A Cream Cracker Essay Example for Free

A Cream Cracker Essay Despite these similarities and minor differences one of the major differences between the two plays is that mum has an accident and as a result from that dies later. In George mum has an accident and falls down the stairs. This moment is very symbolic. After the bird rein acts the sound of Davids mum falling down the stairs, David becomes greatly dismayed as he realises his mother was all alone, and left to die for three days. At this point Judy tries to shut out the bird, and in doing so the memory of his mother by covering the cage in a cloth. This shows Judy as being very controlling over David which is reinforced when she says dont be silly, darling. You were wonderful with her and that she simply couldnt have his mother stay in a house with them, which shows that that was taken into consideration but denied by Judy. In A Cream Cracker Under the Settee Doris actually chooses to die and the play leads up to this choice. When Doris chooses to die this moment is also very symbolic. Are you all right? No. Im all right. When the policeman came along she wanted to ask for help but decided in the end that she would rather die and have her time than go to Stafford House. Stafford House is greatly regarded by Doris as a place where You go daft there, theres nowhere else for you to go but daft. Throughout the play she has made the impression that she never wants to go to Stafford House and at the end we find out she would rather die. As well as the similarities in the plot the two women are very similar. Both characters are old, widowed women who require the need of visitors. Both women are of working class. The dialect of the characters reinforces this, Doriss accent is that of a Northerner and reflects Alan Bennett as he was a Northerner himself and uses it in his characters. The language is informal and colloquial: I never saw no list or Thems her leaves, she also swears mildly oh hell, the flaming buffet when recounting the circumstances of her accident, but later uses the even less offensive Oh stink. She speaks very direct. At the end her thoughts wander more and more to the past making it seem more like a stream of consciousness. However, in George the dialogue is by David, Judy and George. Therefore, we can only assume that mum spoke like George because of his characterisation. If this is the case then we can come to conclusions that mum was of working class because of the dialect and dialogue of George. Georges voice is that of an old woman, plaintively complaining about loneliness, poverty and coldness. The language is very colloquial and informal, as in A Cream Cracker Under the Settee. However, there are key differences in these women as in A Cream Cracker Under the Settee the focus of the play is on Doris as she reveals herself in monologue whereas in George the focus of the play seems to be more on the relationship between David and his mum. The other differences between the women are to do with the impression we get. We know more about Doris than we do about Mum but from the information and description through Davids dialogue we understand Doris to be more independent and dominant than Mum. We understand that Doris is independent because from the beginning of the play she wants to the dusting herself and does not believe that her home help are doing there job. Her attitude towards Zulema shows us that she is quite stubborn and just because Zulema said she had dusted everywhere Doris immediately looks around to try and find a patch that she hasnt dusted. At first we may question Zulemas abilities but we soon realise that she wouldnt have time to clean everywhere as she has other peoples houses to clean and cannot spend too much time on each. This explains why later on when Doris says, Zulema wont touch them. Says if I want leaves swept Ive to contact the Parks Department. This may seem like a small and not a time consuming job but if Zulema was to sweep Doris leaves then everybody who she visits might ask for their leaves swept and this would make Zulema behind schedule and might eventually lose her job. In both plays there is an interesting use of shifting perspective for the audience. David and Judy present Davids mother and her situation in one way and then we are given a different perspective on the situation by George. We understand this because David and Judy are trying to fool themselves to believe that they did all they could to help his mother and that he had been wonderful with her. However, from what we understand from George is that she was all alone and when she was cold there was no one there to help her with the heating. There is also an interesting shift of perspective in A Cream Cracker Under the Settee. Although, Doris isnt trying to fool herself in the same way, we also get a sense of a second story or different version of events as she comments on other characters and her relationship with them for example when she talks about Wilfred. When Doris is talking about when she lost the baby she regards Wilfred as someone who seemed as if he didnt really care and didnt want a child in the first place. However, we realise that he probably did want the baby and only suggested alternatives, he started talking about getting a dog, to try and make her happier. This could be why Doris obsession with cleaning may have started because she would have had something to occupy her time with. Her obsession may have started here because when the midwife called Doris stillborn son dirty Doris says, He wasnt dirty, little