Essay 1 Assignment Final

https://docs.google.com/document/d/11F4bxJQLOBrJr8-ayQtaVqV5UT9cWvC2V9mZPAOx10k/edit?usp=sharing

Jamal Taylor

Professor Monroe Street

English 1121

Essay 1

6/8/2020

 

Intro

 

Interpretation is portrayed through different perspectives or viewpoints regarding a specific event or situation. I chose the story “Exercises in Style” by Raymond Queneau. This short story talks about a man entering a crowded bus where he then has a confrontation with another man while on that bus. Then has his friend fix the button on his pocket. I will be using this story as an example or reference  point because of the style and adapt this style into a personal experience of mine. I will be interpreting the two perspectives of my mother and a Middle Eastern Store worker at a beauty supply store. In summary, My mom and I entered our neighborhood beauty supply store because my mom needed to buy more relaxers for her hair. She’s been coming into this specific store for years. We live in a primarily black and Hispanic neighborhood in the Bronx, New York. Shortly after my mom enters the store, one of the female store clerks asks my mom if she needed help with finding any items she needed. After my mother says “no”, the female store clerk continues to follow us through each aisle of the store. My mom notices and quickly gets infuriated and we both leave the store. These two perspectives will portray how non-black store owners view black and brown people in the neighborhoods they sell to.

 

The Store Clerk

It was a slow Saturday afternoon, and I just finished stocking the shelves for my boss. There was only one other pale-Spanish lady near the front counter. She was looking at wigs and asked my boss, who was sitting by the register, to retrieve a stylish shoulder-length wig with nice bangs. I was sitting on a stool in front of the counter, waiting for shoppers to come in. We’re used to the slow afternoon crowd since there’s not much foot traffic during this time of day. I then noticed a middle-age black lady and her black child walk into the store. I noticed her purse was open as she slowly walked up and down the aisles. I asked myself, “Why wouldn’t she have her purse open?”.  I calmly walked up to the lady and asked her if she needed help with anything. She said “No”. Judging by her body language, I knew she was lying. She obviously needed something, or else she wouldn’t be in the store. Why would she let me help her? If I had helped, she would’ve been able to buy the item and leave. Why waste time looking for something she obviously has no idea where to get it from. 

As I reflected upon this situation, I came to the conclusion that this woman was stalling for something. In my mind I said “Maybe she’s trying to steal. That’s why her purse is open. She wants us to believe she’s a normal shopper, so when we’re not looking she can slip some products into her bag”. It was clear to me now. I’ve seen plenty of her kind ,day-in day-out, try to steal from stores in this neighborhood. It’s not right, so I’m going to put a stop to it. I need to get her out of the store, so I came up with the perfect idea of keeping a close eye on her. She thinks no one is watching, but I am, from afar. Whichever aisle she went down I stayed at the end of that aisle. I knew she was trying to steal because as soon as she noticed me down an aisle at the back of the store behind her, she became agitated and aggressive as she stormed out of the store. I was glad to have once again stopped another black thief from stealing . I can’t stand working in these neighborhoods. Why can’t they just work for a change and earn a decent living instead of taking from people’s hard earned money. Business would be so much better if we were in a better neighborhood.

My Mother (The Black Lady)

“Damn! I forgot to get my hair relaxer from the beauty supply store.” 

She exclaimed in the car. 

“Okay, let me drive up and park in front so I can get upstairs and cook dinner.” She said to me. “Come on son, give me your hand.” 

“Mommy just needs one more thing and we can go home.” She said comfortingly. “Mommy just needs her relaxer.” She said, taking me by the hand. 

“Oh come on!” She said angrily. 

“They moved it again?!” She said, feeling confused. 

“This is the third time they moved it. It’s usually in the middle aisle of the store.” “Hmm, lets see. Is it here in the front aisle?” 

“Nope, gotta keep looking.” she said with a determined look in her eyes. 

Is it here in the middle? No again.” *Sighs*. 

All of a sudden a lady asked me, “Miss do you need help”. 

I said “No, I’m okay”. “I just got here.” 

“Haven’t even been in the store two minutes, and she’s already asking me if I need help.” “No, I don’t need help.” she said speaking through her thoughts with an impatient tone. “They always do that.” 

“Thanks for the offer but if I needed help I would’ve asked.” she said replying in her mind without uttering a word.  

“Okay, where was I?.” she said to herself. “Oh yeah, Relaxer.” 

“Maybe it’s back here somewhere.” 

“Sure enough, it’s right here.” she said with certainty. 

“Wait, isn’t that the same lady that just asked me if I needed help?” she asked as she reflected. “Yep, her again.” speaking with disappointment. 

“She thinks I didn’t see her following me the other two times.” she said feeling increasingly annoyed. 

