Free Write

December 24

It was Christmas Eve. Fog stuck to the tarmac at Lindbergh field. Everyone was gathered by the big clear windows awaiting his arrival. He had been gone for almost nine months now, leaving behind his loyal wife and two children, ages 3 and 5. I watched the family anxiously wait for their loved husband and father to enter the airport. As the plane landed, I watched from a far the children looking out the window with gleaming eyes and jittery hands, trying so hard to be patient. As the passengers walked out, the kids stood as close to the entrance as they could without getting in the way. All the soldiers walked out, dressed in all camouflage and boots, standing tall and strong. One after another, they filed off the plane walking in single file line but quickly broke through to see their families as soon as they could. The little girl and boy screamed “Dad! Daddy! Daddy!” as they watched their dad finally walk out, safe and sound. He knelled on his knees with his arms spread open and the biggest smile I had ever seen. As he embraced his children, I felt a chill up my spine. Looking around the airport, I remembered the first time I had welcomed my father home from war. I also remembered welcoming my husband and two older brothers home as well. This time, I had not come to welcome anyone, but just to watch. Although this wasn't anyone’s ideal way of spending Christmas Eve, I wanted to see what I had once looked like so many times before. Maybe this was odd or even a bit creepy, but I felt like this is where I belonged. About 14 Christmas Eves of the 25 I lived had been spent here welcoming my father, then later both my father and two brothers, and eventually my husband. This had been a more of an eye opening and joyous place than any Christmas party, any Midnight Mass, any turkey dinner with apple pie for dessert and any drunken home alone experience watching movies. This was where I wanted to be.  

Reflection

              The overall theme of The Plot Sickens by Fanny Howe is young people’s writing and its lack of the typical “happy ending”.  The author’s ideas about young students’ writing is more criticism than appreciation. Howe initially states a prompt given to the her students, “They were to get together in small groups of five and construct a very short story beginning, ‘It was Christmas Eve. Fog stuck to the tarmac at Lindbergh Field’”. She then states the results of the writing she obtained, “Of the twenty stories generated by this assignment, only five had ending that could qualify as ‘happy’… All the others concluded with extraordinary violence.” Her claims basically say that, when given the choice to write about anything, young writers will not chose to end this happily or with a problem resolved.  What is to blame? Howe believes these stories are effects of the economy. She states “I believe that the Economy instructs my students in a particular sense, or non-sense, of human agency, and that their stories quite naturally reflect this instructions”. She believes that young writes do not solve problems in their stories, but rather go straight to violence and to undeveloped plots.

                My free write does not support Howe’s claims about young writers. The speaker in my free write is not violent or depressed about the situation the person is in. Also the families of the soldiers are excited and happy to their loved on return, and the soldiers themselves are returning safely and are happy to see their families. Besides the fact that the soldiers are involved in violent acts while at war, that is not a theme in my story. The theme is their arrival, and how many people experience happiness from this, whether they know someone arriving or not. The speaker in my free write is happy and appreciative of the times she has been in their situation and she returns to the airport because this is where she is comfortable and where she would like to be. 

Self Deprecation

It's Just My Face

“Hey, Kerri. Whats up?”

This statement and question is something I hear constantly and almost everywhere I go. In the hallway, coming into my house, coming into class and at practice. Everyone says this to me. My friends, siblings, parents and sometimes even teachers. I usually respond the same every time, smiling and saying hi or hello. More often than not, my response is followed by something that gets on every single one of my nerves.

“What’s wrong?” is just as predictable as “Are you okay?” Also “Have you been crying?” or “What’s been going on?” comes up, not as frequently, but occasionally. To these questions its the same answer without exception every time.

“ IT IS JUST MY FACE.”

For some strange unknown reason, I have been cursed with this face. “An everlasting frown” is what I prefer to call it over other terms. My straight face turns down in the corners of my lips, causing me to look agitated or angry. I am unsure where to place the blame for my constant stern look. Maybe it is from my mother, her small lips may have contributed. Maybe it is from my father, with somewhat of a large mouth. My sister has no sulk, so maybe it is just me.

For the first 13 years of my life, this was no dilemma for me. I had never noticed this frown. Maybe other people had noticed and didn’t tell me, but it was never a concern to me. Maybe everyone had noticed it but me. Either way, I was unaware. One day in Spanish, the situation was brought to my attention.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” asked one of my friends.

“Nothing” I laughed, half confused and a little offended but I brushed it off almost instantly.

“You know you frown? A lot, actually.” my friend replied to me.

“No I don’t! I don’t frown!” I said to him, a bit defensive I should admit.

“Yes you do. Maybe it is just your resting face. Your smile turns down at the ends. It looks like you’re frowning but you’re actually not. You look mean. Usually you just look mad.” explained my friend about my face.

“Hmm, okay.” I said back to him, ending the conversation about my face.

I thought about what he said. Did I frown?  I thought about it for a while when I was on the bus going home from school. Maybe I’ll see what mom thinks about it. She is honest, whether I like it or not. I waiting until she got home to ask her what she thinks.

“Hey, Ker!” she yelled up to me as I sit in bed.

“Hi!” I said in response.

“How was your..” she started

“What do you think about my face?” I said cutting her off from asking me some pointless, daily question that she and every other mom felt obligated to ask.

“What?” she asked confused.

“My face. What do you think about it? My smile in particular, or maybe my frown.” I asked curiously.

“Your frown?” she said still confused.

“Yeah. My smile turns down when i have a straight face. The corners. They turn down when I’m just sitting or resting. Do you see it?”

“Hmm, yeah maybe. It’s okay though.” she said reassuringly.

In that moment, sitting on my mom’s bed, I realized I was pouty. A permanent frown? How had I never noticed? I will admit to looking in the mirror frequently, maybe as often as the typical person. How had no one ever told me? No one controls their straight face, maybe everyone is frowning.

This realization eventually led to another somewhat offensive and commonly said statement to me.

“You have no emotions”.

“You are heartless”.

“You didn’t cry watching The Fault In Our Stars? Or The Notebook? Do you even have a soul?”

“You have about the same amount of emotions as a stone wall”

To clear up the following statements and questions, yes I have emotions, yes I have a heart, no I didn’t cry watching the sappy movies, yes I have a soul and no I have much more emotions than inanimate objects.

I am not particularly a crier. When I am upset or unpleased, I typically just keep quiet and keep to myself. This trait always poses the question: do I have emotions?

So, to any of my friends, teachers, family members, strangers walking by me anywhere from school to the mall to my own home, please take note of this. If you find yourself thinking does she have emotions? I wonder why she is so angry. I wonder why she is so sad all the time. Do you think she hates me, or maybe hates herself?” The answer to every questions can we answered simply with a four word sentence.

Its just my face.