The Fastest Machine Ever
by Hector D. Medina
I used to bike often with my friend Gerardo in my hometown of Aguascalientes, Mexico. In the narrow streets, a heavy flow of traffic make biking treacherous. Certain streets have traffic signs saying, "CEDA EL PASO A UN VEHICULO" which means "Let one vehicle go through at a time."
I biked on the right side of the street and my friend Gerardo biked on the left side. On our trip to buy tamales Gerardo and I were supposed to cross an intersection with a "CEDA EL PASO A UN VEHICULO" sign.
As we approached the intersection, I gleamed my chance to cross at the same time as the car in front of me. Since Gerardo and I were racing to cross the intersection, I sped up to reach the red vehicle. As I crossed the intersection I failed to see an approaching blue car on my right side. In my hurry and excitement to beat Gerardo through the intersection I neglected to notice that the approaching blue car had not stopped at the intersection, but instead it kept going. I crashed into the left side of the car.
At the moment of the impact I felt scared, but at the same time I was amazed at the response of my brain. First, I lifted up my right leg that was about to smash with the left fender of the car. Thus I saved my right leg from being broken and causing major injuries to my fine, young body. Second, I remembered the advice of my friend Gerardo, who told me, " Always when you fall try to roll over the floor or wherever you are at while at the same time covering your head so you will not get hurt so much." I followed his advice.
The impact of my bicycle hitting the car caused my body to fly over the hood and land on it. While rolling over the hood I kept repeating to myself over and over my friend's advice, "Cover your head and keep rolling." I kept rolling until my body did not have any more hood to roll on, so I plopped to the ground like a sack of potatoes until I finally stopped rolling. After a few moments of initial shock, I slowly opened my eyes and looked all around me. Then I closed my eyes again and concentrated all my mental energy to check my body for injuries without moving for fear of aggravating any injuries I might have incurred. When I opened my eyes again I saw my friend Gerardo running to get my broken bicycle. To me this meant that the accident had not been tragic or even critical. Slowly, I stood up and every thing seemed just fine. I felt disoriented, shocked, and more than a little dazed. However, when the police came all I could report to them of this accident were a pair of torn pants, badly scratched knees, and a bruised ego.
It surprised me that I was able to find a positive way to come out of this accident alive and with so few injuries. This experience confirmed the extraordinary response of my brain to be able to pull out from my memory bank the advice that was given to me two years ago by my friend Gerardo and use it at a moment that I desperately needed it.
Comments on "The Fastest Machine Ever"
Written midway in the semester and revised at the end of the semester, this essay shows that the author has made good progress toward achieving the English 98 exit skills. He sends the clear messages in his thesis that keeping cool in the face of adversity can pay off. There is a clear sense of organization: the introduction clearly explains the dangers of biking in Aguascalientes, Mexico; the body details the accident in "showing" details; and the conclusion summarizes the learning that the author took from the experience. He uses many concrete details to help the reader experience the trauma: "I gleamed my chance to cross"; "roll over the floor or wherever you are at while at the same time covering your head"; and "so I plopped to the ground." Especially his strong showing verbs contribute to the concrete details: "gleamed," "sped," "crashed," "fly," "plopped." While the essay is primarily narrative, the author shows a sense of other rhetorical modes as he focuses on description to convey his story. He shows an understanding of sentence variety in structure and length.
In future revisions he might strive for even more paragraph development, perhaps adding some more dialogue, which he does well in two places, and even more detail of the mental checking of the body. He seems to rush through that section and that "mental checking" certainly must have been a traumatic experience that could be further developed.
English 98
The Junket
by Robert M. Monroe
Marcella Monroe got off the bus and stepped into the restaurant at the Greyhound Bus Station in Riverside, CA. Her life was about to change forever. She had come all the way from Minnesota to California in one week. She applied for a position as a waitress and set off to her friend's apartment in Colton, CA. just a few miles away. One hour later she received a phone call from the manager of the restaurant telling her he was sending a cab for her to come to work in the restaurant.
Being so sure of herself Marcella already knew she had received the job the moment she sashayed into the restaurant.
One week later Marcella met her husband-to-be Gene Monroe, known as "Tex" in the bar that he worked in.
"He came in for breakfast, he was just so sure of himself when he spoke to me," she said.
A week later Marcella found herself at the bar where Gene worked.
"I walked in and Gene's eyes got as big as oranges."
Gene lunged over the bar to take her order.
Marcella simply said, "I'll just have coffee. Thank you."
Well Gene's girlfriend at that time, "Tootsie" happened to come into the bar and she sat right next to Marcella.
"Gene was so nervous he could do nothing but wipe the bar down, over and over."
With her fur coat and her red hair, Tootsie sat and conversed with Marcella.
When Tootsie left to use the bathroom, Marcella bent over the bar with her eyes squinted like a hawk and told Gene, "If she swings that fur in my face one more time I'm gonna knock her ass right off the bar stool."
Gene full of panic, just kept busy, constantly keeping one eye at the end of the bar.
That night was eventually over, Marcella and Gene started dating each other and five short months later married. Marcella and Gene then moved to Vallejo for work and to start their family. They were married for fifty-two years and Marcella concluded, "We had our ups and downs, but we made it through the worst of it all."
Comments on "The Junket"
This essay was written early in the semester and revised at the conclusion of the semester. It is evidence that the writer has an understanding of the essay form and function. He shows nice stylistic touches in his writing.
This author pays good attention to detail such as when he describes Tootsie's "fur coat and red hair," and describes her "swinging the fur in my face." He uses some wonderful comparisons when he describes Gene's eyes "as big as oranges" and Marcella "with her eyes squinted like a hawk." His attention to showing words like "sashayed" and "lunged" help the reader to see the action.
