My Short Life

The year was 1943. Times were hard and life was tough. Surviving was hard enough for one, let alone someone trying to provide and care for a whole family. Those were the times of World War II and no one was left unaffected by it. Times like this, it seemed cruel to introduce a new child into the world. Yet, on December 28, I was born. My family was very poor and realistically could not afford to care for a child, but they did the best with what they had. Medical care was virtually non-existent and even if there happened to be a doctor in the middle of rural Arkansas, my family wouldn’t have been able to pay for it. Even so, I came out kicking and screaming. I was a healthy baby boy of 8 pounds and 5 ounces, with beautiful blue eyes and sand-colored blond hair. The first moment that I opened my eyes, I knew that I was loved and that my mother and father would keep me safe. My mother cuddled me close to her, wrapped me in her warm blanket,

“Welcome to the world, John Michael. We love you so much, our precious miracle.” she whispered softly.

Her voice instantly stopped my fussing, and I let my gaze slowly wander across the room. My eyes found my father, the strong, poised man who appeared unmoved if not for the small smile on his face and the tears of joy and pride in is eyes. My eyes met his and then I knew that I loved him and would always love him no matter what lied ahead. He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. My mother gently placed me into my father’s arms. The last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep was my father quietly humming a soothing song. The next few weeks were pretty uneventful. When I was about two months old, the trouble began. My mother walked into my room and as she held me, I heard her softly cough. I don’t think that she wanted my father to know she was coughing for fear that he would worry about her so much that he would end up sick himself. She couldn’t hide it for long though because as time progressed, her cough got worse and worse. I could see the worry and fear in my father’s eyes the day that he came to give me a bottle instead of Mom. Day after day, I could hear her coughs through the paper thin walls of our little home. The coughs sounded harsher and more painful. I didn’t envy my father the sight of my mother because I knew that it must be horrific. I heard her scratchy voice complaining about how she never got to see her own child and hold him in her arms. Eventually the coughing subsided and she thought she was well enough to be able to see me but my father insisted she not because he thought that she might still spread the virus even though she seemed better. After two weeks of not being able to see me at all, I guess it became too much for her. That night, after my father had already fallen asleep, she snuck into my room and took me into her arms. I reveled in the joy of getting to see her. She stayed with me until early morning but had to leave before my dad woke up. She visited every night and everything seemed fine...until I began coughing. I couldn’t control it and it caused a searing agony in my chest. My mother admitted to my father that she had been secretly visiting me and, though he was angry, he understood and didn’t blame her. My mother had gotten over the sickness and they hoped that I would recover too. But an infant’s immune system is not strong and the influenza raging through my body was. My cough got worse and soon the fever began. My parents tried all of the home remedies, the honey and herbs for the cough and sore throat, and cold compresses for the fever, but none of  them had anything but a temporary affect. The cough always came back and the fever was a constant thing. It hurt to move. It hurt to cry. Yet, it also hurt to do nothing but lay there. I felt trapped inside my own burning, aching body. Somewhere in the middle of the sickness, I had lost hope of getting better. Even though I was extremely young, only three months old, I understood that I wasn’t going to beat this. My parents must have realized this too, but they did what they could to make me comfortable. They gave me herbs to dull the pain and never left my side. I was not near old enough to talk or move very well, but I hope that they understood that I loved them and wouldn’t take back any of the time I had spent with them even if I could have. Most people don’t think that babies comprehend anything, but actually that is not true. I understood a lot of things. I couldn’t express or show that I knew anything, but I did know. I knew that my mother and father loved me and always would. I knew that they tried their best to protect me. But I also knew that my short life was already coming to an end. I fought past the intense pain and coughing fits and looked up at my parents. I looked each of them in the eyes and tried to make them see that this was the time for goodbye. I think that my message must have gotten across because both of them had tears running down their faces. My mother picked me up and said her final goodbye.

“ I love you my sweet, innocent child and I always will. You will forever have a place in my heart and I hope that one day I will see you again.” she told me as  she passed me to my father, loud, broken sobs unleashing themselves as she did. My father stared into my eyes and I grabbed his large finger with my tiny hand. He did not speak. He did not have to. We simply stared into each others’ eyes; the large man and his infant son that would not live to be a man. In those moments, I didn’t feel anything but love for my family. Right then, on March 6, 1944, I simply closed my eyes and sank into sweet, painless oblivion.