“Let me just see if they have the relaxer with the olive oil in it, but I don’t know if they have it. Let me just ask the store owner.” she said after attempting to ignore the clerk. 

“I looked behind me to make sure I put the other box back and I saw the same store clerk down the aisle I just passed.” 

“She was looking directly at me.” 

I Decided to ignore it, but when I saw her again at the end of the aisle I couldn’t take it anymore. In all of my frustration I put the box of relaxers back where I got it, and proceeded to walk out of the store with my son. The moment before I stepped my foot out the door, I told the clerk and the owner: 

“If you’re going to follow me around  the store, then you don’t need my money.” she said, talking sternly to both the owner and employee. 

“I’m not gonna give my money to any establishment that suspects me of a thief.” she said getting increasingly agitated. 

“You think I didn’t notice you following me and my son, step-for-step, Nah?!” she said harshly. Giving all of her focus towards the suspecting store clerk. 

“You’re so busy watching me because I’m black rather than paying attention to the Spanish chick that probably steals from you more than me.”  

“But because you think all of us are gonna steal, you don’t need my money!” she said with an unforgiving tone. Angrily, I left the store. 

As she collected herself and focused more of her attention on me she said, 

“Son, remember, if any business racially profiles you or assumes you’re stealing, they don’t deserve your money.” she said to me sternly.  

“Take your business elsewhere.” 

“I go there all the time and they treat me like that?!” 

“Unbelievable!”

Conclusion

Honestly, writing from the perspective of the store clerk is quite difficult because I had to assume, based on her actions, that she was racially profiled but mom and I. Another difficulty was writing through the interpretation of my mom. Back then I was just a kid and it was ironic how vivid this memory was to me. From writing these two interpretations, I learned how each individual’s interpretation is different and unique even if both people witnessed the same event. Different styles of language portray different messages to readers because it affects how we interpret who’s being affected by the situation. Language also allows us fluidity and flexibility on how easy or difficult is to interpret. Similar to the human brain, Interpretation is affected negatively and positively by nature versus nurture.  

Essay one Draft two

Marcus Robinson 

Essay one Draft two

English 1121

 

This short story is inspired by  “The Money” by Junot Diaz, The story can be seen from many different views and be interpreted differently. The two styles that you will see are from the thieves’ view and from the fathers.The family in the story, even most of the neighborhood was depicted as poor and without money. Even considering that the family in the story was honest and truthful. So in my essay I made my own perspective of “The Money” while still keeping the main points from the original story.

 

The Thief’s Perspective 

After an exhausting day of staying home sick my sister finally returns home with dinner. A pound of potatoes and a half dozen eggs. I usually eat this meal a lot because of our family’s minimum funds to spend. To others that’s a poor taste but in this family it is everything we have to eat. It’s only my father, sister and myself;  My mom passed a year after I was born, doctors said she had a rare  heart condition. At that time my sister was only four and my dad worked an amazing job and had more than enough money to support our family. For years  he continued to strive and make a living for himself until unfortunately someone totaled his car leaving him disabled. Lost his job and wife but at least he has his children to take care of him. Without the help of my sister we would probably be living under a bridge right about  now.  My sister decides to work long hours everyday instead of attending  school so I could get an education. Most days my father can’t help himself around so we would take turns helping,  growing up my sister and father are the only two people that always have my back. Now i’m seventeen and my sister is twenty one years old. 

 

An hour after my sister made it home from work, dinner was surely made and my sister tells me at the diner table  “ Please don’t get in any fights on your first day tomorrow! I don’t want you getting kicked out of another school”. I promise tomorrow will be different, I replied back quickly. In my old high school I would always cut class to go chill at the park with my best friends Andree and Andrea. On top of that my grades were horrible but what got me out was fighting some kid who looked at me the wrong way. My sister was always going out of her way to correct my mistakes and make sure there is a roof over my head. “ Don’t let the hard work your sister does for you go to waste”, said my father to me at the diner table. He’s right, It’s time to make a good reputation for myself and become a wonderful person just like my father and sister. Even though we don’t have any money to live a normal life, we all have each other.

 

    DING-DONG DING-DONG DING-DONG… I jumped out of my bed thinking why couldn’t I stay sick one more day, it’s too early in the morning to start my new school. DING-DONG.. I jumped out of my bed again then finally I shut my alarm off. Even though I didn’t get rest last night I still got up and ready myself for school. My father even made me an egg sandwich on my first day just like elementary school and wished me good luck son. My new school is only ten minutes away so luckily it’s easy to take myself to and from school. My sister was still asleep so I headed out for my day in the hope to make something good for my family. An hour after arriving at school everything’s going great. I even made my first friend Samuael in my first period of science class. Samuel nugged me afterwards  and said “ What are you doing for lunch”, I told him that I have an egg sandwich for lunch I will eat. Now everything was going fine at school until my first lunch period. Samuel went to buy lunch on the line and that’s when I saw my perfect opportunity to help my family.

