Sunday Night Blue's

When I was in high school I had a teacher, Mrs. Stein, who was one of the two teachers who has made a huge impact on my decision to become a teacher. She was firm and structured, yet humorous and sensitive. In a lot less words, she…got stuff done. Mrs. Stein taught a business class. The first day of class she gave us a list of all of her pet peeves: saying “axe” instead of “ask”, “pitcher” instead of “picture”, etc. I envied the way she just came out and said what she felt, in a funny enough way as to not insult any of the students.

 

I took the class as an elective, since I couldn’t bear to be enrolled in chorus any longer. Generally, all of my other peers in the class knew that they wanted a career in some form of business. Then…there was me, the aspiring teacher. Despite this, the class was still great, informative and certainly not a waste of time.

 

After Mrs. Stein lectured us about steering clear of all of her pet peeves, she told us a personal story of how she became a teacher. This, of course intrigued me. She told us that before she became a high school teacher, she worked for a textbook publishing company, where she was miserable every single day. She coined the phrase, “the Sunday night blues”, in my book. Every Sunday night she would put her children to sleep, go up to her room and begin to cry because she so dreaded going to sleep and waking up to another depressing Monday morning of boring work. After an entire year of the same Sunday night crying episodes, she decided that something needed to change. Mrs. Stein realized that the only change she could make was a career change, and so she did.

 

Now, she goes to sleep on Sunday night’s excited about Monday, looking forward to seeing her students, and anxious to teach new material.

 

That’s what it’s all about, right? My father always told my sister and I to do what we love doing, because you will be married to your job. He happened to love cars, ever since he was little kid. He opened up his own business in Paris, Tennessee and struggled every single day to make ends meet. Today, ten years later, he still struggles. I bet you thought I was going to say that he is a multi-million dollar auto body owner with thriving businesses around the world, huh? Nope. He works six days a week simply because he can’t stand to be away from his “baby”. I may not be the heir to a multi-million dollar business (damn), but I will always remember my dad’s words. Like Mrs. Stein, he found a career that he loves…Sunday Night Blues far from sight.  

"Tomorrow"

Shellie and Stan stood in a mid-sized kitchen with maroon and cream striped wallpaper, curling at the ends. The silence between the two was deafening, an obvious quarrel lingered in the air. The only sound that was heard all night was the clanking of Shellie’s healed boots on the grey and white linoleum floor. They were clearing off the table after dinner and cleaning the dishes as Shellie, a much younger woman approached Stan, a married 46-year old man, about a conflict that has gone unnoticed for too long. After dodging the conversation for over a year, the tension could have been cut with a butcher’s knife. The danced around each other in the kitchen as a means of avoidance, and they certainly never made eye contact.

A definite sadness came across Shellie’s face as she closed the stained, white door of the dishwasher. “Hey honey, listen I wanted to talk to you about something”, she said in an almost surrendering manner. Hesitantly, Stan nodded his head without making eye contact, confirming his knowledge that the elephant in the room had finally been noticed.  He pretended to be searching the refrigerator for something, reaching deep in the back, moving around jars of jelly and skim milk. Really, he was searching for some sort of absolution, perhaps a container labeled The Answer. Shellie ignored his obvious evasion, “Well, I was wondering if you’ve talked to Suzanne yet? You know, about anything…about me, about us.” When she uttered that last “us” her head drooped, her dirty blonde bangs swept over her eyes. Stan gave off a nervous giggle without conveying a clear answer to her. Did I just laugh? He thought. He knew, though, that it was better than the million other things he truly wanted to do.

“I mean, I can only imagine how hard this is for you, but come on. I can’t keep doing this Stan, you’ve met my parents, my sister, you practically live here. I’m not going to be your mistress so you can have your cake and eat it, too.” The distraught woman was looking at Stan, full on, breathing heavily. Stan felt her eyes staring at him, like lasers cutting through his filthy skin. Despite this, he kept clearing off the table, taking much longer than any other time to scrape the left over mashed potatoes out of the porcelain bowl. Shellie was not backing down, though. She finally got the nerve to initiate this conversation and by God, she was going to finish it. “Oh, of course you have nothing to say, now huh? How long did you expect this to go on for?” she said, her voice began escalating. Stan nodded his head with shame and massaged his temples, his eyes blank and gloomy.

