"The Twelve" and The Russian Revolution Presentation

Click here to view my presentation on "The Twelve"

Cry, The Beloved Country

Cry, The Beloved County focuses on the journey of one man trying to help his family members who have been led astray by the lifestyle of the city, Johannesburg. Kumalo, being a reverend, has a very strong sense of religion and therefore morality. As he tries to right his family’s wrongs, the story focuses mainly around the loosing of religion and faith in times of trouble. Paton establishes a strong theme centered on religion and morality that is prominently displayed throughout the story.

Kumalo is driven by the desire to bring his family members back home, because “when people go to Johannesburg, they do not come back.” When people move to Johannesburg they fall into bad habits that are worldlier then their past religious and moral habits. For example, they fall into native crime such as stealing and other immoral acts including drinking and adultery.  The loosing of morality is key throughout the story. If Absalom specifically had never lost his sense of morality, he wouldn’t have fallen into the bad company.  It is repeatedly stated that is the reason why Absalom got into the trouble he did.  A stronger sense of morals would have prevented him from just going along with what they did, yet he didn’t maintain his morals and ended up in trouble because of it.

Throughout his stay in Johannesburg, Kumalo also begins to lose his faith. Kumalo begins to “wonder what we live and struggle for.” The uncertainty of purpose in life is the result of a loss of faith and hope. Kumalo has dealt with struggles repeatedly during his stay. He struggles watching his son go through hard times and even being in jail. Kumalo is pained due to the fact that he raised Absalom right and he didn’t turn out to be the good young man he expected.  The hardships begin to wear him down, and he slowly loosess his faith and hope in God. When things were easy he had no trouble believing, but now that things are difficult, he finds it harder to keep his faith.

A strong sense of religion is displayed in trying to help Kumalo back on his faith. Father Vincent tries to steer Kumalo back to the faith and that “it is Christ in us, crying that men may be scorned and forgiven, even when He Himself is forsaken.” According to Father Vincent, it is the presence of Christ in a person that makes men burdened for the sins of others. Paton is pulling a key theory of Christian religion and Bible teaching to emphasize the importance of religion in someone’s life. It appears that Paton has a strong sense of religion and he expresses it through some of the obvious Christian themes such as that of salvation and the dwelling of Christ in a person.

Kumalo is a noticeable reflection of the Christian themes laced throughout the story line. One of the bigger religious themes is that of the loss of one’s faith. Kumalo experiences this as he watches the moralistic downfall of his people and family once they move to Johannesburg.  This is also a defined theme in the story as the lack of morals leads people astray in their lives, ending in desperation. Paton uses characters such as Father Vincent and Kumalo to lead the lost back. Kumalo tries to lead his family members back to their religious ways, and when he begins to lose faith himself, Father Vincent works to lead Kumalo back. The Christian themes are driving factors behind the lives of the characters.

The Road Home

           I turn my music up louder to drown out the sports announcer on the radio. This is the case every time. This drive along Interstate 40 is no different from the others my family takes annually at Christmas. My father is driving, badly as usual, making it impossible to sleep. But somehow my mother manages; she’s in the seat beside me sleeping soundly. My sister and I mirror each other. We both have our ear phones in, pillows in our laps, and hum along to our separate music that probably isn’t all that different from the others.

            I stare out the window smiling as I see the trees that have changed colors and look like a perfect scene from a painting and the mountains of my childhood. The ones that symbolize home, the love of my family, the comfort of my hometown, and the beauty of the place I was raised. We take this trip every year on Christmas Eve. The journey to Fort Smith and my grandparent’s house is a familiar one that wraps me in the joy of the season. But what excites me the most is the knowledge that home isn’t far away. This road, I-40, it’s my link to home. No matter where I am it’s always what brings me home to Fort Smith. No matter what stage of life I am, it’s always there to take me back to where I began.

            My grandfather kisses me on the cheek and shuts the back door of the car. My sister slides in beside me, our mountain of snacks, toys, and pillows in between us. My mother climbs in the car, her sullen mood filling the car, drowning us all in it. My dad hugs my grandparents and gets in the driver seat. And suddenly we’re pulling away from my grandparent’s house and the only life I’ve ever known, the moving truck following closely behind us. We drive off and are soon on Interstate 40. The tires moving rhythmically against the asphalt are a reminder of the mass amount of miles still to be traveled. I’m only five but I understand what’s happening. I’ve been told for months as I had to pack my stuffed animals and toys, as my room slowly became just a mattress on the floor surrounded by four blank walls; we were moving.

“Mommy how long until we get there?”