 

Two hundred something dollars fell out of his bag while he was on line getting lunch and I only have a few seconds to decide if I should do the wrong thing for a better outcome. I know in my heart stealing is something you should never do, however in my situation two hundred dollars is like the jackpot to us. Should I just go back into my egg sandwich? My heart races and beats faster every second, I can’t disappoint my sister again in school i think to myself.  Most importantly Samuel is one of the good people we need more of in life. With no more thought and just action I took his money and never told anyone about what I just did. I don’t feel so bad because I think in the back of my head I do it for my loved ones not myself. Later on in the day at 3pm my sister came to walk me home from school. Of course she said “ I hope you didn’t run into trouble bro, don’t make me find out.” You know that feeling of guilt you have when someone asks you something and you lie to their face. Well that’s all I can feel right now on this walk home. I say nothing to my family  when I get home then lock myself in my room. Now it would be right to give it back but money is hard to come by in my life, in fact this is the most I’ve ever had in my hand before. Maybe I can return it when I get a job but jobs are hard to come by as well for me and my family. My father and sister would both be angry if I told them my secret anyway so I kept the money to myself.

 

The next day there was no school and I couldn’t take  the guilt of what I had done so I went to his house to return the money. I open the door and no one is there, I walk a few feet further and I notice money hidden in his house. Knowing it’s not right I was already too deep in, I took everything valuable in the house thinking of the good I’m doing to help out my bad situation. I guess his family was on a vacation because he did say he was going away this weekend. I quickly and quietly leave with another two hundred dollars and a few other values. All of the goods that I took from his house were kept underneath my bed. My family must not find this because it will lead to too many questions I’m not ready to answer. All I can do now is wait and hope no one saw me go inside that house.  

A few days later and I hadn’t seen Samuel not once in school. I wonder if he has caught on to me yet or if I’m okay. Whatever the cause is, I need to make sure no one finds what I took. Because that’s the only thing on my mind I head home, walk to my room and make sure no one is watching me. Only to find my window open and  nothing left, I ran to my father and sister and they didn’t seem to know about the money so there was only one person who could have taken the money. I wanted to help my sister and father with that money, even though it’s a wrong thing to do.  I can’t even get mad that someone robbed what I took from them, I learned a lesson that day and took a loss at the same time.

 

The Fathers Perspective 

 

I’m so happy that after a year I can finally afford to send my family and myself on a family vacation. Our favorite place to go  is up north to vermont every year. It doesn’t matter how much money we have, sometimes having a piece of mind is worth more than a dollar. I work long hours in a meat packing warehouse making just enough to support my kids and wife. My wife usually stays home most days in the week and works sometimes to take care of our young ones at home, except our son who goes to school everyday. I try to help out all family members I possibly can because as a poor middle class family we understand how rough it can be.  Our neighborhoods even aren’t safe to raise children in or yet even live in.My biggest hope, my son Alexander has dreams to have a career and help this family financially.  That’s a long time from now so all I’m excited for is another family vacation this year.

 

After I get home from work the next day no time is wasted telling my wife and kids “We can afford to go away on another family vacation.”  Everyone is excited to be going away this year again even though we will be broke again. I tell all of my children because we are going away we need to keep this house safe. There are many people who get robbed or hurt where I am. Crime is at its peak so I need to make sure we are not gone for too long. The last thing I need is for someone to take the last of what we had. The only thing we have left is a money box that me and my wife contribute to daily. I make sure to tell my kids all the time to say nothing about our family to friends. I made sure my son got a week off school and a week off of work for myself. A week later It was time to go on vacation. It’s good to see all of us have something to be happy about. Moments don’t come often for people like us.

 

As i’m driving to where we will be staying, all I worry about is the event of someone actually robbing my house. However the drive is nice and only hits a little traffic going up. I Reminisce  back on past memories my family has shared and think about how I never want this feeling to end. We were gone for five and returned back home for the weekend. It would be an amazing thing if I could just go home and straight to sleep.  Instead I came home to a warm welcoming surprise of a half empty house. My heart dropped, the kids started crying, and my wife cursed all of us out. “This is your fault, it was probably your so called friends” “We should have never left for vacation” said my mother. I calm her down and call the cops to find out what happened.and of course they can’t find anything. Were all doomed, our savings and that money are all gone. What am I to do now with no way of supporting my family.  The least I can do is ask around my neighborhood if they have seen or heard anything. Almost everyone didn’t see anything, just the mailman they told me.  Cops never got back to us about the burglary on our house. At this point It’s best to just go back to work and work more hours so we won’t get evicted. My wife still goes rampage after rampage everyday because that’s all we had. My son is the only quiet one in this situation so I guess he is shooken up about the whole thing. Days pass and still no word from aanone, it’s time to just accept defeat and head back to a normal life. For sure this time there won’t be any family vacations before. Today I’m home from work so I walked to the living to take a nap and then woke up to my wife screaming at the top of her lungs, so loud that it even woke the kids up. I run upstairs and she is thanking my son like there is no tomorrow. I ask what  just happened? My wife replies our son found our stolen money. At first I thought she was lying but it turned out to be true. I felt relieved that we still had something. I thanked my son for what he did and decided to give him some for what he did. I wasn’t going to ask  how he did It, I’m just thankful that I have someone in my life who is truthful. 