He displays a sense of the essay, setting the reader up for what is to come in the first paragraph when he writes, "Her life was about to change forever." The final paragraph that refers to the 52 years of marriage that was the outcome of that first meeting between Marcella and Gene offers a nice conclusion.
In future revisions, the author might spend time on paragraph development. Although the dialogue is properly presented in single sentence paragraphs, it would be helpful to see more details in the narrative paragraphs. For instance, in Paragraph 5, he might have explained how she arrived in the bar, what the bar looked like, and her impressions of Gene. Similarly in Paragraph 9, a fuller description of Tootsie and her relationship with Gene would help the readers to understand Gene's nervousness. After the night concluded, what happened then? He may move too swiftly from that one night to five months later. A showing of the developing relationship would be helpful.
English 98
A Day as a Kaiser Volunteer
By Regan Kelling
As usual, Chris is late. Because the other two Physical Therapists (PTs) are busy on their rounds, I just wait, sitting on the therapy tables reading the assorted pamphlets that are available to the patients. Every part of the body is represented in these books on the shelf. A slight humming sound comes from the air conditioner just loud enough to bother somebody who is trying to work. The freshly waxed tile floor reflects the light that shines from the ceiling tract lights.
Since I am a volunteer, the lowest on the totem pole of health care, I have no specific duties. Mainly, I observe the work of the PTs. I also do some basic cleaning of the mostly immaculate therapy room. As I wash down the tables with watered-down ammonia, trying not to inhale too many fumes, a Dr. Lee is paged over the hospital intercom. Then someone else is paged, "Thomas Albert to front desk. Thomas Albert to front desk." Front desk actually means office, and usually social workers are paged to clear up some problem.
I also stock the linen closet. Every patient who lies on the big brown therapy table has to be on a sheet with at least 2 or 3 towels nearby. The towels feel rough and course from years and years of reuse. Everything gets the watered-down ammonia treatment, including the silver parallel bars, the whirlpool and the giant rubber gym balls that are used with patients who have bad backs.
Suddenly, the door swings open and all of the sounds from the nearby emergency room flood into the room. Chris has returned from his lunch break. He brings a patient to the gym to work on the bars. Hunched in her wheelchair, staring at the ground, her gray hair a mess, she shakes slightly. I think, "Can't the PTs feel the coldness in this room? Maybe their white lab coats keep them warm."
Chris says, "Regan, this is Mrs. Governor. She is going to walk the bars today." He asks, "Aren't you, Mrs. Governor?"
All that Mrs. Governor can do is mumble "Yes, I hope." Mrs. Governor had a stroke, her second. Chris tells me privately so that she can't hear. She seems to be in a state of confusion about where she is and who we are.
Chris wheels Mrs. Governor to the silver parallel bars and helps her stand. Slowly talking very quietly, he assures her that he will not let her fall, if she can't balance herself. I stand behind her, as instructed by Chris. She smells of hospital soap, as if she had been sponge-bathed by nurses. It is a strong smell that stays on my clothing when I leave the hospital. Mrs. Governor takes three unsteady steps and Chris grins as if she was jumping hurdles in the Olympics! "That's great Mrs. Governor," he says. "What do you think, Regan?" he asks me.
"I'll bet she's ready to walk out of here," I respond.
Mrs. Governor says with a smile, "Well, I'll buy that." Then she sits down in the wheelchair, adjusting her powder blue hospital gown, and says, "What do you think Chris? We've got a Reagan and a Governor." I don't have the heart to say it's Regan, not Reagan. I am just happy to be a small part of her rehabilitation.
After we return Mrs. Governor to her room, Chris has another patient waiting in the gym, a police officer from San Francisco who had a hip replacement. He stands in front of Chris and me in the same kind of gown that Mrs. Governor wore. It looks silly on this man who must weigh over 260 pounds.
"I used to be an athlete," said the patient. "My claim to fame is that I played football with a popular former player who has been in the news lately," he tells us with a wink and a grin, assuring us that he doesn't socialize with the scandalous celebrity any longer.
The atmosphere changed dramatically, with the three of us laughing, from the placid gentle tone we used with Mrs. Governor. The patient lies down on his back while Chris shows him various ways to rehabilitate. As I stand there listening to the terms Chris uses, not really understanding them fully, I think about how much I want to work here.
I can get used to the smell, the air conditioner in the winter, and even the rubber feeling that is caused by the gloves that we are required to wear. The bright lights overhead make everything look so clean and professional. I enjoy volunteering here because it makes me feel so professional. I even enjoy walking through the corridors and saying hi to the nurses or the housekeeping staff who have come to recognize me. I wear a picture badge that has a Kaiser logo, just like the one Chris wears, except mine says "volunteer" on it, reminding me of the long road I have ahead of me to reach my goal.
As Chris and I leave for the day, we hear someone over the speaker announce a code blue. I ask Chris what this means. He says it means that someone is dying. This isn't how Chris and I wanted to end the day, on a down note. Then our moods lighten as we remember that we are still wearing the rubber gloves. We laugh as we go back into the hospital to wash our hand again. It seems like we're constantly washing our hands.
Comments on "A Day as a Kaiser Volunteer"
The writer has an understanding of the sense of an essay. The writer pulls the readers into the essay by setting up the reader with a grabbing introduction that shows the reader the writer's location. The writer has a sense of organization in developing paragraphs that move the reader through the volunteer's work.