Compare/Contrast Essay

There are many similarities and differences between the folklore of different cultures. I read three different stories with each one being from a different culture. My stories were from American, Mexican, and Native American cultures. The American story appeared to be created mostly in order to entertain the reader, while the other two seemed to teach a life lesson to the reader.
    The first story was derived from American culture and was called You Can’t Get Out. It took place in a town or city somewhere in America. To be more specific, it mostly took place in an open grave in a cemetery. The protagonist was the town drunk who was stumbling home after the bar closed and somehow found himself wandering through the graveyard. All of a sudden, the ground “opens up” in front of him and he falls into an empty grave. There, he hears something calling his name and sees a mysterious figure through the darkness. The scary figure then says “you can’t get out” and move closers and the drunk gets terrified and jumps six feet straight up into the air, grabs the side of the hole, and scrambles out. He then runs home as fast as he can in his drunken state of mind, leaving the antagonist, the strange figure, in the hole. Little did he know, the scary mystery man was actually just his neighbor, Charlie, who had fallen into the hole earlier. The theme of the story seems to be that you shouldn’t let fear overwhelm and conquer you.
    The second story was of Mexican culture and was called The Legend of the Poinsettia. It took place on a dusty dirt road in Mexico. The protagonist, Pepita, and her cousin Pedro are on the way to a festival where they are supposed to present a gift at an alter. Pepita is distraught and worrying about what she will do because she is poor and doesn’t have anything to present. Pedro tells her that even the most humble gift, if given in love, is acceptable. Feeling a little better, Pepita decides to fashion a bouquet out of some weeds from the side of the road, since that is all that she can afford to do. They go to the festival and Pepita lays her gift on the alter. As soon as she lays it there, the ugly weeds, transform into a bunch of beautiful red blooms. This is supposedly how the Poinsettia got its name. The theme of this story is that it isn’t how big of a gift you give, but your intentions behind giving the gift that matters.
    The third and final story was Native American folklore and was named Coyote and Wishpoosh. This story takes place at a lake in an unspecified place. The antagonist, Wishpoosh, is a giant monster beaver that tries to scare all of the animal people away from the lake where it lives. The protagonist, Coyote, is one of the animal people. He gets fed up with how his people are being treated and decides to kill Wishpoosh. He goes down to the lake and does not leave and when Wishpoosh came to confront him, he threw his spear at the monster, hitting him in the side. Wishpoosh then dragged him into the lake, where they fought and thrashed around. Coyote was losing the battle so he transformed himself into a tree limb and got eaten by the beaver. Then, while in the belly of the beast, he transformed back into a human and used a knife to kill the beaver from the inside out. I believe that the theme to this grotesque story is that there is nothing too big to overcome if you believe that you can do it and never give up.
    There are many different cultures that all have varying types of folklore. All of the different cultures seem to try to achieve different goals in their folklore. The American story seemed to be mainly about entertaining the reader, while the stories from Mexican and Native American culture seemed to be aimed more at teaching the reader an important life lesson. Even though all of the different folklore stories were made to accomplish different things, they all are equally important to their individual cultures.

Behind Those Eyes

  I've listened to the band 3 Doors Down for a while now and there's one song that has kind of stuck with me. I looked up the lyrics to the song Behind Those Eyes and realized just how true the lyrics are. In my opinion, this song accurately describes what it feels like to be lied to by someone that you care about. It shows not only how it feels when you know you're being lied to, but also the aftermath left behind when it is over. 
  The song says in the beginning, "You said 'I've got somthing to say', then you got that look in your eye. 'There is something you've got to know'. You said it as you started to cry. 'I've been down the wrong road tonight and I swear i'll never go there again.' I've seen that face once before and I don't think I can do this again". I love this quote because it depicts some of what may be felt when you know that somebody is lying to you and yet, refuses to tell you the truth, even when they know that you know that they have been lying to you. It shows the exhaustion, both mental and emotional, that is caused by the constant battle going on between the liar and the person being lied to.
  Somewhere toward the end of the song, it states:"You say that you're sorry and you say now that it hurts you the same. Is there something here to believe or is it just another part of the game?" To me, this shows that not only is the lie itself hurtful, but the damage that it leaves in its wake is something that does not go away for a long time. From experience, being lied to destroys all of the trust that is had for the person that lies. Everything they say from then on is questioned as to whether or not they are telling the truth, or just telling yet another lie.
  All in all, this is a great song that really speaks a great truth. Many songs have great meaning, you just have to listen carefully and try to decipher it. Behind Those Eyes by 3 Doors Down is a song that I feel many people could improve upon themselves by listening to.

Here are the lyrics to the song: http://www.metrolyrics.com/behind-those-eyes-lyrics-3-doors-down.html