 

This assignment required me to be creative in making a story. It also taught me how to see from different peoples perspectives, there are just simply too many sides to a story. Just like In Raymond Queneau, Exercises in Style the same story was told in multiple perspectives of people that were on the bus. That is how I structured my essay based on “The Money”. One from the thieves’ view  and another from the father’s view.  What I learned from writing and revising my first  essay compared to the second is  language that you can use to determine the way people interpret your story. Language can be soft, visual, loud etc.. to get the reader to interpret a story.  Secondly this assignment opened my eyes to the fact of how I can start to look at not just what a text is about but all the things that make up that text. For example in Queneau, Exercises in Style  from the bus, outside, people, weather, language, etc.. are all different components that make up an interpretation. So it’s not just about someone who got into an allertaction on a bus, but everything around makes uo as well. Personally the hardest part for me is developing my own style of writing for this assignment. I feel like I stuck too close to the text and didn’t make my own unique style of writing on the first draft. So for this draft I gave more detail to my story that aligns with “The Money.”

 

 

 

Essay 1 final draft

Crispin Thys (Final draft)

Intro

I chose to write about the story, which depicts a man having a friend fix the button on his coat after a fight ensues on a bus. In Queneau’s stories he uses great detail to explain the story from that specific perspective. Oftentimes his depiction relies on a lot of sensory detail. Each of the perspectives that I wrote about, come from a place of vulnerability, a place of helplessness. The first perspective is that of the bus itself. I chose to write about this point of view because I felt that the interpretation from the point of view of the bus itself would be an interesting viewpoint, which would emphasize the damage done to our surroundings that might occur when a fight ensues. This damage is often done with little regard to the property itself. The bus could not do anything other than accept the beating it was taking, and was forced to watch from a submissive position. The second interpretation of the story that I wrote about was that of the bus driver. I also interpreted his viewpoint to be from a position of desperation because he normally has control of his bus, and takes great pride in its efficient functionality, but during this scenario he lost control and could not calm the raucous on the back of the bus. The third interpretation of the story that I wrote about was that of a fellow passenger. I chose to use a passenger who does not normally take the bus, but was forced to do so today to ensure that all three perspectives shared similarities in that they came from a helpless, desperate point of view, but the details were unique to their situation.

 

The Bus driver

 

They fill me up as they always have. I sit in the hot sun as they load more and more bodies onto me. They cram more and more people into my seats, without regard for the work I do to transport them. Expressing little appreciation for my hard work, they focus more on each other and how they are inconvenienced. Each person is different, one in particular with a long neck, more into himself than the rest. Another one of them, less appreciative of me, but more angry at his situation. Their pain felt by all, they broke up into arguments against each other. Me, and all of my parts, the last thing on their mind. After the fight, they look disheveled with their clothing all misaligned. They express no sympathy for the damage they have done to me. Seats torn. Window scratched. Focused on himself, the man has a friend fixing the button on his coat. Nobody fixes the damage, which has been handed to me.

 

You usually have the regulars, but today was different. Strangers alike, they each get on my bus giving me a nod as they walk up the steps. I take good care of my bus. It serves the community well, and it provides me a lifestyle. Hot from the body heat of everyone on board, I do my best to open the windows to provide a little bit of comfort to my passengers. A tall man with his chin pointed towards the clouds enters the bus. He doesn’t seem like my normal passengers. He has a bow on his hat. The bodies and the heat inconvenienced another passenger, an older fellow. Neither recognizes that we all share the same conditions. The older gentleman explodes in anger, only to be met with disdain from the fancy fellow in the back. A fight ensues. I try my best to reintroduce peace into the situation, but like the little regard they have for my bus, little regard they have for my voice. I no longer have control. The damage is unavoidable, but it is fixable, just as the button was fixable on the one man’s coat.