The writer pays attention to concrete details that "show" the reader what he is experiencing: such as "slight humming sound," "freshly waxed floors," and describing the towels, as "rough and course." The writer also uses concrete verbs, such as "sounds... flood into the room" and "hunched in her wheelchair." The writer also uses dialog to further pull the reader into the scene by creating authentic sense of place. The writer also effectively shares with detail the different approaches used with different patients.
Although the writer has a good command of sentence structure and uses a variety of sentence length, he should pay closer attention to grammar in revisions, in particular run together sentences. The essay loses some of its focus near the conclusion in terms of his goal of wanting to become a physical therapist, but it does show what the day's end is typically like.
English 118
The Little Red Trike
by Pat Liscum
Remember back to the times of your youth, when a family member or friend would grace you with a gift? Remember that butterfly feeling you would get in the pit of your stomach and work itself outward and make you tingle with anticipation? Remember waking up early on Christmas morning way ahead of your parents only to attempt to wait patiently until they arose? Remember the moans of despair when they finally did clamber out of their bed to tell you that breakfast must be eaten first before gifts are opened? And remember the giggles that escaped one's lips when they grin mischievously and say "just kidding?"
There was always one wrapped gift that stood apart from the rest. For weeks you gazed and pondered what on earth it could contain. At night as the sandman sang his sweet song in your ear you could swear that the gaily wrapped parcel was singing in unison, murmuring "open me first" over and over again.
On my mantel sits a photo that captures this feeling. The likeness was not taken at Christmastime, but on an ordinary day which makes that day even more special to those involved. This photo rests within a white ceramic frame illuminated with two tiny, pink flowers with delicate green runners emanating outward on opposing sides of the frame. Another flower rests within, a flower in bloom. Daffodil eyes squinting in merriment, rosebud lips stretched to their outermost reaches, grasping for the sun, and cherry blossom cheeks glistening as with the morning dew: This is my daughter Emerald. She sits atop the very first bike she has ever had. (A gift from Easter Seals, made especially for her.) She knows she is special and her heart is full of gladness.
She beams at those surrounding her running circles about them with her laughter following in her wake. What a magnificent steed she has! She learns quickly how to control this beast and have it obey her slightest wishes. Right now, at this exact moment in time, all is right with the world. And, OH BOY, what fun I'll have!
Such bittersweet memories as I gaze longingly at this photo. Back to a time when things were so much simpler, less complex. Back before the world intruded and innocence was struck asunder. So I sit and ponder this picture, and as I do this those feelings come rushing back, leaving me with a feeling of innocence grasped once again. Of carefree days and warm summer nights with the fragrance of cherry blossoms on the wind. And a gentle wind at that.
Comments on "The Little Red Trike"
"The Little Red Trike" is an exceptionally strong example of an English 118 essay. This writer, through strong use of repetition and the second person point of view, grabs the readers' attention effectively in the introduction through a series of questions. For example, she repeats the word "remember" at the beginning of each sentence, giving the paragraph a sense of unification. (Note that at the end of the essay, she similarly uses the word "back.")
The author also uses strong transitions to create connections between and within her ideas; she moves from an opening paragraph in which she describes the sense of anticipation that one has before opening a gift to a more specific focus on the gift that the child very much wants. In the third paragraph, she moves the reader to a specific example of a gift (the little red trike) as represented in a photograph on her mantel.
In paragraph three we see a powerful use of metaphor where the writer's daughter, Emerald, is described as having "rose-bud lips" and "cherry-blossom cheeks." We learn that the daughter has received her gift from Easter Seals and that she is "special."
In paragraph four, the writer should clarify the moment at which she takes the reader "into" Emerald's mind. For example, "OH BOY, what fun I'll have!" takes us abruptly into first person (Emerald's point of view).
In the final moments of the essay, the writer uses the "frame" technique effectively, contemplating the photograph of her daughter as bittersweet memories rush over her. Although the writer does not directly tell us what happened to Emerald, we are left with a sense of loss.
With the allusions to Christmas as well as warm summer nights, there is a sense of the years passing. Her daughter, who once had "cherry-blossom cheeks," is now remembered in "the fragrance of cherry blossoms on the wind."
English 118
The Move
by Donna Benedetti
"Good bye honey! Take care! Call us when you get there safely!" my mother cried. I can still hear those words as if it were yesterday and in reality it was fourteen years ago, that I packed up and left my small town back in southern New Jersey.
The decision to leave my hometown, has been a definite turning point in my life, showing me what it means to live in a diverse society vs. the narrow minded, sheltered existence that I was raised in.
I grew up in a small town back east called Pennsville, population 15,000, and all of them were white folks except the Hardings and the Brooks. They were the only two colored families (as they were known to be called in passing), that lived in town. How they managed to survive in that hateful environment is still a mystery to me.
Needless to say this town was very prejudice, and still is today. The 'N' word was very familiar to me and was used frequently in the house I grew up in. I can still hear my grandmother's voice saying, "Those damn n-----‘s are gonna ruin this town." I could never fully understand where her anger was coming from. Her hatred for people of color was beyond anything I could comprehend. And she was not alone. Most every one I knew felt the same way, from my parents to my schoolmates. Most of the black population in that area seemed to have their own towns. One that comes to mind is Salem, which is the neighboring town to where I grew up. I can still remember the fear that was ingrained in me on the rare occasions when we would drive through that area. "Don't you dare look out that window young lady", my grandmother warned. " Is your door locked? And for god's sake, roll up that window!"
We are all a product of our environment. What we hear and see while we are growing up, becomes the norm. This was the case for me. Since being removed from that environment, I have realized that this is a big world that we live in and I have to share it with a lot of people, no matter what our differences are.