thing; she disagrees and would have been traumatised by the ordeal of losing her baby. One of the most interesting similarities between the plays is the way they use visual symbolism. In George there are a number of symbolic moments during the play. Two of the most symbolic moments are when Judy covers up the cage and when David rips the cover back off. When Judy covers up the cage it symbolises when David never visited his mum and it seemed as if he was covering her up and also because at the beginning they seemed to fool themselves into believing that they did all they could. Therefore, they were covering up the real reason why his mother died. When he rips the sheet off it suggests that he wants to try and make things right because David doesnt want to cover George up as he did to his mum. It almost seems as if he wants his mum back so he can make it right to her. In A Cream Cracker Under the Settee there are also many symbolic moments. One of which is when Doris cracks the photograph of her and Wilfred. Cracked the photo. Were cracked, Wilfred. This is symbolic because it has fallen from the wall as a result of Doris endless campaign against dust, and the glass has cracked. This represents the destructive nature of Doris cleaning mania, the loss of Wilfred and particularly, with Doris choice to die at the end, the end of marriage both in Doris memory and on life. The fact that she holds on to the picture throughout the monologue may also suggest she is unwilling to let go of the past. One of the major differences arises from the medium each play was written for. George was written to be performed on stage as a stage play. It is non-realistic and bizarre because if it was written for a television programme or something more realistic there would not be a mynah bird talking. Also, because on a stage of the living room the bird would be constantly in view so the audience could not forget about it or ignore it as David and Judy ignored his mother. A Cream Cracker Under the Settee was written for a television drama especially for the actress Thora Hird. The play is more naturalistic and uses convention just as much but it is more subtle and therefore, not as obvious as it is in George. The close-ups enable the viewers to recognise the facial expressions and feel what Doris feels. Although both plays are hard-hitting and involve a lot of impact at the end I think that George has more impact on me because it is revealed more slowly and is seen through the eyes of a mynah bird which makes it more surreal and the moment when David is arguing with George sets the play up for a visual and clear ending of Davids mum lying at the bottom of the stairs on the floor for three days. I think that this play has more impact because it isnt just about mum and the isolation she was in but also the relationship she had with her son and the fact that he neglected her and her needs. Although I find George has more impact people may disagree because it is a shock when we realise that Doris has chosen to die. It is a very tense and shocking moment.

Why Do Children Talk To Themselves? :: Psychology Psychological Papers

Why Do Children Talk To Themselves? Whether you are a parent, teacher, child care giver, or a child observer you may have noticed that many children talk to themselves. Laura Berk reports that, â€Å"private speech can account for 20-60 percent of the remarks a child younger than 10 years makes† (78). Why do children do this? Does it benefit the child as Vygotsky would say, or is it just that the child is making egocentric remarks that play no positive role in normal cognitive development as Piaget would claim? I am going to be looking at the differences between Vygotsky’s and Piaget’s points of view. Then, I will look at Laura Berk’s findings in her article, â€Å"Why Children Talk to Themselves.† I will also talk about other findings concerning this topic. Jean Piaget and Lev Vygotsky were developmental psychologists interested in the origins and processes of cognitive development. These two psychologists disagreed sharply on the role that private speech played in one’s cognitive development. Vygotsky called this private speech while Piaget called it egocentric speech. Piaget observed the activities of three to eight year old kindergarten children, and discovered such uses of speech as verbal repetitions of another individual, monologues during an activity, and non-reciprocal remarks in collective settings. In these instances their speech was not directed towards other individuals. In Piaget’s mind these patterns of speech showed evidence of egocentrism, a sign of cognitive immaturity, and an inability to share the perspective of another individual. However, he argued, as the children grow older they socialize increasingly more with others, and their speech becomes communicative. Their speech moves away from being self- to other-oriented, a sign that they are able to adopt the perspectives of others. A child overcomes egocentrism by beginning to think critically and logically, causing egocentric speech to fade away. Vygotsky believes that a child’s cognitive development originates in socialization activities, and then goes through a process of increasing individuation. He argued that self-directed speech did not show any cognitive immaturity, but did show some form of development. He claims that private speech represents a functional differentiation in the speech of a child, or that a child begins to differentiate between speech that is directed towards the others and speech that is self-directed.

