Thoreau and MLKJ Analysis

Thoreau’s essay “Civil Disobedience” was really interesting to me in his persuasiveness. He argues a valid point, and he did a good job of sucking me in for a little while. He kind of bashes the government, and pretty much everything it does. Of course, I don’t agree that the government is useless. I do believe it is necessary to have government to regulate, however, I do see where Thoreau is coming from when he says that voting and petitioning are not always effective for reform. Sometimes it does require civil disobedience, and I think our country would be in a very different place if no one were ever brave enough to disobey a law.

Martin Luther King Jr. offers another, yet slightly different, take on civil disobedience. He argues that civil disobedience is necessary because there are just laws and unjust laws. And it is those unjust laws that are used against the people, not to help and protect the people.

Both of the author’s are advocating peaceful demonstrations to make their point. However, protests and boycotts are not actually illegal—not paying your taxes, like Thoreau, is. In Luther’s essay, he says that he doesn’t encourage defying or evading the law. He says that the demonstrations he is talking about still hold the highest respect for the law, where Thoreau does not respect the law, or any government action.

I believe Luther’s argument was more convincing because I think it speaks very much to how people see government today. Not many people find government something so ridiculous that we should dodge it altogether like Thoreau. Most people believe that sometimes government and its laws have been unjust and that is where a public, peaceful demonstration is necessary.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has always been the most important holiday in my family. For fifteen years it has been tradition to rent a house in the Outer Banks with another large family, the Woods. My family and the Woods have five kids, and, now that we’ve gotten older, that has expanded with spouses and children. It has always been my favorite holiday because it has been the biggest deal in my family. My siblings who are married will spend Christmas with their spouse’s family, just to spend Thanksgiving with our family.

Thanksgiving was a time to just chill for a whole week. Meals would be divided between the kids (the mom’s took off cooking for the week because they would cook all day on Thanksgiving). The days are filled with beach football and Christmas movies playing in the basement. However Thanksgiving Day has been my favorite day of the year for so long. Thanksgiving morning I would roll upstairs (the houses were usually inverted) into the kitchen. My mom and Mrs. Wood would already have the turkey cooking. I would go into the living room and peel some potatoes while I watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Then, my brother would try to get everyone to play a football game, he usually tortured us if we said no. Thanksgiving dinner was usually around four. All of us would gather in the living room to pray and share what we were all thankful for. Then the feast began. Turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed and sweet potatoes, rolls, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole and gravy would be piled on to all of our plates. Most of us would end up unbuttoning the top button of our pants to fit all the food. After the kitchen was cleared we settle down every year to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol, which we still watch even when the youngest (me) is eighteen years old. During the movie, usually when our least favorite song in the movie was on, we ate our homemade pumpkin and apple pie. Then we’d all go to bed, tummies full and hearts happy.

But, unfortunately, this year Thanksgiving is “canceled”. Plans fell through and we couldn’t make it down to the beach this year. All of us said it weighed so heavy on our hearts to break the tradition for the first time in fifteen years. I know it won’t even feel like Thanksgiving this year. We will be celebrating Thanksgiving with my dad’s side of the family this year. It will be great, but so different. All I can say is I’m looking forward to next year when the original Thanksgiving crew will be all together again.

Writer's Block. Boo. (and not the Halloween "boo")

Writer’s block. I’m sitting here, Thursday night, at my computer thinking of a topic to write my next GWRIT paper on. An opinion editorial…I know that I have a lot of opinions on a lot of things. But as my mind fast-forwards to the weekend and fun, I cannot think about anything that will both interest all JMU students, as well as interest myself.

I like to write on things that I am passionate about. Topics that get my creative juices flowing, and the best thing about an op-ed is the fact that I can make it edgy and maybe even a tad bit sarcastic. And that’s exactly what I’m looking for. I don’t want to write about government, the tackiness of UGGs, or how things should be “my way or the highway.” I just want to write on something captivating, and maybe give a few people a chuckle or two when they read it.