The privilege to move to California has exposed me to many different cultures. This has allowed me to grow in many ways. The opportunity to listen and learn was there for the taking and I indulged. I now live in a neighborhood filled with people much different from myself My children's classrooms are filled with people from around the globe. I also have a diverse group of friends that I very much enjoy and spend time with.
On the occasions when I do take a trip back home, I'm just amazed at the sameness. Nothing's changed. When I hear those habitual prejudice words pouring out of their mouths, my ears just burn like fire. People tend to react negatively toward me because I no longer share their views. This is a sure sign to me that I have made many positive changes in my life. For instance, my children had never heard the "N" word until the O.J. Simpson trial. This was a sad day for me, but also it was a day for me to teach my children what it means to be an accepting human being. Hopefully, this will be a value that they will pass on to their children.
Comments on "The Move"
This essay reveals the writer's inner struggle about the complex issue of racism; once she has grown up and seen more of the world, she begins to see herself as separate from the prejudiced people of her family and her hometown. The use of direct quotations, specific examples, detailed memories and re-created scenes contributes to the essay's strength. For example, she remembers a moment in her grandmother's car when she is warned to roll up her window and lock her door as the car drives through an African-American neighborhood.
On revision, the writer should consider working on comma usage and developing clarity throughout the essay. For example, in the second paragraph, she inserts a comma when none is needed in the second sentence. In paragraph three, the word "prejudice" is a past participle and should have a "d" at the end ("prejudiced").
In the last paragraph, the writer comes "full circle" as she returns to her hometown and discovers how her values have changed from those of her early environment. It is a lesson that is valuable for the reader as well.
English 118
The Conduct of Students
by Maria Guerrero
Generally, the conduct of students in public school is a deterrent to getting a good education. Violent behavior, drugs in school, and misbehaving students are distracting and break the learning environment for others.
Violence in school creates an unsafe environment, and shifts the administrator's focus away from the curriculum towards solving the dilemma of violence. When the environment that surrounds the students is not secure they become more preoccupied with their own safety than they do about learning (Rehr). This disturbing behavior also takes both the student's and teacher's time away from the education process. As Albert Shanker has written, "Nobody ever learns in a classroom that has one or two kids who take ninety percent of the time through violence or threats of violence. It deprives children of an opportunity to learn" (464). To cut down on violence, schools have guards at the entrance, gates, or metal detectors in buildings. The effect of this though is that students sometimes have to miss first period because of the length of time it takes to check everyone's bag. In addition, it can cause feelings of intimidation or anxiety due to the fact that "when you put metal detectors in buildings, that's a statement that schools are violence-ridden, out of control, and unsafe" (Glazer 790). This worries educators because they start to "question whether a prison-like atmosphere, even when it is effective in reducing crime, can in the long run be compatible with good education" (David 12).
In correlation with crime in schools are illegal drugs. Drugs seems to be the majority cause of violent behavior in school. "Teachers tell of some students being sent home because they were drunk; others have been involved in fights with other students, teachers, and administrators while under the influence of alcohol" (David 8). When these students come to class under the influence of drugs or alcohol they are not able to learn or function responsibly in school. This not only hurts them but also others who become more vulnerable when they see this behavior and do not see the person getting any kind of discipline. As one student said, "If you get caught they will slap you on the wrist, say 'Don't do it again', or maybe send you to a different school. Big deal" (Lipsky 104). This kind of thinking makes drug use legitimate to other students.
A third behavior students engage in that causes disruption and time taken away in classes is simply misbehavior. According to Shanker, these are the youngsters who are constantly yelling, cursing, jumping, so that most of the time the other students in the class and the teacher is devoted, not to the academic mission of the schools, but to figuring out how to contain this individual (463). Acting out for students becomes a way for them to get attention, and unfortunately the majority of the time they get just what they want. According to teachers, the worst-behaved students get the most attention. They lose a half-hour or more each day dealing with unruly behavior (Kleffman 615). This time consumption and distracting conduct puts a big strain on the other students who are there to learn. "Students complain about teachers pleading with students to behave, and so much noise in some rooms that those who want to learn simply cannot concentrate (Kleffman 613). As another student put it, "A teacher once wasted half the period with several unruly students. I feel really bad for the teacher because it's not her fault. But it's not fair for the rest of the kids. We just can't learn as much" (Kleffman 617). Other students get upset that they come to class and do their work but never get noticed or attended to. One mom complained saying that her son does his work but his teacher rarely notices him because of two kids who steal all her attention. "You hear just two names in that class. If their names are called out once, they are called out twenty five times. My son withdraws and remains nameless" (Lindley 615).
Violence in school, drugs and alcohol, and unruly conduct all have negative effects on students who are there to learn. They cause distractions, unsafe environments, and cause the schools to focus more on dealing with these problems that on building a better curriculum. In general, the conduct of students is deterrent to getting a good education.
Comments on "The Conduct of Students"
"The Conduct of Students" is a well-organized, well-proved essay. The writer uses two or more sources per paragraph, which greatly add to her point. Two of the body paragraphs are very nicely done, using authorial voice as well as back up to define the points. Further, although the List of Works Cited is not posted here, the writer uses correct MLA format, which keeps the reader from wondering where the information came from. Within and between her paragraphs, she uses transitions nicely to move the essay through the three points.
The issues the writer could focus on are explanation and detail. Firstly, the introduction is really no more than the thesis-albeit a clear and well organized one. The writer could have taken more time working her way into her thesis by setting up the discussion, mentioning a violent or disturbing incident, an essay, a personal experience, and/or rhetorical questions as a hook to her ideas. As it is, we are simply thrust into the discussion.
The second body paragraph likewise could use some further explanation, detail, and example. While the quotes are useful, more of the writer's own voice would add context and roundness to the discussion.