The Vampire Diaries: The Fury Chapter Four

Something yanked Elena out of the tree and, yowling a protest, she fell and landed on her feet like a cat. Her knees hit the ground a second later and got bruised. She reared back, fingers hooked into claws to attack whoever had done it. Damon slapped her hand away. â€Å"Why did you grab me?† she demanded. â€Å"Why didn't you stay where I put you?† he snapped. They glared at each other, equally furious. Then Elena was distracted. The shrieking was still going on upstairs, augmented now by rattling and banging at the window. Damon nudged her against the house, where they couldn't be seen from above. â€Å"Let's get away from this noise,† he said fastidiously, looking up. Without waiting for a response, he caught her arm. Elena resisted. â€Å"I have to go in there!† â€Å"You can't.† He gave her a wolfish smile. â€Å"I mean that literally. You can't go in that house. You haven't been invited.† Momentarily nonplussed, Elena let him tow her a few steps. Then she dug her heels in again. â€Å"But I need my diary!† â€Å"What?† â€Å"It's in the closet, under the floorboards. And I need it. I can't go to sleep without my diary.† Elena didn't know why she was making such a fuss, but it seemed important. Damon looked exasperated; then, his face cleared. â€Å"Here,† he said calmly, eyes glinting. He withdrew something from his jacket. â€Å"Take it.† Elena eyed his offering doubtfully. â€Å"It's your diary, isn't it?† â€Å"Yes, but it's my old one. I want my new one.† â€Å"This one will have to do, because this one is all you're getting. Come on before they wake up the whole neighborhood.† His voice had turned cold and commanding again. Elena considered the book he held. It was small, with a blue velvet cover and a brass lock. Not the newest edition perhaps, but it was familiar to her. She decided it was acceptable. She let Damon lead her out into the night. She didn't ask where they were going. She didn't much care. But she recognized the house on Magnolia Avenue; it was where Alaric Saltzman was staying. Elena licked her lips. â€Å"No,† Damon said shortly. â€Å"This one's not for biting. There's something fishy about him, but you should be safe enough in the house. I've slept here before. Up here.† He led her up a flight of stairs to an attic with one small window. It was crowded with stored objects: sleds, skis, a hammock. At the far end, an old mattress lay on the floor. â€Å"He won't even know you're here in the morning. Lie down.† Elena obeyed, assuming a position that seemed natural to her. She lay on her back, hands folded over the diary that she held to her breast. Damon dropped a piece of oilcloth over her, covering her bare feet. â€Å"Go to sleep, Elena,† he said. He bent over her, and for a moment she thought he was going to†¦ do something. Her thoughts were too muddled. But his night black eyes filled her vision. Then he pulled back, and she could breathe again. The gloom of the attic settled in on her. Her eyes drifted shut and she slept. She woke slowly, assembling information about where she was, piece by piece. Somebody's attic from the looks of it. What was she doing here? Rats or mice were scuffling somewhere among the piles of oilcloth-draped objects, but the sound didn't bother her. The faintest trace of pale light showed around the edges of the shuttered window. Elena pushed her makeshift blanket off and got up to investigate. It was definitely someone's attic, and not that of anyone she knew. She felt as if she had been sick for a long time and had just woken up from her illness. What day is it? she wondered. She could hear voices below her. Downstairs. Something told her to be careful and quiet. She felt afraid of making any kind of disturbance. She eased the attic door open without a sound and cautiously descended to the landing. Looking down, she could see a living room. She recognized it; she'd sat on that ottoman when Alaric Saltzman had given a party. She was in the Ramsey house. And Alaric Saltzman was down there; she could see the top of his sandy head. His voice puzzled her. After a moment she realized it was because he didn't sound fatuous or inane or any of the ways Alaric usually sounded in class. He wasn't spouting psycho-babble, either. He was speaking coolly and decisively to two other men. â€Å"She might be anywhere, even right under our noses. More likely outside town, though. Maybe in the woods.† â€Å"Remember, the first two victims were found near the woods,† said the other man. Is that Dr. Feinberg? Elena thought. What's he doing here? What am I doing here? â€Å"No, it's more than that,† Alaric was saying. The other men were listening to him with respect, even with deference. â€Å"The woods are tied up in this. They may have a hiding place out there, a lair where they can go to earth if they're discovered. If there is one, I'll find it.† â€Å"Are you sure?† said Dr. Feinberg. â€Å"I'm sure,† Alaric said briefly. â€Å"And that's where you think Elena is,† said the principal. â€Å"But will she stay there? Or will she come back into town?† â€Å"I don't know.† Alaric paced a few steps and picked up a book from the coffee table, running his thumbs over it absently. â€Å"One way to find out is to watch her friends. Bonnie McCullough and that dark-haired girl, Meredith. Chances are they'll be the first ones to see her. That's how it usually happens.† â€Å"And once we do track her down?† Dr. Feinberg asked. â€Å"Leave that to me,† Alaric said quietly and grimly. He shut the book and dropped it on the coffee table with a disturbingly conclusive sound. The principal glanced at his watch. â€Å"I'd better get moving; the service starts at ten o'clock. I presume you'll both be there?