“Fine, if you don’t want to tell her I will. Don’t make me do that Stan, don’t make me look like that crazy girl. This is hard enough and now you can’t even talk to me.” She began breaking down, the tough-girl act quickly pushed away. Stan dumped the now empty bowl into the soap-filled sink and gently sat down on the coach, cradling his head in his hands. “I thought we were a team. You said this would all work out Stan. Well, I’ve waited; I’ve waited longer than any woman should ever have to wait. Maybe you should go home and figure out what you really want so you don’t waste anyone else’s time.” Stan glanced at her, standing there with one hand on her hip holding a spatula and the other swiftly wiping a way a fallen tear. He knew that she was looking for some sort of affirmation, some glimmer of hope for the relationship. Stan knew, though, that he wasn’t prepared to give that to her. He felt the woven fabric of the sofa smothering him, releasing memories of Suzanne that bolted through his body like electricity. He quickly picked himself up, gave Shellie a modest kiss on the cheek, slid his tired feet into his work boots and without tying them, exited Shellie’s apartment.

The Power of Storytelling (Revised)

The Power of Storytelling

            As said by Harold Goddard, “The destiny of the world is determined less by the battles that are lost and won than by the stories it loves and believes in.”  In other words, the winning or losing of battles and wars is far less significant than the devoted and trusted memories that are passed down. This clever quote can be easily illustrated in Tim O’Brien’s, The Things They Carried, and Elie Wiesel’s Night. Both of these novels involve exhilarating memories of young men during times of hardship and battle which can be seen through the lens of inner and outer conflict and imagery.

            It is clear that in the novel Night by Elie Wiesel, young Eliezer’s story is not one in a million. Thousands of children were separated from their parents and thrown into concentration camps, stripped of not only their clothes and possessions, but their general human rights. Despite this, Elie’s seems so unique and exceptionally meaningful. This novel is not simply a Holocaust novel; it is not an informative tale about the suffering of thousands of innocent people. When Elie tells the story, it is clear that he is faced with not only physical, tangible conflicts, but inner conflicts as well. There are several points in the novel when he mentions how hard it was to keep faith and remain strong. When the young, hungry boy decides to eat on the day he is supposed to be fasting for his Jewish holiday, it is clear that he was having an internal war with himself. Imagery is portrayed when Elie, like many prisoners in concentration camps, was tripping over dead bodies of men, women and children on a death march in the freezing cold snow. During this excerpt, the reader can truly feel a sense of frigidness and fear. Furthermore, what is the Holocaust for some people, Wiesel turns into a delicate and in-depth sketch of faith, horror, and trepidation.

The notion that story embodies such significance is also evident in Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. Similar to Elie’s story, Tim and all of the other soldiers who fought in the Vietnam War are much more than statistics in history. Their battles have still waged on, even though the war has long been ended. One may not believe all of the extreme stories that were told in the novel, but it is hard to not take them for what they are worth. Imagery is seen in this novel when Kiowa died in a field filled with waste. During this section, the reader could envision the helpless body of Kiowa sinking, only the steal toe of his boots coming up from the earth.  Conflict is conveyed when Rat Kiley tortures and finally kills the baby water buffalo. It is clear that Kiley did not mean to harm the animal just for the sake of harming it. He was faced with the memory of Curt Lemon dying during their grenade game, and could not deal with the internal conflict he was faced with. During these scenes, we are taken to a whole different level, out of the ordinary war story. Hearing the stories of these soldiers, what they did on a daily basis, how they survived both mentally and physically is enormously noteworthy and truly has the power to alter one’s state of mind.

            Tim and Elie’s story may be common in the history of world battles; however, hearing the in-depth details and personal memories brings such great power to their stories. The quote, “The destiny of the world is determined less by the battles that are lost and won than by the stories it loves and believes in” can easily be linked to Elie Wiesel’s Night and Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. The power of the authors’ stories far overreaches the bottom line of the actual battle. Their detailed account of memories, whether they seem true or unbelievable, is what truly strikes the reader. The memories that these brave characters share with us is what truly catches people, what sticks out the next time they decide to tell a story about a war.