The conclusion needs the same work-in reverse-as the introduction. After three relatively round paragraphs, we are left hanging at the end of the essay with a simple reiteration of the short introduction.
Finally, this writer needs to focus on punctuation, especially commas. With proofreading and some work on the introduction, conclusion, and the second body paragraph, this writer would have an excellent essay.
English 122
Show Me Yours And I'll Show You Mine
by Keene R. Kohrt
A spark of flint, then a burst of flame and the Bic lighter was alive, glowing like a serpents eye. It had finally come to this. Things were going so well too: I had money, dreams, a whole future figured out. Now I was a drunken liar, facing criminal charges and jail time; sadly I was only nineteen. Hungover with a broken knuckle and no memory of how it happened, to top it all off my butterfly knife, a deadly weapon made for surgically precise combat, was missing. Were the cops looking for me? An arrested before my next trial would send me to prison for sure. My only real option was to quit drinking, but if I did I'd have to face reality; however I would have to do it alone. I had to decide. The Bic lighter continued to heat. The striker and the metal cover formed a smile, a dark smile concealing hot teeth that were ready to claim a permanent piece of my arm. I had already quite so many times, each ending dismally the first time I was offered a drink. "Enough of this wishy washy bullshit," I said. "If you are serious this time then prove it, put the lighter to you skin and prove it. Let it be a mark of your decision to never drink again." There was a whiff of smoldering hair, then flesh, as the Bic lighter turned branding iron melted into my arm; I was so numb with self disgust that it didn't feel the blister rupture as the burn passed the second degree. I never made a sound.
Barbaric? Yes, it was. None the less, that scar a symbolized my deliverance. I would look at it daily in the months to come and it would give me courage, strengthening my resolve when my will began to falter, and although it is just another spot on a leopard to others, it titles the darkest and most glorious chapter in my life. Every scar hints at the events that shaped your life: the good, the bad, and the mysterious, like chapter titles in a book. We all have at least one: some faded, big, or tiny. Even the most pampered child has fallen on their delicate knees, learning for the first time that mom and did will not always be there to protect them from the mishaps that surround all those who are mortal.
Pat, a close friend, has a rather subtle scar that is four inches long and as narrow as a piece of paper, right at the peak of his forehead. If you were to ask he would tell you it's from an ax. His parents had denied him permission to take their boat for the weekend. It was a foolhardy attempt to say the least. Winter was approaching and storms could appear out on the Alaskan Sea in seconds, every year somebody drowned. Pat didn't even have a drivers license yet. He met his parents wisdom with complaints and shouts and finally flew out the door of the house shouting, "I hate them, they are so damned stupid." The next sounds he made were grunts of anger as he viciously swung his father's double edged ax, hacking away like a berserker on a nearby saw horse. Again and again the ax fell, splintering wood and severing boards. Every chop screamed, "I hate you!" His fury reached a climax, his fathers saw horse was to be dealt the decapitating blow, so reaching high for a mighty swing he let loose with all his might. And snagged a cloths line. The ax spring up and neatly cut a four inch slice in his forehead. I stood watching, at a loss for words, as his unintelligible snarling was immediately replaced with two words as he clasped his face, a stream of blood bursting through his fingers. "Mom help!" Never have I ever seen a person come more quickly to their senses. All the anger dissipated as parents and child moved as one unit of committed love and rushed to the hospital. Every time Pat combs his hair, which has receded way passed the top of the scar at this point, he knows that when a person explodes in anger it may leave them in complete humiliation, possibly in great danger. Pat was never one for giving in to anger after that. If he is wise he will tell the story, in its entirety, to his kids. A wise man always shares wisdom.
I've met others who thought that it was best to keep their scar's wisdom to themselves, sharing was just not necessary. At the time I was obsessed with getting a motorcycle. I knew more about motorcycles that some riders do. So one day I confidently walked into a dealership, wanting something in the medium class, a slow one that topped out at 120 mph, as opposed to the ones that can go about 170 mph. Can see where this is going? I looked, decided, and was shown to the desk of the head salesmen. His desk was covered with invoices, receipts, pens and coffee cups, all in stacks and separated but still jumbled. Above his desk, on a shelf, stood a magazine encased in plastic. Its title boasted a picture with the title of "The Greatest Rider of 1990." There stood a young man of thirty or so in his blue facing leathers, a spotless white helmet was in the crook of one arm, and broad smile filled his face. The magazine was surrounded by trophies with winged angels on top, all raising their hands in worship. The name of the man was the same as the one on the desk plaque. It felt good to know that I would be buying a bike from a professional, someone who knows everything. A voice entered, "Hi, I'm Jim. What can I do for you today?" I turned to my left and there was a man slowly limping toward me leaning on a cane. He sat down at the desk and shook my hand. I realized that he bore a slight resemblance to the man in the photo, except the his head was shaped different, presumable from the accident that caused the immense tissue damage on the right side of his face. Although the scar was large, he didn't seem to care, so I glanced between the picture and him many times trying to make a match. It was him all right, the smile was the same, and the left eye was still shaped normally, even though the right was protruding out like a fish's eye. We talked at length about financing options and colors, then at a pause I asked, "So, what happened?" Oh that, a car ran a red light and ran me over-, so are you ready to sign?" I told him I was going to sleep on it. Then I ran. Why is it when we burn our hand on a stove as a child we learn that touching hot things is not a good thing and even go as far as to share this knowledge to other people who seem like they don't know. While as adults we may learn lessons but we just don't fill other people in. I don't suppose it would do though to have a motorcycle dealer telling people that no matter how good they were, dumb luck and dumb drivers will always be their to kill them when they least expect it. He never said it, but the scars on his head explained it all.