 

I never take the bus. I hate the crowds. I hate the smell. I hate the traffic. I hate the jerky movements. But my car broke down, and I had to take the bus today. I went in with an open mind, hoping to be pleasantly surprised, but I quickly recalled exactly how much I hate the bus. The bus was hot and humid. The sun shined down on the bus, and bodies seemed to radiate steam. Everyone was frustrated as more bodies crowded on the bus, but most people managed to keep calm enough. One crotchety old man caused a raucous expressing his dissatisfaction only to be met with the force of another passenger. What was already an uncomfortable situation for me, quickly escalated into my worst nightmare. More heat. More energy. More noise. More being pushed around. More arguing. The bus ride from hell continued, but I couldn’t get off. I had to take the bus today, and I had no other option. After the fight I noticed a man out the window having the button on his shirt fixed. This is the last time that I will ever take the bus.

 

Conclusion

This assignment required a great deal of creative writing. I think what I struggled with most was thinking of different perspectives from which to write. It initially seemed that Queneau used every possible style and interpretation imaginable. After I thought about all of the players involved, however, I realized that there was great potential to write with a unique style, taking the perspective of innocent, passive, members of the story. This allowed me to see that there are always multiple sides to a story. A story is told by one individual, but the story might come across entirely different from the perspective of someone, or in the case of the bus above, something, else. This assignment allowed me to realize that an interpretation can really be very diverse. It can focus on sensory details like Queneau’s examples writing from an olfactory or visual sense. An interpretation can also focus on other physical details or even mental details, as can be done by approaching the scenario considering the unique situation of everyone involved. I think that this assignment translates quite nicely to the outside world where it is important to consider that every situation has multiple interpretations. It is important for us to consider each interpretation of events, and not focus solely on a single interpretation or a single report of the events.

Crispin Thys essay 1 final draft

Essay draft 1 revision

Essay 1 (Revision)

Crispin Thys (Essay 1 draft)

Intro

I chose to write about the story which depicts a man having a friend fix the button on his coat after a fight ensues on a bus. In Queneau’s stories he uses great detail to explain the story from that specific perspective. Oftentimes his depiction relies on a lot of sensory detail. Each of the perspectives that I wrote about, come from a place of vulnerability, a place of helplessness. The first perspective is that of the bus itself. I chose to write about this point of view because I felt that the interpretation from the point of view of the bus itself would be an interesting viewpoint, which would emphasize the damage done to our surroundings that might occur when a fight ensues. This damage is often done with little regard to the property itself. The bus could not do anything other than accept the beating it was taking, and was forced to watch from a submissive position. The second interpretation of the story that I wrote about was that of the bus driver. I also interpreted his viewpoint to be from a position of desperation because he normally has control of his bus, and takes great pride in its efficient functionality, but during this scenario he lost control and could not calm the raucous on the back of the bus. The third interpretation of the story that I wrote about was that of a fellow passenger. I chose to use a passenger who does not normally take the bus, but was forced to do so today to ensure that all three perspectives shared similarities in that they came from a helpless, desperate point of view, but the details were unique to their situation. In writing using these three perspectives, with three different tones, that all come from places of desperation and submissiveness, I hope to convey the less often considered notion that we, as human beings, are subject to the conditions instilled upon us by our surroundings. Under normal circumstances humans are used to being at the top of the food chain, altering the environment around us, but in many cases, nature is too powerful, and we, just as the bus, the bus driver, and the passenger, must adapt to the conditions.

 

The Bus

 

They fill me up as they always have. I sit in the hot sun as they load more and more bodies onto me. They cram more and more people into my seats, without regard for the work I do to transport them. Expressing little appreciation for my hard work, they focus more on each other and how they are inconvenienced. Each person is different, one in particular with a long neck, more into himself than the rest. Another one of them, less appreciative of me, but more angry at his situation. Their pain felt by all, they break out into arguments against each other. Me, and all of my parts, the last thing on their mind. After the fight, they look disheveled with their clothing all misaligned. They express no sympathy for the damage they have done to me. Seats torn. Window scratched. Focused on himself, the man has a friend fixing the button on his coat. Nobody fixes the damage, which has been handed to me.

 

 

The Bus Driver

 

You usually have the regulars, but today was different. Strangers alike, they each get on my bus giving me a nod as they walk up the steps. I take good care of my bus. It serves the community well, and it provides me a lifestyle. Hot from the body heat of everyone on board, I do my best to open the windows to provide a little bit of comfort to my passengers. A tall man with his chin pointed towards the clouds enters the bus. He doesn’t seem like my normal passengers. He has a bow on his hat. The bodies and the heat inconvenienced another passenger, an older fellow. Neither recognizes that we all share the same conditions. The older gentleman explodes in anger, only to be met with disdain from the fancy fellow in the back. A fight ensues. I try my best to reintroduce peace into the situation, but like the little regard they have for my bus, little regard they have for my voice. I no longer have control. The damage is unavoidable, but it is fixable, just as the button was fixable on the one man’s coat.