I think in all my pickiness and my problem with settling for nothing but the best, I come to this awful mental shutdown known as writer’s block. It’s a terrible, terrible feeling. You feel like everything you want to say is at the tip of your tongue…but you don’t know the topic or the context. “I’m going to be cute, and witty, and some people are going to be saying, ‘oh my gosh, that is so true!’ when they read my paper.” Oh wait, no, I don’t even know what on God’s green earth I’m going to talk about.

Thus, in this confusing state of mental turmoil…I’ll dial up my dad. He’s always super supportive, and even if I’m just thinking out loud, he may be able to lead me to that exact thing that I want to write about.

So, to my dear Professor, when you read this I either did a really good job formulating a lot of thought on a topic VERY quickly…or I just came to you completely clueless, apologizing profusely for having an inactive brain. Well, it’s crunch time…it’s eleven o’clock pm, and Snuggles (my stuffed dog) is calling me to bed. I guess I’ll just lie awake in bed until, like the electricity coming back on after a long, dreadful storm, a light bulb turns on.

"Dear Birth Parents" Analysis

In the letter "Dear Birth Parents", the authors, a married couple with no children are presumably writing to possible parents that will give their child up for adoption. The occasion is to persuade the reader that they are a good choice of adoptive parents. The purpose is to inform the reader of who they are and why they have chosen to be adoptive parents. Their claim is to tell the reader that they are a good family to think about giving her child to. Their reasons are not as concise. They state that they have wanted a child for awhile, but God had different plans. They have experienced adoption first hand when Nate's brother was adopted and have seen what a blessing it is. And finally, their claim is supported by evidence. They discuss family backgrounds, their inability to have children of their own, and the reasons why they waited in the first place to have children. They acknowledge other points of view but in the conclusion state that they would love to get to know the reader as well and share with her their "passion for a family."

College-Party, study, is there anything else to it?

Ahhh, Sunday morning. A fresh start to the week and a new day! I wake up, stretch, look out the window and see a glorious crisp autumn day. I put on a bathrobe and walk down to the bathroom with a smile on my face. However, as I stand over the sink washing my face, I hear a “bluuuuuugghhhh”. A girl is throwing up in the stall beside me. I gag and quickly hurry out of my bathroom back into my room where I hide under my covers trying to get that terrible sound out of my head.

Why do weekends have to be filled with binge drinking and hangovers?

It’s really sad actually. I see it most for freshman who have this dream of college being one wild crazy ride that is nonstop fun. It makes me sad to think about college girls that come to JMU thinking that this will be the time of their lives. And with that mindset give so much of themselves away.

When I left for college I was excited about the new experience and finding new relationships. For many of my friends back home, they have found that it is not as fun as they had expected because they were looking for their identity in drinking, drugs, and sex. Many colleges and universities try to decrease alcohol abuse by informing their students about the effects of it. However, I, along with many other people have seen first hand what the effects are. And that may help inform, but I don’t think it gets to the root of the problem. People are looking for life and happiness in things that won’t get them there. And that, is what people need to see. They need to see that these temporary fixes are so empty in their promise that they will leave you worse off.

When the girls on my hall on Monday talk about where the party is on Thursday, I just wish and hope that someday they’ll find out there is so much more to life than these superficial things. College also gives us a chance to build relationships that can last forever and can build us into strong, intelligent, and respectable men and women.

Goodwill: Gross and Great all in One Place.

Goodwill. We all know it. That dingy looking store that appears like clothes are about to spill out of it. We’ve all donated to it, or known someone who has. It’s a place to dump that pantsuit with the shoulder pads (my mom), or in my case, get rid of that gosh awful pleather skirt from Limited Two. Funny, how there are never a lot of cars in Goodwill’s parking lot.

Tonight I am going to a dance party with Intervarsity. Theme: What Not To Wear. Despite the fact that I am not exactly the best dresser, I couldn’t find anything too outrageous in my closet (other than the orange and black leopard print leggings, but that’s for another day). So, I called up my best friend Jane and we headed to Goodwill.