Scars are like milestones, dotting the landscapes of our lives, marking their owner with a permanent reminder of the past, something undeniable, and irremovable. They can be insignificant in size but have great meaning, or cover the body and only testify to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way they are a part of the person called you. Look at your hands your knees and remember the lessons you learned so that you do not repeat the same mistakes. The reason we have scars is so that we never forget how we got them.
Comments on "Show Me Yours and I'll Show You Mine"
The essay "Show Me Yours and I'll Show You Mine" starts vividly with a strong descriptive hook: "A spark of flint, then a burst of flame and the Bic lighter was alive, glowing like a serpents (sic) eye." Following this opener are strings of equally strong details and questions that urge the reader to continue. The thesis is clear and provocative.
The two narrative examples use the same clear, vivid details as well as description and dialogue, which place the reader in the story and work well toward proving the thesis. The writer could have used outside sources to back up his idea-an example from an essay, for instance-which would have lent credulity to his point as two of the three narratives are strictly from his point of view. Further, his narratives were only loosely connected and another source and/or an explanation could have helped to tie them together. Narrative, however, is a great way to prove a point, and his are well done.
This writer does need to focus on punctuation and spelling. Many sentences are in need of commas and apostrophes, in particular, and these errors take away from the power of his language. This writer needs to work on proofreading techniques.
This essay is good and remarkable in detail and description. With additional work, it could be excellent.
English 122
Did June Cleaver Have It Right?
by Dawn Guglielmino
"Never forget that your family is really the most important assembly you ever entertain."
-Irma S. Rombauer, Joy of Cooking
I awaken this morning with the aroma of bacon calling me to the kitchen. Upon my arrival I witness the table set for five, complete with imported European coffee, buttered toast, maple syrup, fresh squeezed orange juice, and a stack of pancakes so tall it continues to wobble trying to find a center of gravity. Alongside the table stands Marcela, a teacher, visiting us from Santiago, Chile. She will be our houseguest for the next six months and is eager to teach our family all she knows about South America, including its cuisine. Marcela, however has not forgotten the pancakes of North America, eaten on a previous trip and is looking forward to a reunion with the fluffy stack standing beside her. Gary has left the house early this morning hoping to catch up with his patients prior to their being medicated for surgery. The boys nearly trample Marcela over in their rush out the door to meet the carpool's blaring horn signaling the urgency of departure time. Matthew, blazing by the breakfast table, wraps a piece of bacon tightly in a blanket of pancake, dips it into the warm syrup and without breaking stride, runs to meet the waiting car ready to take him to school.
Seeing the look of disappointment on Marcela's face, I begin to feel for the first time a need for serious mealtime reform to take place in our house. When I read Mr. Berry's essay titled, "The Pleasures of Eating", specifically when he describes, "Our kitchens and other eating places more and more resemble filling stations"(232), an eerie sensation comes over me - I can't believe how well I am able to connect with what he has to say. Often, I have resented the sensation of being a short order cook; boys bellowing food preferences - running, grabbing, and choking down whatever food I have prepared, leaving me to feel like I was nothing more than a servant, not a mother. Our house is truly one of the "filling stations"(232) that Berry so eloquently describes:
We hurry through our meals to go to work and hurry through our work in order to "recreate" ourselves in the evenings and on weekends and vacations. And then we hurry, with the greatest possible speed and noise and violence, through our recreation - for what?(232).
Berry might as well have been sitting at my kitchen table, using my Emily's situation as an example of what he was referring to in his essay. No consideration had ever been given to the need for spiritual refueling when meals were consumed by my own family members.
Marcela was not accustomed to meals on the run. Her coming to stay with my family was just what I needed to help me put a stop to the consumption of meals without regard to the need for spiritual replenishment. With this new awareness, no longer could I permit mealtime to be treated as just a time of caloric intake. Marcela was about to receive a new teaching assignment - restoration of mealtime at the Guglielmino house. She didn't know it yet, but this would be one of her toughest teaching assignments to date! Bringing this family together for meals would require in addition to the skills that she possessed as a teacher, the skills needed of a full time secretary to manage the constant barrage of incoming calls, a chauffeur to help with prompt pick up and delivery of children involved in after school activities, and a mind reader to anticipate the completion of my husband's workday at the hospital.
With all this in mind, Marcela and I sit at the breakfast table. While enjoying several cups of coffee that had been left behind from this mornings breakfast circus, we continue on with our day, mapping out a plan of attack. Taking one meal at a time for now, we decide on tonight's dinner, construct a grocery list, and attach it to the list of other errands to be done while the children are in school.
The shopping now done, errands finished, groceries put away, and preparation for dinner next on the agenda; Marcela carefully leads me through the steps of making empanadas. These handmade pastries with a meat filling will be the main course of tonight's dinner. Much to my surprise Marcela is able to recreate the recipe from memory -- ground beef, bell peppers, onions, garlic, salt and whatever fresh herbs are still growing in the garden. She sautes them all together and sets the mixture aside.
While the meat cools, the ingredients for the dough are readied -- flour, salt, manteca (lard), and some warm water. Marcela adds salt to the warm water and then sets this mixture next to the cooling meat. A crater is made in the flour, holding the water needed to make the flour mixture transform into a dough. Handling the dough, I get a burning desire to squish the dough between my fingers and warm it with my hands, wanting to mold it into elaborate structures for make believe play. It is hard for me to resist the temptation to play instead of cook.