“At least 20 hours” she cries as she speaks. I just nod and sit back not wanting to upset her more. I wonder what this new place called Plant City, Florida will be like. But I’m old enough to realize that all my family won’t be there, my best friend Andrew won’t be there. It won’t be….home.

“Daddy I need to pee!” I just couldn’t wait any longer. The last time we stopped was three hours ago and being only six I can’t normally hold it that long.

“Katie, we have two hours left till we’re home. Can’t you wait?” Home. He said home. A smile crept up on my face. I’d been in this car for far too long. The only thing to look at was the interstate as it passed beneath our car. But we were almost home. It was almost time to see my family again. It had been months since we left, since we’d see our family and friends. The excitement filled the air with tangible electricity. Not only was I going home, but it was Christmas, nothing made me happier. But all the presents could not amount to the gift of finally going back home, after being in Florida for what seemed like an eternity.

            “Tomorrow’s my birthday” I think to myself. Normally those words would excite me, but not this year. I glance out the window into the pale pink sky of the morning. It is only six o clock but we’d been on the road for two hours already. My sister’s asleep next to me, my mother crying silently in the passenger seat, and my father driving.

            I think back to all the joy filled rides we’d had along this stretch of road. This wouldn’t go down in history as one of them. We are driving to my grandmother’s funeral. She’d died early this morning and we’d left almost immediately. I remember my father waking me up out of bed and telling me to pack as my mother cried on the phone to my aunt. From that moment on, this was no longer the day before my ninth birthday; it would be the day that my grandma died. I try to remember her, but I can’t really remember who she was. My only memories of her are going to visit her in the nursing home and having her maybe remember who I am. Her Altizmer’s was too far progressed by the time I was old enough to remember anything. So therefore, I mourn the woman my mother described to me. The strong, stubborn, loving woman I never really knew. I glance out the window to see the trees pass by, I’ve looked at these trees a million times but never before have I been so sad.

“Ok now just keep an eye on the others and you should be fine” my mother’s voice clams me, yet my knuckles still turn white from the pressure I’m using to grip the steering wheel. I’m driving on the interstate for the first time. I’m only fourteen and haven’t even been driving but a few months and driving on the interstate terrifies me.

“Just relax Katie, you’re fine” I nod and keep driving. This is me growing up; I look at the road I have traveled all my life. Normally I got to sleep, watch movies, ECT while my family had to take turns driving. I’m not sure whether or not I like growing up, but I don’t think about it and just focus on driving.

            I look at the long stretch of road in front of me as I drive. Interstate 40, the road is filled with good memories, bad memories, and the same memory just at different points in my life. It’s been awhile since I traveled this road, mainly because I’ve gotten so busy since starting high school. Who really has time anymore? Turning sixteen, being in band, making new friends, being in plays, it’s all caused my calendar to fill up and no weekend was left free to see my family. It pained me to have to miss our family reunion all because I had a band competition. But living five hours away makes it nearly impossible to be at everything. I smile as I see the sign for Fort Smith. We’re almost home. I think about it, Fort Smith isn’t really as important to me as I-40 is. I-40 is the road that has taken me from my home, my entire life, but it’s also the one that has brought me back every single time. It’s a constant in my life, one thing that I can always rely on.

It All Started In A Hispanic School Where No One Cared....

If you know me you know that reading has always been a passion of mine. Sometimes I can devour a book in a day, even hours if it's that good. But it hasn't always been this way. In fact it got off to a very bad start.

Most kids learn to read in kindergarten right? I was no exception. What is different from me and other kids in this school is that I was in Florida when I learned to read. People may not see any problem with that, but in fact there was. The school I was at was predominately Hispanic. Now there’s nothing wrong with that. The problem was that most kids spoke very poor English or in one kid’s case none at all. Instead of focusing on the basics like reading and writing we focused more on learning each other’s language. We had Spanish class instead of nap time and the teachers would focus on helping the Hispanic kids understand English instead of focusing on reading with the kids who knew English. They did teach us to read. And I in fact learned to read. It wasn’t until I moved back to Arkansas in the middle of my kindergarten year that we realized that I was actually quite behind in the reading game.

Fortunately I ended up in a wonderful school system when we moved back. The teachers were fantastic and were immediately catching me up with reading. But whereas the other kids they were teaching were on level 3 or 4 of reading, they basically had to start back at step one with me. I quickly caught on, but I was still behind everyone else. This started something that is going to follow me for the rest of my life. I was now driven to be better. I didn’t like being behind everyone, I didn’t like feeling stupid. So I worked hard to read more. After I got the hang of it reading was second nature to me, I started reading quickly and more than the other kids. It was like the bad start I got in Florida didn’t even matter anymore.