When I first walked in the door, I was overwhelmed by the amount of junk in Goodwill. Old stained shirts, bright orange ball gowns, and Mennonite garb fill the racks. The next hour was filled with “Oh! Here you go Jane! This is the perfect jean jumper for your date next week!” and other such banter. Finally, I found the winner. A pant jumper thing, similar to the old Osh Kosh B’gosh overalls I wore when I was two. Who makes these things in girl’s XL? Even further, who even buys that in the first place? I ended up asking myself these same questions as I browse the Christmas vests, Go-Go boots, and Pooh sweatshirts.

I think the saddest part about it is, I actually left there with two “real” purchases, a sweatshirt and a jacket. I approach the cash register with Jane and the cashier could not decipher our joke purchases from our real purchases. As she stroked a piece of hair from her fake ponytail hairpiece out of her eyes with her long red nails she says “I love this hot pink dress with the rhinestone in the middle! I don’t know why this is what you wouldn’t wear! I love pink!” Jane and I bit our lips trying to hide our laughter.

You can find some great things at Goodwill. I think if I searched hard enough, I would find a few more things worth buying (at least for two bucks). Goodwill is just one of the great parts of American culture. Its throwing away things you don’t want, just to return to the place and buy other people’s junk.

Writing

I have done a variety of different writing assignments over the course of this year. They all differ so much in the style and personality. When writing narratives for this class, I have a point to make, an opinion that is my own. However, my other writing varies from this writing in many ways.

Weekly, I have a write-up for my psychology class. This is usually a high stress assignment in which I have to answer a prompt and support my claim with evidence from the textbook. Even though it is a lot of work, it helps me learn the material much better because I am applying theories and data into real life circumstances. In this work, I am simply reading a textbook and making my claim from research, not from any one idea I have a strong opinion on.

I also do some nonschool-related writing as well. I have a weird love for journals. I am always tempted to buy more even when I have plenty at home. In these journals I write numerous things. I write down day-to-day thoughts, prayers, quotes, or simply just doodle. This writing is what I call my “free spirit” writing. Sometimes its nonsensical, and it always lacks real purpose. In my free spirit writing, I just write whatever is on my mind, rather than pre-planning what I am going to say and how I am going to say it.

Home

I am driving in the car with my sister Melissa and her husband Kyle. I am sitting in the back seat of their van, with their dog Shay. Many smells have permeated the car, but the worst so far has been Shay’s gas. It really is intoxicating. But…I’ll take it any day, because I am headed back to Richmond, to my home.

This will be my first time home since I’ve come here to JMU. I don’t think I could be more excited. I’m almost curious to see how it will feel. Despite the close relationships I have with both of my parents, I have talked to them very little. I have this nervous, excited feeling you get when you haven’t seen someone in a very long time.

My parents and I have always been really close. My mom was a stay-at-home mom and we are best friends. She does everything she can for me and she is really like my home base. I feel safe and comfort whenever I am in her company. My dad is also my best friend. He always wants to hear everything I say, and is always excited about my life and what I am learning. He is so wise, and I could talk, and listen, to him for hours. I have missed my parents more than I ever thought I could.

Autumn is the best time in our house. I guess it’s because my mom puts so much time into decorating the house. I can picture my house right now. It makes me so excited. I walk up the sidewalk greeted by a large autumn wreath on the red front door. Stepping in to the house I am hit with the strong smell of my home. It is not a bad smell, its not a fragrant smell, its just a good smell…and I cannot wait to smell it. I see orange, brown, and tan Yankee candles in burning in every room. Passing the kitchen I am hit with the aroma of some amazing recipe my mom is cooking.

This weekend is going to be so fun. In about thirty minutes I have “girl’s night” with my mom and three sisters. Tomorrow we have a baby shower for my sister Melissa. It will be a great weekend. My family is home to me. And being brought back home, after a long time away, simply, makes a large smile spread across my face.

Baldwin and Staples Response

In "Stranger in The Village" the author, James Baldwin, talks about his experience with the villagers in a small town in Sweden. His experiences here are different from the typical American experience with African Americans. He is treated as an alien, but in a way that is almost foreign to the American way. They treat him literally as an alien. They are amazed with the color of his skin and the texture of his hair. He is a "creature" so unfamiliar to them that they are in nothing but awe. They do not really seem to perceive him as a human. They do not know how to perceive him as human. They are an ignorant people. The people in his town are ignorant through naivety.