After the dough has been mixed it is ready to be kneaded. When the flour has been rendered a heaping ball of soft, pliable, warm dough, Marcela adds manteca. The manteca acts like a lubricant and allows the dough to be handled easily without sticking. Marcela gently surrounds the lump of dough with her hands, placing it down on a waiting pastry board that has been dusted with flour. She then begins to knead the dough. Using all of her body weight, she is able to transform this lump of dough into a soft, pliable ball, ready to be rolled out and shaped into flat round circles. The dough is used to surround and encase the meat filling that has been prepared only moments before, using the freshest of ingredients.
Each and every meal Marcela cooked for our family would contain all the love and energy she had. She would agree very strongly with Berry, "the pleasure of eating should be an extensive pleasure, not that of the mere gourmet" (233). All meals prepared for the family, to her, were worthy of "gourmet"(233) attention. If careful attention to the preparation and presentation has been made, why would a person not have such feelings about how their "culinary masterpiece" is consumed?
This doesn't even begin to take into account the benefits reaped when the entire family comes together, taking time out from their busy schedules to share their day's trials and tribulations over a hot cooked meal. Tom Ohling, Portland, Oregon, chef, consultant, and writer, in his article published in The Oregonian writes: "The importance of family dining cannot be overemphasized. People looking for ways to keep the family together can find answers in mealtime"(FoodDay, 11-19-96). Ohling summarizes the benefits of family dining well in his article, "Finding Meaning In Mealtime" and I agree very strongly with the idea that we as a society need to bring our families back to the kitchen table for meals.
While the spiritual benefits of families dining together are significant, they are not the only benefit. A Reader's Digest survey "shows that 60 percent of children who eat at least four family meals per week (out of 21 possible, if you count three meals a day) have higher test scores" Margaret Visser, "The Rituals of Dinner: The Origins, Evolution, Eccentricities & Meaning of Table Manners" (1991:29). 1 have now made it my personal quest to see that my family has as many home cooked meals as I
can possibly provide. No longer would my household be, in Mr. Berry's words:
The passive American consumer, sitting down to a meal of pre-prepared or fast food, confronting a platter covered with inert, anonymous substances that have been processed, dyed, breaded, sauced, gravied, ground, pulped, strained, blended, prettified, and sanitized beyond resemblance to any part of any creature that ever lived (232).
I am convinced that I have allowed the consumption of meals on the run to continue way too long and putting a stop to this practice is necessary in order to establish a healthy family, both spiritually and physically. Furthermore, if I can't find a way on my own then -- June Clever, set the table for five more, you're having company for dinner!
Comments on "Did June Cleaver Have It Right?"
The essay "Did June Cleaver Have it Right?" is a strong essay which deftly combines the narratives of a family's chaotic mealtimes and its guest from another country with the research question which investigates the benefits of defining and sticking to family mealtimes. In addition, the writer has a clear voice, which combines the personal, and the analytical to good effect and uses sentences of varying length and complexity. The essayist has used description well to give us a clear view of the table set for breakfast and later in the essay, to delineate the process of making empanadas. These rhetorical devices are almost seamless in their inclusion and add life to this essay. The writer has integrated several strands of quotes from various sources and used them to augment her own observations and opinions. As well, note the absence of grammar errors.
There are three places the essay could be strengthened. There is some confusion in the first three paragraphs as to the setting and function of the essay. Once the reader settles on the thesis, the essay flows well. Several of the quotes appear in the last three paragraphs and seem to crowd the end of the essay. The ideas raised in the quotes, and the quotes themselves, could be placed more strategically in the essay. In that way, they would read less like afterthoughts. A "Works Cited" list would help to inform the reader about the sources. In addition, there are several extremely short paragraphs, paragraphs three, four, thirteen, and fourteen. With some reworking, these could be integrated with longer paragraphs.
English 122
Living a Heroic Death
by Kristina Florentine
The story of "The Crow" (a graphic novel turned movie) is the story of Eric Draven, a handsome young musician living in the dark gloom of a gothic-industrialized city plagued by continual rain. He is set to wed a beautiful girl when she is raped and left to die by a gang of criminals. Upon arriving to witness it in progress (taking place at his own home), Draven is killed as well; pushed out of a window as high as a skyscraper. The story then chronicles his resurrection from the dead in order to avenge their murders. His only lifeline (or shall we say deathline) is through a black crow. The crow is the connection between the dead and the living, providing Draven with the means to be immortal for one night only. If the crow is harmed then Draven will lose his immortality and assume mortality, putting an end to his plans for revenge. The conflict of the story comes as Draven attempts to execute the criminals one by one, but is cut short by the harming of the crow. He fights to overcome this and prove successful in his journey.
There is a strange duality between the character of Eric Draven as a cultural legend and the actor who played him, Brandon Lee. While Draven became a legend of the story, Lee became a legend in reality. Lee was accidentally shot and killed while filming "The Crow"; the product of a gun and a scene gone awry. Lee's death came at the verge of a rising career and coincidentally, occurred at the exact age of his father's death. Lee, as many people do, became legendary not for his deeds so much as his death.
Eric Draven became a legend, or legendary figure, more from the qualities he possesses as a character. Draven is portrayed as strong, powerful, and in control, fueled by his angry death. Lurched out of the living world, the love he felt while alive has propelled him back into a heightened mortality--a supernatural state of being. He is not the average man anymore, he has risen above that level of mundaneness to fulfill his purpose. But the twist comes in the fact that he still has human characteristics, and suffers because of them. He is burdened with memories of the past, and memories of his previous life. There is an aura of sadness and grief that encompasses him, he can't escape his memories and the effect they have on him. He carries human weaknesses with him while maintaining a threatening façade, creating a duality of character within himself.