This drive continued. I was reading more and more, and my teachers noticed. Now it wasn’t just my reading skills that got me tested for Gifted and Talented, but they were a contributing factor. I was accepted into the GT program at my school and soon began reading books three or four grade levels higher than the actual grade I was in.

When I moved yet again in the middle of second grade here to Marion, they hadn’t started the GT program yet. So I was placed in normal classes. It was strange but it didn’t stop me from reading and I certainly didn’t slow down to match them. I remember getting to go to the coveted fifth and sixth grade level book shelf where you could only go with permission. I was, for a time, the only one. It wasn’t because everyone else was stupid, it’s because I had already been taught to read at that level and had been reading them for a while. This soon ended me up with being told I should be reading no lower than fifth grade level and as high as twelfth grade level in 4^th grade.

I was always driven to read, read the most, read the biggest book. It’s probably related to that drive I got to have to catch up and be better than others so I didn’t feel stupid. I was soon in the list of the highest Accelerated Reader point earners. I was reading more books than ever before.

Now this soon created a problem. I had read so many books, the most common ones that I started to not find anything interesting. I was stuck just reading enough books to get the required amount of points and not reading anything else.  Instead of picking up good substantial, my appropriate level, books I was picking up little books that were easy to read and I could read quickly.

Then I found myself no longer under the constraints of Accelerated Reading. I could read whatever I wanted and whenever I wanted. But with this growing up, I also got busier. I stopped reading on a regular basis. That’s the point I’m at in my life now. I don’t have a book I’m currently reading. But don’t get me wrong, I still have a passion for reading. When I get a book that I love I can read for hours and hours.  It gets worse if it’s part of series and I can’t sleep until I finish the entire series.

My main weakness is post apocalyptic sci-fi books such as The Hunger Games, a book I read in a night. I was hooked. This summer I went through 2, 800 page books in a week. The Divergent series were the last books that really captured my entire mind.  I couldn’t put it down. And I can guarantee you that the second the last book in that series comes out I will shut myself up and read the entire thing all at once.

I love those easy read books that I can speed through and enjoy. But I also have a passion for the classic literature. Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Jane Eyre, Romeo and Juliet, ect. They’re challenges for me and as a person that likes to be challenged they’re a perfect fit for me. But as with reading itself I have been able to overcome the challenge of them.

Despite my crappy start, I know I will never lose my passion for reading. Right now I don’t read all that regularly but I still have the want and drive to. I’m the type of reader that will find a series, devour it in a few days and then be left with the feeling that I had my heart ripped out and stepped on when I finish it. This feeling throws me into “post book depression” and I normally remain in it until I find a new series to take me away. But no matter what it is reading is always a huge passion in my life.

I Am

I am a huge mess that only God can untangle
I wonder where this life will take me
I hear the music playing
I see the people laughing with me and at me
I want to be known for doing great things for this world

I pretend that words are just words
I feel a peace when the wind blows softly
I touch everything as if it could hurt me
I cry at how messed up the world has become
I am a huge mess that only God can untangle

I understand that my life isn't really mine
I say that there is one God and He is my God
I dream about finding someone who loves me for me
I try to be perfect even though it's impossible
I hope that I will be remembered
I am a huge mess that only God can untangle

Addicted to Strangers

  Was Esteban just a handsome man or a drug? In Gabriel Marquez's, The Handsomest Drowned Man In The World, the people were so completely taken with Esteban even though he was, in fact, just a man. It's like the world today-a pretty face and everyone wants to be you. People love you. They idolize you. It makes no sense that we can me so mesmerized by people we don't even know.

  Yes, there was something magical about Esteban, but he was just a man. No one knew him personally, yet they felt as if they had a connection with him. The people of the village worshiped him in a way. Even after he was gone, he still influenced their lives as they began to change their village. They changed physical features of their village and their way of life so that if he wanted to visit them he could. In their hearts, they truly loved Esteban and wanted him to return, even when they knew that wasn't possible.

  In a sense, Esteban represents celebrities in our current culture. People fall in love daily with actresses and actors, sometimes based solely on the fact that they're good looking. It's exactly like the villagers and Esteban. We know nothing about who these celebrities we idolize really are. I don't understand why people can become so obsessed with someone they've never met. People's personalities can be complete opposites from their outward appearance.

  Esteban and celebrities resemble a drug when you actually think about it. They cause(purposefully or not) people to become addicted to them. People begin to idolize them, and soon their lives begin to revolve around the celebrity. Why are entire cultures wrapped up in complete strangers? We could be focusing on helping and loving those people around us that we actually have the opportunity to know.