Their ignorance differs from the attitudes of the people described in Staples' essay "Black Men and Public Space". Their ignorance comes through more of a racist lens. They have preconceived notions of black men of Staples' race, age, and stature. Where the people of the Swiss village don't even know about black men, people in America have a stereotype of black men. They put black men in the category of criminals or peoples up to no good.

Baldwin is writing to Harper's magazine. His audience is most likely a group of men and women sympathetic to the racial problems African American's face. Since he is not trying to change the political ideology of his audience, his essay sounds more encouraging rather than convicting. He talks about how Americans are pretty much a step ahead from the rest of the world. Whites have more of a kinship with blacks because of their rocky past. They are not stuck in a time of complete ignorance. They are moving toward a growing relationship.

Staples' essay is slightly different in his target. He is writing to Mrs. magazine. His audience is most likely middle-class white women. This essay is slightly more convicting in its argument. He talks about how he has been discriminated against because of his race. He gives instances of when people have been afraid of him, the very people reading this magazine.

Morning on the Quad

The professor wrapped up with the last slide on the power point. As he made announcements about upcoming assignments, I hear the ruffling of papers, the zipping of backpacks, and the squeaks of chairs. I check my watch. It is 11:00 am…it’s the weekend. I follow the crowd of people out the classroom door, up the stairs, and finally, out of Moody Hall into the cool brisk air of the early fall day.

The flood of people exhilarates me. I love to watch them as I make my way out onto the Quad. A girl with a smiling face walks down the pathway toward me blowing bubbles. The little spheres of crystal touch my clothes and pop, bringing a soapy smell to my nose. I plop myself down on the steps of Wilson, pondering what I am going to write for my next blog assignment.

But I get distracted watching people…wondering what they are thinking; wondering what their life is like. I see a girl running. Long thin legs are carrying her swiftly across the pathways taking her past building after building. I see a group of people talking to an older man. I’m trying to figure out what the man is doing talking to this group of young kids, so I put a keen ear to that conversation while I think to myself “I can see that girl’s butt crack, I wonder if she knows...” By the way, I hear the older man say “God” many times. Now I’m extra curious to hear the rest.

The girl sitting closest to me is wearing tight little jeans, with a colorful scarf wrapped around her neck. She is smoking, and as I involuntarily breathe in the choking flames, dramatic me wonders if I am dying a little more inside. On my other side is the green plush grass of the Quad lawn. It looks so inviting, I would love to lie on it and take a nap. A few people have already beaten me to it. One boy is lying on his stomach, completely sprawled, and completely unconscious.

I notice the girl’s bottom is still hanging out of her pants…

I see my best friend walking briskly across the Quad for class. She is wearing a t-shirt and shorts, and literally looks like she just rolled out of bed. I call her over with a loud “JANE!!” which of course, makes everyone look. She quickly hurries over, tells me how stressed she is and how late for class she is. I tell her to have a great day and she leaves.

I take a deep breath, stretch; check up on my little preacher, his audience seems slightly more enthused. I wonder if they at all care about what he is saying.

I just got really excited because I turned around and saw a tour of prospective students. I love to see all the eager faces, and standoffish attitudes towards their parents. I think about how glad I am to never have to return to high school. And how much I miss my parents…

The preacher is now sitting down with this group of kids…too cozy? Maybe.

Pause. I have just seen my friend Abby running down the quad…scarf flying behind her, books looking like they are about to fall at any moment…I laugh to myself, she has not seen me yet. I call her name, and a huge smile spreads across her face. She runs over and all in one breath says, “HI!! I was just running to catch up with my GCOM group!! Wow, it’s so great to see you! Wanna swim later? Or maybe not swim…eat junk food later? Look! My GCOM group is studying right behind you! Ok, gotta go! But don’t worry, I’ll be right here!” I laugh, tell her good luck, and resume my blog. Yes, I have decided that my observations today on the quad will be my blog entry.