There is one scene in particular where this façade is illustrated in literal terms. After ascending from the grave, Draven returns to his old apartment, now abandoned and empty. He sees remnants of his past life and cries out in agony, falling to his knees. His sorrow is so great that he's unable to face his own reflection--he paints his face with black and white make-up; coinciding perfectly with the date of his return--Halloween. He has painted his own persona so that he may hide his true feelings.
Because of this duality of character, Draven is accessible as a legendary figure. We can relate to his struggles and hardships. He is the fallen angel, the dark, anti-hero. He's the good guy that we root to victory, a symbol of good in a world full of evil. Fighting to the bitter end, he seeks the preservation of justice. He seeks to reinstate a balance between right and wrong in a city seeped in chaos and immorality. He is the savior of his soul, as well as the soul of the girl he loved, an aspiration of no small magnitude. There is nothing more noble than bravery even in the grasp of death.
However, Draven finds retribution through violence, creating a contrast to his good-guy image. He embarks on a killing spree, an act we would reserve for the villain, not necessarily the hero. He murders the murderers, purging evil through their executions and therefore becoming a murderer in his own right. His façade is ever apparent as he solicits the deaths of his enemies. Although despite these facts, he is still upheld as the hero. He is forgiven; the brutality he exhibits towards others is acceptable, if not preferred. It is on behalf of his own defense that he murders, not out of blind insanity, and for that reason alone he remains a figure of just cause. His ability to absorb and conquer the evil around him contributes to his profile as a good guy willing to go to great lengths to avenge his own murder.
It is the personality and character of Eric Draven that bears a strong resemblance to the values and beliefs we hold as a society. He represents our affixation with good vs. evil, right vs. wrong. We are apt to categorize and pigeonhole nearly everything in society by these universal laws, refusing to see the "gray area" between the black and white. At the same time, he forces us to observe that gray area by making us a bit ambiguous of his character, for how can the murder of one person justify the murder of another? How can murder be acceptable and be seen as the right thing to do?
Our fascination of violence as a culture is so great that we may question the motives and validity of such characters like Eric Draven while encouraging them to continue in their struggle. We believe that violence, as a concept, is ethically and morally wrong but make exceptions to the rule all the time. A hero is an exception, a person defending themselves or others is an exception, the infliction of violence for the betterment of others is an exception. Eric Draven is an exception. We aren't necessarily pleased to see the gruesome ways in which he slaughters his enemies but we wouldn't be pleased seeing them go free either. Draven maintains that perfect balance of wrong behavior for all the right reasons.
As Jake Page states in "The Life and Legend of Billy the Kid," "he continues to ride across the landscape of the American consciousness--elusive, irrepressible, lethal, an insouciant reminder that in matters of conformity and rebellion, violence and civility, justice and corruption, we Americans can't make up our minds." But when it comes down to it, I think we can make up our minds about Eric Draven. He is a hero, most definitely, but he is a hero with faults; which is precisely why he has the status of a cult legend. He is a legend representative of two sides within us all--the dark and light, the ability to be at once heroic and hideous. For even in death, we are our own saviors.
Comments on "Living a Heroic Death"
The essay, "Living a Heroic Death," is exemplary in the way tension builds from the first mention of a complex and working thesis in the third paragraph to the final paragraph in which the thesis is brought home emotionally. The writer's ability to draw clear lines between Draven's violence, our struggle to view him morally, and our similar struggle as Americans to come to terms with our own cultural violence and sense of heroism makes this essay analytically very strong. The writing is clear and artful in several places. Paragraphs which stand out for their writing are numbers four, six, and eight. A good use of description and explanation of the film comes in paragraph number four when Draven paints his face to hide his grief and ultimately his true identity. The writer's summary of the film in the first paragraph is short and pithy, and in general, her sentences are often as complex as her thesis.
The essay does have some shortcomings though they are overshadowed by the intelligent analysis. The first several paragraphs summarize and set up much of the analysis and often lack consistent transition of ideas for the reader. The addition of the Brandon Lee paragraph (paragraph #2) is unnecessary and detracts from the analysis. Specific scenes in the film could be referred to more often as supporting evidence. In addition, the passage quoted from "The Life and Legend of Billy the Kidd," though very relevant, seems tacked on at the end of the essay. This quote and others from the mentioned essay could be included to strengthen the connections the writer so clearly delineates. A "Works Cited" list would inform the reader as to the sources cited and consulted.
English 98 - Introduction to College Writing
3 units, SC NDA / R-OK 1
3 hours lecture / 1 hour laboratory per week
Recommended: Reading/Writing assessment or ESL 88
This course is designed to help students gain confidence and fluency in writing essays or themes. In this context, students will learn to write clear, complete and varied sentences and coherent paragraphs. An additional goal is for students to learn basic rules of grammar, punctuation and spelling. Students will also become familiar with the steps of the writing process: drafting, revising, editing, proofreading.
English 118 - College Writing Development
3 units, SC / R-OK 1
3 hours lecture per week
Recommended: ENGL 98
A course for improving the student's ability to express ideas and feelings effectively in college-level, expository essays. Through continual writing practice, students will improve their skills in observation, fluency, organization, and revision, as well as other parts of the writing process. Students will learn to analyze a variety of texts with emphasis on non-fiction.
English 122 - Freshman English: Composition and Reading
3 units, Lr
3 hours lecture per week
Prerequisite: Successful completion of ENGL 116 and ENGL 118 or equivalent recommendation from assessment process or English AP score of 3
English 122 engages students regularly in the writing and reading process. Students will apply disciplined thought to language in order to comprehend and analyze college-level readings and to compose college-level essays that are coherent, detailed, and free of serious error. In their essays, students will use a variety of types of support including primary and secondary research. Students will understand and employ varied rhetorical strategies used by accomplished writers.
