own dauntless courage, but also the capacity of women to match the skill of men in carrying through the most difficult feats of high adventure.” She completed the voyage exactly five years after Charles Lindbergh his transatlantic flight. The flight did not go exactly as planned according to Earhart. Her gasoline gauge broke, causing a leak. She was forced to land prematurely in Londonberry instead of her destined target, Paris. In any case, this truly was a great feat.

On a more somber note, Charles Lindbergh’s 20 month old baby has been stolen. According to the story, the baby was taken during the night right from its crib while it was sleeping. There was no trace of evidence left by the thieves, only a note demanding a $50,000 ransom for the return of the infant. Law enforcement has had no luck finding the kidnappers, and they fear that any knowledge of exposure to thieves would lead to child’s peril. Mrs. Lindbergh is very worried about the baby because it was recovering from a cold. With the weather the way it has been the past few days, she is not sure if the baby could survive in these frigid conditions.

Franklin D. Roosevelt was just elected President in a landslide. It was the most decisive Democratic victory in the history of the country. Republican nominee Herbert Hoover was a distant second in voting. The electoral vote totaled as follows: Roosevelt – 472, Hoover – 59. The total amount of electoral votes needed to win are 226, so as you can see, Roosevelt won by a gigantic margin. The only states that Hoover won were Delaware, Pennsylvania, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Connecticut. Roosevelt is eager to step in and do his best to serve the country.

In one last bit of news, the television was first demonstrated at an Associated Press meeting. The broadcast show was titled “Looking at Tomorrow.” The television showed a picturized review of world affairs from a National Broadcasting Company studio. It was the first time a mobile televisor had been used to depict the news and keep the press informed of new happenings. The program was transmitted to monitors several blocks away from the NBC station. One can only wonder if this new technology will expand to common folk.

Playing the saxophone and music have been some of the biggest joys of my life. I first started playing in fourth grade, which is the earliest the school would let you begin band. There were many instruments to choose from: trumpet, trombone, clarinet, and drums among others, but the saxophone was the instrument for me. I had listened to my Pop-pop play his saxophone for me when I visited, and I wanted to be able to play along with him. He was very good because he had been playing since he was my age. I hoped, and still hope, to some day be as talented as he was.

When I first got my saxophone from the school, I was eager to play, but I had no idea how to even put it together. My band instructor gave me and my fellow saxophonists our first lesson on how to assemble the saxophone, how to hold it, and how to blow into it. I went home and practiced with minimal success. I practiced everyday, and with the help of Pop-pop, I could play a few simple songs like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and “Mary Had a Little Lamb”.

Over the months I became better and better. I breezed through the lesson books we had in school. I was really proud that I learned how to play so quickly. I was the best saxophone in the band. I could even play some easy jazz songs with Pop-pop. I continued my success over into the middle school, and then in seventh grade I had the chance to play in jazz band.

Jazz band was what I had been working hard for. Pop-pop, as most old people, was enthusiastic about jazz. I wanted to make him proud and be jazz band. I knew it would mean a lot to him if I made it in. There were auditions to get in, and I was fairly nervous beforehand. I had practiced the audition music for hours, so I really had no reason to worry, but I did nonetheless. The audition went really well and I made lead alto saxophone! I was very excited, I had not only made jazz band, but I was also lead saxophone. Pop-pop almost had a heart attack he was so happy. I did well in jazz band during seventh and eight grade; I even had a couple solos. I always got very nervous during solos, but I played through my anxiety. Our jazz was exceptional and we won awards from competitions we entered.

Also during middle school, I was asked to join a band with some kids I knew. I wasn’t the best friends with them at the time, but I thought it would be fun and that I’d eventually get to know them better. I wasn’t familiar with the type of music they wanted to play, but I soon learned. Ska is a type of music that is a mix of jazz, punk, reggae, and rock to put it best. It is very upbeat sounding. Most ska bands have vocals, electric guitar, bass, and a horn section comprising of a combination of trumpet, trombone, and saxophone. I loved the music when I first heard it, and I still do. I agreed to join the band, which was called “Six Foot Smurf”.

We covered a few songs to get started, and then we eventually made a few originals. We practiced fairly regularly, so within a year we were ready to play shows. Our first show was at the school dance, which I couldn’t attend because I had to go to a wedding. I was angry at my parents for making me go to the wedding and missing our first show. We played a few other small shows in garages and churches. We started to get better and finally played a real show in West Chester when we were freshmen. We had to open the show, but we were glad we had the chance to be a on a real stage.

Up to this point, I had become less and less interested in the band and the saxophone. Finally, one practice things were just not going well and I quit the band. I was fed up with the whole band experience. I thought I would eventually become good friends with the band members, but it just didn’t happen. I never did anything with them outside of the band. I was never told about practices or upcoming shows. So, abruptly I quit.

After that, I had no drive musically. I still participated in concert band and jazz band, but I wasn’t really into the music. I just played because my parents made me. I became totally separated from the music I had loved. I didn’t listen to music or really practice my saxophone for two years.

About a year ago my Pop-pop died. When he died, something kicked in and I realized that I had gone two years without music. Music was a monumental part of his life, and his death made me realize how music was once a huge part of my life. My friends had been going to concerts and finding new bands to listen to while I was in a daze. I couldn’t believe that I had missed out on so much. I frantically listened to all the new ska music my friends had found. I started to practice for jazz band again. I started to practice for fun.

That is where I am today. I am in the process of starting a new ska band with some friends. I am lead alto in jazz band again. I listen to music every chance I have. I am happy again. Hopefully I will never again stray from my love of music. I don’t know how I ever lived without it.