It is now 11:50. I still see a butt crack in my direct line of view. How pleasant. I have listened further to the preacher. He just talked about the whole gospel message. The audience is more actively engaged. Granted, it’s only a group of five kids.

Hunger pangs are starting, but I have to wait until 12:05 to have lunch with my friend Taylor. We are going to Mrs. Green’s, which will most likely be the highlight of my day. Class is letting out again…at least for the lucky ones who get out ten minutes early. I see “hippie boy” or so he is known. He is walking around without shoes on, with his khakis rolled up mid-calf. He genially greets passersby with “Hi friends!” I smile.

Abby comes to sit beside me. She tells me she lied to her GCOM group, telling them that she was late because her sister’s cat ran away and they had to find it. She says she feels bad for lying, and then we make a pact never to lie to each other.

Finally I see Taylor emerge from Harrison. Woo! Now, I get to eat. I say bye to Abby, and set off with Taylor. It’s been a great morning on the Quad; made even greater by all the people. I should come out here more often.

Shitty First Drafts

When I begin to write a paper, I just begin writing. It is intimidating to look at the big blank paper and think, “I’ve got to make something good come out of this jumble of ideas.” But it happens. I’m the kind of writer that when I sit down I just write. I tweak as I go through it, sentence by sentence. But, once I am done with a paragraph, usually little changes besides grammar. That was also in high school. When I wanted to write a paper and get it over with. When I was less interested in what I was saying and more interested in finishing in a timely manner. I think that was a result of having to write about the same thing over and over or write about topics I really did not feel passionate about.

When I read “Shitty First Drafts”, I began to think of a new writing technique. Just to write and put everything down before I go through it again. I realized that it is okay to have this messy, terrible draft before I go through and rework, tweak, and revise. This technique sounds like it would just take a load off my shoulders. It would feel so nice just to dump all my ideas, thoughts, stories onto a piece of paper and work from there. It sounds like the way I paint, or do any kind of art. I start with something, dump it all on to a piece of paper, and then add the perfecting marks after I let my mind wander free on the paper.

I really do see writing as an art form. In a sense it is. It is using words, instead of pictures, to show the viewer your thoughts, emotions, and places.

Old Back Porch

I grew up in a small house in the suburbs of Richmond, Virginia. Our family of seven was always much to large for our small four bedroom split level house, but the memories made in 224 Roslyn Hills Drive, are irreplaceable. My back porch is one room that holds so many of my favorite childhood memories. As I try to pry open the impossible French doors that expand in the humidity, I am reminded of so many seasons out there on that same back porch. The musty green carpet, the iron furniture, the screens that have been broken by children, raccoons, and dogs, the creaking fan and the buggy ceiling corners bring back a sense of comfort, a sense of belonging. It is not fancy, in fact, quite the opposite.

I remember the Barbie towns that used to cover the floor. I’m brought back to the mini grocery store, ice cream shop, nursery, diner, bedrooms, salon, ballroom dresses, and tiny shoes. My sisters and I used to be lost in this “magic” of imagination. We could just play for hours. We would stay up late on our porch in those cool autumn nights in our Sesame Street nightgowns, fixing Barbie’s hair and listening to Motown and The Big Chill playing loudly on the boom box.

In the summer, most every dinner was on the porch. The seven of us gathered around the wrought iron table with the smell of the grill drifting into the porch. We would pray, then started the craziness. “Can you pass this” and “please pass the…” and “do you want this” was the topic of conversation for the first five minutes. We all eat, sit back in our seats, and listen to cicadas singing their nightly lullabies. As the years passed those nightly meals got smaller and smaller as all my siblings left for college and started their own lives. But my parents and I would still sit out on that old porch on summer nights and talk for hours over coffee and peppermint patties.

It was the room of my summer. I brought crawfish, caterpillars, minnows, and even a baby bird into this room. My poor mother! Countless times I cleaned the porch before company. With a bandana wrapped around my head I would scrub the dusty cobwebby mantles, vacuum the scratchy carpet, and clean the windows blurry with dog slobber, all in anticipation of a fun night ahead.