The Passenger

 

I never take the bus. I hate the crowds. I hate the smell. I hate the traffic. I hate the jerky movements. But my car broke down, and I had to take the bus today. I went in with an open mind, hoping to be pleasantly surprised, but I quickly recalled exactly how much I hate the bus. The bus was hot and humid. The sun shined down on the bus, and bodies seemed to radiate steam. Everyone was frustrated as more bodies crowded on the bus, but most people managed to keep calm enough. One crotchety old man caused a raucous expressing his dissatisfaction only to be met with the force of another passenger. What was already an uncomfortable situation for me, quickly escalated into my worst nightmare. More heat. More energy. More noise. More being pushed around. More arguing. The bus ride from hell continued, but I couldn’t get off. I had to take the bus today, and I had no other option. After the fight I noticed a man out the window having the button on his shirt fixed. This is the last time that I will ever take the bus.

Conclusion

This assignment required a great deal of creative writing. I think what I struggled with most was thinking of different perspectives from which to write. It initially seemed that Queneau used every possible style and interpretation imaginable. After I thought about all of the players involved, however, I realized that there was great potential to write with a unique style, taking the perspective of innocent, passive, members of the story. This allowed me to see that there are always multiple sides to a story. A story is told by one individual, but the story might come across entirely different from the perspective of someone, or in the case of the bus above, something, else. This assignment allowed me to realize that an interpretation can really be very diverse. It can focus on sensory details like Queneau’s examples writing from an olfactory or visual sense. An interpretation can also focus on other physical details or even mental details, as can be done by approaching the scenario considering the unique situation of everyone involved. I think that this assignment translates quite nicely to the outside world where it is important to consider that every situation has multiple interpretations. It is important for us to consider each interpretation of events, and not focus solely on a single interpretation or a single report of the events. One could argue that examples of the different sides to a story are more evident in the current news cycle than ever before. In the recent weeks you have had a great deal of civil unrest, and everyone seems to have a different opinion or perspective. You have the voice of the peaceful protestors, and the angry rioters. You have the voice of the police who are protective of their profession, and the police who recognize a need for change. You have the voice of the news anchors, and those they bring on their show. Everyone seems to have a voice, but each voice is different, and all parties must be heard. Queneau does a great job providing a voice to each sense, and each perspective. I hope that through this assignment I was able to provide a voice to the other people involved in the scene, and to an even greater degree, I hope that you listened.

 

 

Marcus Robinson- Essay No.1 google draft

Marcus Robinson     

English 1121

Essay No.1-Draft

The Objective

This short story is inspired by  “The Money” by Junot Diaz, The story can be seen from many different views and be interpreted differently. The two styles that you will see are objective from the thieves view and a virtuous remix from the child’s view. The family in the story, even most of the neighborhood was depicted as poor and without money. Although there wasn’t very much available they were honest and truthful. I chose to write from the view of the thiefs side but also change the story. One personal way I Interpret “The Money ” is as objective and a virtuous story , There will always be people who want more no matter the cost and who don’t care about personal feelings as well as those who have standards. 

Not everyone is lucky to have a life like mine. You either have to work hard or be born into wealth to get into this life. The only downside to being rich is you lose your ambitions because you already have everything someone can dream of. So you turn to the only thing you have left which is money. Enough money will make anyone go rotten inside and out, at least it did to me and my family anyway. It’s freezing out here, my brother Theo said, you should come inside. It’s time for business as usual. As I slowly walk inside and welcome our guest for the evening, I smile at everyone but today I actually feel guilt for a change. Every tuesday at 8pm precisely my father has potential clients come into our massive house for real-estate. It happened to be Mr and Ms Walton who are looking to buy property. In this neighborhood our reputation precedes us as the best retailers around. My dad uses our family money and assets to help the less fortunate. Only my dad, brother Theo and me of course all by ourselves. Now the plan is simple, all we have to do is convince our wonderful guest that we have what they want only excluding the fact we’re robbing them of thousands of dollars behind closed doors. Hey it may not be the nicest thing to do to anyone but it’s just the usual family business. It will never matter how much my family has all we know is that it will never be enough money for us. 

Strangely one morning about two weeks later we get a call from a family friend who lives a mile away. He talks about throwing a party to celebrate good times and friendship. I can’t remember the last time someone wanted to throw a party for me. Who can deny a party, a few drinks with my friends. Ideally it sounds fun but no one must ever find the red briefcase hidden in our house. Of course my father and brother knew about this special briefcase and if lost our life would be at a loss. A day passes and it’s time for the party, except we didn’t expect 100 people or more to come. Not that we couldn’t fit everybody, I just don’t want to be responsible if anything valuable gets stolen. “What an amazing house you have” says Stanly, the man who decided to throw this party. I replied it’s great to see this neighborhood together for a change. The residents in our neighborhood were all quiet and rich people so I doubt anyone would steal from us.

