In the sixth chapter of Bless Me, Ultima, it is Tony's first day of school. His mother is very excited for him. At birth he chose the pen and the paper as his fate, which explains why his mother claims him to be a scholar. On the way to school he runs into another boy on the bridge. It is the Vitamin Kid. Tony has a head start, being half way across the bridge already, but the Vitamin Kid still leaves him in the dust. When Tony gets to school, he is scared and wishes for his mother. As the teacher introduces him to the class, the other children point and laugh because he cannot understand what she is saying. The only language he knows is Spanish. This makes Antonio feel sad and alone. Later he meets George and Willy who are like him, their first language is Spanish.
This passage reminds me of my first memory of school. It was a cool morning in September. The time was about six thirty in the morning. I faintly remember my mother and father dressing my brother and I. I was half asleep, lying limp as my mother dressed me. She directed my body, she was the puppeteer and I the puppet. On the way to school my eyes slowly opened and closed, my face pressed against the car door, as I attempted to wake up. I did not fully awaken until we entered the classroom. The glaring lights made it hard to open my eyes, but at the same time they made it hard not to wake up.
As my mother put me down from her arms and said goodbye, I began to cry. She turned her back to me and walked away. I felt like she was abandoning me. Luckily, my brother and I had the same class, so I was not entirely alone. Having him there gave me some comfort. It took me awhile to warm up to the other children and the teachers. Until then, I followed my brother around as if I were his shadow. I looked up to him. I thought he was so cool and wanted to be like him.
Eventually I found a friend, her name was Dominique. She was a round faced brunette, with long curly hair. Her eyes were brown and almond shaped, and her smile was thin and sharp. Her laugh was light and soft. She came up to me and asked me if I wanted to play house with her. We went to the play kitchen and pretended to cook. In the middle of us eating our pretend meal, a smiling boy came over to greet us. His name was Joshua. He had short, spiky, black hair and light pale skin. The three of us played all day. We played on the monkey bars, the slides, the swings, we did puzzles, rode the big wheelers, and so much more. We had a blast and became good friends. They made me feel comfortable and I no longer had to follow my brother's every move. Having new friends gave me a confidence I never had. Kind of like how Antonio found George and Willy, I found Josh and Dominique.
One day, as we were playing on the big wheels, going round and round, Joshua accidentally knocked me off my big wheel. He was going so fast, next thing you know he ran into my big wheel and I went crashing to the floor. I could feel the flesh on my knees and elbows peeling off as they were scraped against the concrete. It hurt so bad and I let out a loud cry. Josh and Dominique tried to comfort me. Before any of the teachers could get to me, my brother rushed over. He took one look at my wounds and his nostrils flared and his eyes grew wide with anger. He knocked Josh to the ground and punched him. It was amazing how much power my brother had. Josh fell straight to the floor and he was almost twice the size of my brother. At that point the shock distracted me from the pain.
It all happened so fast. The teachers hurried over and yanked the boys a part from each other. I was mixed with emotion. On one hand I was glad to know that my brother would defend me and protect me. On the other hand, I was sympathetic for my friend who was hurt. I knew that he did not mean to injure me, it was unintentional. But being kids, all was forgiven rather quickly and we were once again at play. It's funny how as we get older, forgiveness is harder to practice.
I will never forget that first day of school, because it impacted me in so many ways. For one, I made new friends, which was the first step in me breaking out of my shell. Like Antonio, I felt out of place, but meeting new kids that shared the same interests and that I got along with made me feel a lot better. My shyness is something I still struggle with, but I have definitely come along way since then. I used to clam up and not want to share anything with anyone. I would resist the pressures of sharing thoughts, unless it was with someone I knew very well. Also, it was the first sign of violence I saw from my brother, which would continue. After getting in trouble multiple times for beating up other kids, he would start taking his anger out on me. This influenced the displaced anger I had later in life. Luckily, both my brother and I have learned to deal with our anger in healthier ways. I also learned it was okay that my mother had to leave me with someone other than my grandparents. It was the start to my independence.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
BMU: Response on Chapter 3
It is the night of Lupito's murder. Antonio dreams himself a priest. Lupito's spirit calls to him from the river and la llorona seeks his soul. Then he awakes. It is Sunday. Antonio hears the voices of his parents arguing like always. His father gets off work early on Saturdays, so he drinks with his friends that night, waking up in the morning cranky. He explains how his mother and father are opposites. They fight on Sundays about religion. His father is not a very religious man. His mother on the other hand is a devout Catholic and would like for Antonio to become a priest. In the end his mother wins and everyone goes to church anyway. When they get to church, Antonio meets up with some of the others that he knows from town. They are typical boys, very competitive. They race each other and compare their neighborhoods.