My porch wraps is the essence of so many memories: my messy mud pie days of summer, to my magical nights of Barbie towns, to chaotic family dinners, to quiet, sleepy fall nights.

The DNA Age

As the rising generation of career men and women, we are the future of the United States of America. What we have learned in the past and what we continue to learn over upcoming years becomes crucial information that affects our decisions and, quite frankly, who we are as citizens of this world. One of the major issues in society today is the rising of science and technology. As we become a more and more developed nation, we advance on dangerous decisions. Amy Harmon’s series The DNA Age presents the issue of DNA testing in modern day situations. The series of nine articles gives different accounts of people and groups that DNA testing has affected. When we read these articles we are forced to think about the possible outcomes of so much knowledge. Is it ethical to inform someone of a deadly disease years before they will see the symptoms? Is it better to let people live their lives in ignorance of something that will drastically change their lives forever? Amy Harmon writes these articles to pose these exact questions. Since we, as the younger generation, are the ones making these types of decisions in the future, whether by career choice or simply by voting, we need to be informed and fully aware of the consequences of our decisions. Amy Harmon presents her argument in clear and informed articles varying from the effect of DNA testing on the birthrate of Down Syndrome babies to the quality of life a person leads once learning they have inherited Huntington’s disease. Amy Harmon shows examples of the possible effects of DNA testing so that we can be aware of both sides of the argument. She quotes Henry Louis Gates Jr. when he says, “We will all be walking a fine line between using biology and allowing it to be abused.” Her articles are clearly effective, for they are the mandatory first year reading for rising freshman here at JMU. They are unbiased, inoffensive, and informative articles that tug on the heartstrings. When reading these articles, I could not help but ask myself “what is ethical and moral in this situation?” Many of these articles hit close to home with so many people and we subconsciously put ourselves in these people’s shoes to figure out what is right, which, I believe, is exactly Amy Harmon’s goal.

While reading these articles I asked myself about the importance of science and how it affects me. I do believe science to be a gift. Without science we would not know this world as it is. I believe science was all part of the design. God gives us science to explore and challenge our brains, and to see the utmost beauty of His creation. However, is there a point where we need to draw the line? I think there is. I think there is a point that our society may be too corrupt to be able to handle the impact of new science and technology. Namely, when it comes to race and the unborn. In her article In DNA Era, New Worries About Prejudices, Amy Harmon explores how DNA shows that race goes beyond “skin deep”. It is in our DNA. Studies show our race may have an impact on our intellect. Is intellect the only measure of greatness? Of course not. Maybe African American’s did not surpass Caucasians and Asians in the IQ test, but how is that relevant to the quality of a person? We are all different. We were designed that way; our DNA gives evidence of that.

In the same way Amy Harmon discusses the impact of DNA testing on unborn Down syndrome babies in her article Prenatal Test Puts Down Syndrome in Hard Focus. Ninety percent of unborn babies diagnosed with Down syndrome are aborted. My Aunt Jenny has Down syndrome and she is one of the happiest, generous, and loving women I know. She shows people love in a way that is so real and she is always the last to judge. I am jealous of her pureness of heart, and sometimes I wonder if her quality of life even surpasses my own. Jenny has always had her health problems, and it was hard at times for my mother to always be taking care of her sister. Jenny developed leukemia at a very young age and her life expectancy was no later than ten years old. If it was known at the time that Jenny was not going to live past ten, would the doctors have told my grandmother that she may as well terminate the pregnancy because the first ten years of her life would be dominated by needles and trips to the hospital? Now Jenny is forty and fully recovered and she is nothing but a blessing in my family’s life. So, what about DNA testing? Are we wise enough as a society to be able to look at the grand scheme of things and the perfect design of the God and base our decisions off that? Probably not. As Harmon says, “we live in a delicate and a dangerous time”. I say, live life as it is given to you. Deal with what you are given and be thankful for the life you have. God is great, and life is a gift. Do not be discouraged about the future for everything runs its course. Live for the moment. Live with joy.