Thank You for coming! See you next time as I say goodnight to everyone leaving. But I feel uneasy, my heart is pounding and I can’t get my mind off that red briefcase. Ironically my dad and brother immediately stare at me  as the door slams shut behind me, where is the briefcase they both ask simultaneously? Not a word leaves my mouth. The only thought in my head is that our lives are ruined if someone found it. So I ran with no hesitation to the hiding place only to find myself in disbelief that my room looks like a hurricane has swept it away and no briefcase was to be found. I panic and think who could possibly know what this is and when during the party was it stolen. I never saw anyone leave with anything remotely close to a red briefcase. Who would want to steal from the most successful criminals in Maryland? Couldn’t have been the Waltons there too old. Then who? The people who gave the idea for the party? Unfortunately we can’t go to the cops because they will find out our lies so I need to think long and hard. 

Suddenly It strikes fast, the only other person in the world who knew about that hiding spot. My mother must have snuck in last night with our guest and took what belonged to me.  Luckily she only lives an hour down I-95, so I tell my brother and father the news and they force me to drive considering this is all somehow my fault. It all makes sense why she wanted that briefcase, she was just honest and never wanted anything with criminals like us even though the pay was well. I make it to her house and drive slowly. Surely she’s not home at the moment. I waste no time struggling to climb through her back window in search of what’s mine. I’m surprised because the red briefcase is right in front of me. Open it and sure enough is all our records that proves me my father and brother conduct illegal business.  Although I couldn’t help to see what else was hiding in her house because there is always more to take. The entire house was perfect kitchen nothing, bedroom nothing, however in the bathroom, now that is worth taking. No matter how much of something you have or want in life, you will always want more and for me that’s money. 

I have no questions in relation towards where my mother managed to scrounge up two hundred thousand dollars but I took it anyway.  I headed up back north to my home in Maryland feeling successful, my family welcomed me home and I returned only the red briefcase back. Days past even months and still nothing from any of my family. I feel guilty about what I did by taking my mother’s money but Not everyone is lucky to have a life like mine.

It’s only the five of us on this lonely farm as for away from the city as possible. My days are mostly simple, my mom raises my two baby sisters who are only three months old. Meanwhile my father works hard on the felids to sell fresh fruit to keep money in the house. Luckily for me I was the first person in my family fortunate enough to get an education . One that may make me a doctor or lawyer someday my mom hopes. One hot summer day I became memborized on my father’s work ethic only for it to pay off so little. The hardest part is keeping away thieves from our farms, they take what they can run off with it. As long as no one finds what’s most precious to this family, a diamond necklace passed from generation here on this poor farm.

Virtuous 

When I was little I never cried at a funeral, maybe I couldn’t feel the grief of everyone in the room or I just couldn’t comprehend death. So why cry today, my uncle who always supported me died in a car accident. No one deserves that kind of death. We heard the news early yesterday morning, so a week passed and  my family and I left in the morning to go to the funeral.It was a beautiful service, got to see a long distance family member. Honor my uncle, and the food was amazing. However, I wish I could say the same thing when my family arrived home later on today.  My father was about to turn into the incredible hook and my mother was devastated to see our poor farm now broke. Who would want to rob us the one day we leave. We’ve been good to everyone and this is how our community treats us back. Of course the thieves stopped when they found that diamond necklace, as my mother cries I promise our items will be returned

But firstly who are these mesiouris thieves. Thankfully this town is small so there can be only but so many people who would want business with us.

All these problems started happening when I did first start in high school and that’s when it dawned on me. There are these two twins that go by the Robinson’s, they don’t come from the best family and sure as hell there sneaky. No one takes what belongings to my family and gets away with it. So I take all the chances in the world and blame them. Like I said this town is small so we all knew where eachother lived. I paid the Robinsons a friendly visit when they all left for work and school. Today I had to skip school because this is priceless. I checked the mailbox for an emergency key and luckily there is one there. After an hour of searching I see something priceless: a diamond necklace, something that belonged to my mom. I put it around my neck and quickly leave the way I came. Its about a ten minute walk home and on that walk home I felt happy I can contribute to my family. Like an undercover agent.  I return the necklace to my mother because it’s the right thing to do. . One day I feel like I will be blessed for the good I have done.

In making this story what I mainly learned from “The Money” by Junot Diaz is the language that you use can determine the way people interpret your story. Language has an unlimited amount of styles as well, so depending on your word play you can make the same story one hundred times all interpreted differently. Just like in Raymond Queneau’s “Exercises in Style,” about the same scenario just with a different style of writing. Another proved to be a changeling topic was recreating the story because it is based on “The Money”.