As I sit here gliding my fingers across the keys, I picture Antonio's parents as my own. My mother the calm, worried, devout Catholic. My father the free minded, outspoken, agnostic. I remember my mother sending us to Sunday school and forcing us to get up on Sundays for mass. My father often resisting, and often winning the battles. He would stay home while my mother, brother, and I went to church. She made a deal with my brother and I. She said if we were confirmed as Catholics, we would not have to attend church anymore. This part of the chapter made me laugh inside. Now things are very different in my house. We no longer attend church every Sunday, because my brother and I completed the deal and no longer attend Mass, so my mother only goes every once in awhile. Our whole family only goes twice a year, for Christmas and Easter.
I pause here because the heat is distracting me. I feel the warm air creeping over my entire body. The window is open, but it is useless. Through it I hear the roar of cars rushing by. The cool breeze blowing, but not flowing inside. My son lays on my lap dreaming, his body sending more heat to mine. My legs slowly drip with sweat. I take a sip of water and feel the cold ice against my lips. It cools me down for just a second, but then my body burns once again from the hot air.
But I digress. The part of the chapter where the boys are playing brought a smile to my face. It reminded me of the times I would play with the neighborhood boys. I was a tomboy, so most of the kids I played with were boys. They were very competitive, I was as well, like the boys in the story. I remember racing everyone, trying to prove I was the fastest and the best.
Another feeling this part brought up for me is a little bit of anger. One of the boys makes a comment about the kids in a certain neighborhood. He labels everyone from Los Jaros, saying "everyone from Los Jaros goes to hell" (Anaya, 37). I grew up in a neighborhood that was rough and full of violence. Many people make generalization about it and the people that live there. It angers me because they have no real idea of what it is like or how the people really are like. Granted there is violence and criminal activity, but that only makes up a few of the people living there. For the most part, everyone is hardworking. Trying to make a living for their families. They are kids trying to stay out of trouble and make it through school, but trouble follows easily.
One last thing that stuck out to me in this chapter is the vision of La llorona. When I was younger, my cousins, my brother, and I saw her. Or at least we believe we did. It was evening. The sun was just falling behind the mountains. We were all strolling alongside the acequia, laughing and playing. The cool September breeze, whistling past us. All of a sudden we heard a soft cry in the distance. Then a white figure came rushing towards us, floating over the muddy water. Startled and scared, we ran to the nearest adult. When we reached her, the figure dropped into the water and disappeared. It was such a rush.
As I sit here gliding my fingers across the keys, I picture Antonio's parents as my own. My mother the calm, worried, devout Catholic. My father the free minded, outspoken, agnostic. I remember my mother sending us to Sunday school and forcing us to get up on Sundays for mass. My father often resisting, and often winning the battles. He would stay home while my mother, brother, and I went to church. She made a deal with my brother and I. She said if we were confirmed as Catholics, we would not have to attend church anymore. This part of the chapter made me laugh inside. Now things are very different in my house. We no longer attend church every Sunday, because my brother and I completed the deal and no longer attend Mass, so my mother only goes every once in awhile. Our whole family only goes twice a year, for Christmas and Easter.
I pause here because the heat is distracting me. I feel the warm air creeping over my entire body. The window is open, but it is useless. Through it I hear the roar of cars rushing by. The cool breeze blowing, but not flowing inside. My son lays on my lap dreaming, his body sending more heat to mine. My legs slowly drip with sweat. I take a sip of water and feel the cold ice against my lips. It cools me down for just a second, but then my body burns once again from the hot air.
But I digress. The part of the chapter where the boys are playing brought a smile to my face. It reminded me of the times I would play with the neighborhood boys. I was a tomboy, so most of the kids I played with were boys. They were very competitive, I was as well, like the boys in the story. I remember racing everyone, trying to prove I was the fastest and the best.
Another feeling this part brought up for me is a little bit of anger. One of the boys makes a comment about the kids in a certain neighborhood. He labels everyone from Los Jaros, saying "everyone from Los Jaros goes to hell" (Anaya, 37). I grew up in a neighborhood that was rough and full of violence. Many people make generalization about it and the people that live there. It angers me because they have no real idea of what it is like or how the people really are like. Granted there is violence and criminal activity, but that only makes up a few of the people living there. For the most part, everyone is hardworking. Trying to make a living for their families. They are kids trying to stay out of trouble and make it through school, but trouble follows easily.
