Hey guys! This week we had to write about emotions and themes that we’re present in My Name is Margaret (Maya Angelou) and Hills Like White Elephants. The twist is that we had to come up with our own time in our lives where we felt connected to these themes in dialogue. Anyway hope you enjoy!
It was a Sunday afternoon, I was excited to head home after I had finished up finals and my mom was coming to pick me up from my apartment. Another three hour car ride to my house. Can’t say I was overly excited for that, but I couldn’t really complain. As I put my bags in the back seat of the car and I noticed something about my mom, she had almost a tear in her eyes, and her shoulders we’re a little hunched over. “Mom, What’s wrong?” I asked. “Pack your things up, I’ll tell you in the car” she responded. I was worried at this point, she hadn’t told me something was happening but at this point I was sure that there was some grave news. Some time had passed and we were well on the way home, there were trees passing by, covered with snow, and I could smell it on the air coming into the car. I felt the heat of the seat and the air hitting my face. “So what were you going to tell me mom?” I asked, with slight concern in my voice. “You know how your Grandma hasn’t been feeling well, well she passed away last week” she said. “Oh my god, why wasn’t I told earlier, when did this happen?” the questions came flying out of my mouth. “She passed away earlier this week, but we didn’t want to tell you because we wanted you to be focused on your tests” she replied. “Why would you think that? Mom, I don’t think that’s okay for you to do. She is my Grandma and you just don’t tell me when she passed away?” I said angrily. “Well honey we wanted you to do your best in school, and I’m sorry for not telling you earlier but I think that us not telling you was in your best interest.” she said. “I don’t think you should’ve kept this from me, even if you thought it was in my best interest, a death in the family is not something you keep from me. Please never ever do that again.” I said back quite irritated. “I’m sorry Daniel, next time I will tell you” she said with forgiveness in her voice. The rest of the car ride was a long silent ride home of my mixed emotions of being upset at my parents for not telling me what had happened and being sad about being the death of my Grandma
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Daniel Kamowski
This blog will be used to explore the messy processes of writing and to make meaning. ArchivesCategories |