                                                                                            

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1g6_jY-2TQVhznwoRca1XmdHfUNcOm14OR8HBtiUWqOc/edit

Indeevari Kumarasinghe- Essay Draft #1

Indeevari Kumarasinghe

Professor Monroe Steel

ENGLISH 1121

June 8, 2020

Essay 1

Interpretation is an act of explaining. Interpretation can have different perspectives and anything can be interpreted in many different ways.  Interpretation could also be described as reframing or showing one’s understanding of an idea.  As different people come from different cultures or backgrounds, they also go through different experiences in life. It is those life experiences that drive people to understand things and express ideas and thoughts differently. In the content “The Money” by Diaz, J the two versions I choose to describe the story from the perspective of the oldest child in the family and the second one is my attempt at seeing the story through the eyes of the youngest sibling.

Story through the eyes of the oldest brother.

The America which I always watched in Hollywood movies always fascinated me as a child and it was always my dream to be a part of this world. As I grew older and my dream came true, I quickly realized that the Hollywood images were a little bit exaggerated, to say the least. Quite frankly, they turned out to be far beyond the reality that I found myself in. The clean, beautiful streets were nowhere to be seen. It also turned out that not all people here have the looks of a supermodel. Not all of them are happy or rich like in those awesome American movies I watched as a child. Admittedly, maybe I watched too many Disney movies? I thought that when we finally come to America, we will be living like royalty. To my surprise our standard of living has declined. Yes, we now have more food in the fridge, and chocolate candies, and Coca-Cola, but the food itself is much worse than back home. For the first few weeks I wanted to go on a hunger strike and could not force myself to eat the American bread and meat. Everything tasted horrible compared to the fresh and tasteful meals we had back home. Not to mention the small apartment we had to endure. My father is a very hardworking man; he is a forklift driver. I appreciate his hard work and effort to put food on our table.  Sometimes I feel sorry for him when mom yells at him for not bringing enough money home. I know he is trying his best and every time he loses a job, he is very emotional and goes out to look for another. He never gives up just like the spider who builds his web, and restlessly rebuilds it every time it gets damaged. Yes, that is my father; my hero who always tries hard to make our life better. My mother wants to go to work and make money to increase the household’s income, but it is hard for her to do so, since she has five children to take care of. My father wants her to stay home and make sure that we are raised properly.  He is rightfully worried that we may turn out like many bad apples in our neighborhood. I can not compare it to other neighborhoods as I have not seen many of them yet, but I know that ours is not considered to be an example of a good neighborhood. People get mugged, cars get vandalized, and apartments get broken into on daily bases. As a matter of fact, somebody broke into our apartment just yesterday, and all of my mom’s savings were stolen. This money was meant to be sent back home to support my sickly grandparents. Everyone is now devastated. Parents are blaming each other, and when they take a break from jumping to each other’s throat, then they re-aim their target of frustration at us. They yell and accuse us of telling somebody at school about my mom’s hidden safe. I have a feeling it could have been one of my younger brother’s shady friends. I don’t have a proof yet, but I will keep my eyes and ears open, and if I find out that my brother had anything to do with that, I swear, I will have one brother less.

Story through the eyes of the youngest brother.

For the past two days my friends at school keep talking about the new Lion King. This is the only thing that matters now. Our class is divided into two groups now; the cool kids, and the kids who haven’t seen The Lion King yet. I keep asking my mom to take me to the movies to see The Lion King. but she keeps telling me off. She says it will come out on DVD soon and we will watch it on TV. She says that she wants to watch it too but she is scared of big screens so she wants me to wait with her and watch it together. My older brother says that going to the movies is for the rich and spoiled American kids, and we can not afford it yet. My mom is always busy cooking  and cleaning around the house, so I would think that she should be getting enough money to take me to movies; so I suppose that my brother is lying. He must be lying. We are not poor. We have clothes, food, candies, and my dad has a car. My father is barely home and always at work; day and night. One of my older brothers is always reading books. Mom says he will be a lawyer one day. My other brothers are also older than me and they are always outside running around with their friends. One day I will be like that, too. Nobody has time to play with me, but it is fine. I like to be alone and watch everyone around me and learn new things. My father says that my oldest brother will soon be old enough to help him make more money for the family. For now, I kept it a secret, but I think I will tell them tomorrow during the dinner that my brother is already making enough money for them. Today, I secretly spied on him, and I saw him put lots of money into my mom’s hidden safe, where she keeps stashing away her change.  I do not know where my brother was able to get so much money, because I had never seen so many bills in my life, but I am sure my parents will be proud of him when they find out.

In conclusion, interpretation could be described as expressing an idea or a thought to others, according to your own way of understanding. What I struggled with the most, was putting myself in the shoes of other parties who could have been witnesses to the author’s story.  Then after choosing two different siblings as my two different points of view, I struggled a little with putting myself in the heads of those two young children , one of whom is significantly younger.