One last thing that stuck out to me in this chapter is the vision of La llorona. When I was younger, my cousins, my brother, and I saw her. Or at least we believe we did. It was evening. The sun was just falling behind the mountains. We were all strolling alongside the acequia, laughing and playing. The cool September breeze, whistling past us. All of a sudden we heard a soft cry in the distance. Then a white figure came rushing towards us, floating over the muddy water. Startled and scared, we ran to the nearest adult. When we reached her, the figure dropped into the water and disappeared. It was such a rush.
Monday, September 6, 2010
BMU: Response on Chapter 2
In the second chapter of the book, Lupito, a war veteran, has murdered the sheriff. The Sheriff's brother comes to Antonio's house to get his father. Antonio's reaction is to follow the two men to the bridge. There he hides in the darkness of the river bank, watching the assembly of angry men. He also sees Lupito off in the distance. A few of the men want to reason with Lupito and give him a chance to give himself up. The majority of the men see him as a savage animal and feel the only way to bring him to justice is to murder him. Narciso, the town drunk, tries to call on Lupito to come out and talk out the situation. Antonio sees Lupito struggling in the distance, trying to decide his fate. He decides to open fire, not to shoot anyone, but to draw the fire of the other men. His plan works, and Antonio sees Lupito fall to the ground and crawl to the bank in front of him. He sees the life leave Lupito. Then runs home in horror.
This section gave me a mixture of emotion. I felt the anger of Chavez. I would likely also be blinded with rage if someone had murdered my brother. My first reaction would also be to hunt down the “animal” that had taken away my family from me. Just thinking about it brings tears of fury, because I am very close to my family. Especially with my brother.
On the other hand, I can understand why there was sympathy for Lupito. I have seen close relatives and friends suffer from mental disorders. They are in a different world than ours. Their reality is not the same as ours. Most people are not understanding. They only take into account the destructive things the person does, not the fact that they have mental health issues. Only Antonio saw that Lupito shot off his gun in surrender. The other men thought he was trying to shoot at him and harm them. Only few people see the suffering that people with mental illness have, or they choose to ignore it. Or, like in this case, they are blinded by rage.
A quote that stuck out to me was, “I saw Lupito's tense body shake. A low, sad mournful cry tore itself from his throat and mixed into the lapping sound of the waters of the river. His head shook slowly, and I guess he must have been thinking and fighting between surrendering or remaining free, and hunted” (Anaya 21). The image in this quote felt very familiar. Like I said before, I have close relatives that struggle with mental illness. It reminded me of the lost look in my family member's eyes. The tears rolling down his cheeks. His leg shaking restlessly. His chest heaving from the sobs. I'm thankful he has not surrendered like Lupito, but I know the struggle of his mental illness takes a heavy toll on him.
This section gave me a mixture of emotion. I felt the anger of Chavez. I would likely also be blinded with rage if someone had murdered my brother. My first reaction would also be to hunt down the “animal” that had taken away my family from me. Just thinking about it brings tears of fury, because I am very close to my family. Especially with my brother.
On the other hand, I can understand why there was sympathy for Lupito. I have seen close relatives and friends suffer from mental disorders. They are in a different world than ours. Their reality is not the same as ours. Most people are not understanding. They only take into account the destructive things the person does, not the fact that they have mental health issues. Only Antonio saw that Lupito shot off his gun in surrender. The other men thought he was trying to shoot at him and harm them. Only few people see the suffering that people with mental illness have, or they choose to ignore it. Or, like in this case, they are blinded by rage.
A quote that stuck out to me was, “I saw Lupito's tense body shake. A low, sad mournful cry tore itself from his throat and mixed into the lapping sound of the waters of the river. His head shook slowly, and I guess he must have been thinking and fighting between surrendering or remaining free, and hunted” (Anaya 21). The image in this quote felt very familiar. Like I said before, I have close relatives that struggle with mental illness. It reminded me of the lost look in my family member's eyes. The tears rolling down his cheeks. His leg shaking restlessly. His chest heaving from the sobs. I'm thankful he has not surrendered like Lupito, but I know the struggle of his mental illness takes a heavy toll on him.
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