† He paused on his way to the door and looked back, his manner irresolute. â€Å"Alaric, I hope you can take care of this. When I called you in, things hadn't gone this far. Now I'm beginning to wonder-â€Å" â€Å"I can take care of it, Brian. I told you; leave it to me. Would you rather have Robert E. Lee in all the papers, not just as the scene of a tragedy but also as ‘The Haunted High School of Boone County'? A gathering place for ghouls? The school where the undead walk? Is that the kind of publicity you want?† Mr. Newcastle hesitated, chewing his lip, then nodded, still looking unhappy. â€Å"All right, Alaric. But make it quick and clean. I'll see you at the church.† He left and Dr. Fein-berg followed him. Alaric stood there for some time, apparently staring into space. At last he nodded once and went out the front door himself. Elena slowly trailed back up the stairs. Now what had all that been about? She felt confused, as if she were floating loose in time and space. She needed to know what day it was, why she was here, and why she felt so frightened. Why she felt so intensely that no one must see her or hear her or notice her at all. Looking around the attic, she saw nothing that would give her any help. Where she had been lying there were only the mattress and the oilcloth-and a little blue book. When she finished, she was weak with fear and horror. Bright spots danced and shimmered before her eyes. There was so much pain in these pages. So many schemes, so many secrets, so much need. It was the story of a girl who'd felt lost in her own hometown, in her own family. Who'd been looking for†¦ something, something she could never quite reach. But that wasn't what caused this throbbing panic in her chest that drained all the energy from her body. That wasn't why she felt as if she were falling even when she sat as still as she could get. What caused the panic was that she remembered. She remembered everything now. The bridge, the rushing water. The terror as the air left her lungs and there was nothing but liquid to breathe. The way it had hurt. And the final instant when it had stopped hurting, when everything had stopped. When everything†¦ stopped. Oh, Stefan, I was so frightened, she thought. And the same fear was inside her now. In the woods, how could she have behaved like that to Stefan? How could she have forgotten him, everything he meant to her? What had made her act that way? But she knew. At the center of her consciousness, she knew. Nobody got up and walked away from a drowning like that. Nobody got up and walked away alive. Slowly, she rose and went to look at the shuttered window. The darkened pane of glass acted as a mirror, throwing her reflection back at her. It was not the reflection she'd seen in her dream, where she had run down a hall of mirrors that seemed to have a life of their own. There was nothing sly or cruel about this face. Just the same, it was subtly different from what she was used to seeing. There was a pale glow to her skin and a telling hollowness about the eyes. Elena touched fingertips to her neck, on either side. This was where Stefan and Damon had each taken her blood. Had it really been enough times, and had she really taken enough of theirs in return? It must have been. And now, for the rest of her life, for the rest of her existence, she would have to feed as Stefan did. She would have to†¦ She sank to her knees, pressing her forehead against the bare wood of a wall. I can't, she thought. Oh, please, I can't; I can't. She had never been very religious. But from that deep place inside, her terror was welling up, and every particle of her being joined in the cry for aid. Oh, please, she thought. Oh, please, please, help me. She didn't ask for anything specific; she couldn't gather her thoughts that far. Only: Oh, please help me, oh please, please. Her face was still pale but eerily beautiful, like fine porcelain lit from within. Her eyes were still smudged with shadows. But there was a resolve in them. She had to find Stefan. If there was any help for her, he would know of it. And if there wasn't†¦ well, she needed him all the more. There was nowhere else she wanted to be except with him. She shut the door of the attic carefully behind her as she went out. Alaric Saltzman mustn't discover her hiding place. On the wall, she saw a calendar with the days up to December 4 crossed off. Four days since last Saturday night. She'd slept for four days. When she reached the front door, she cringed from the daylight outside. It hurt. Even though the sky was so overcast that rain or snow looked imminent, it hurt her eyes. She had to force herself to leave the safety of the house, and then she felt a gnawing paranoia about being out in the open. She slunk along beside fences, staying close to trees, ready to melt into the shadows. She felt like a shadow herself -or a ghost, in Honoria Fell's long white gown. She would frighten the wits out of anyone who saw her. But all her circumspection seemed to be wasted. There was no one on the streets to see her; the town might have been abandoned. She went by seemingly deserted houses, forsaken yards, closed stores. Presently she saw parked cars lining the street, but they were empty, too. And then she saw a shape against the sky that stopped her in her tracks. A steeple, white against the thick dark clouds. Elena's legs trembled as she made herself creep closer to the building. She'd known this church all her life; she'd seen the cross inscribed on that wall a thousand times. But now she edged toward it as if it were a caged animal that might break loose and bite her. She pressed one hand to the stone wall and slid it nearer and nearer to the carved symbol. When her outspread fingers touched the arm of the cross, her eyes filled and her throat ached. She let her hand glide along it until it gently covered the engraving. Then she leaned against the wall and let the tears come. I'm not evil, she thought. I did things I shouldn't have. I thought about myself too much; I never thanked Matt and Bonnie and Meredith for all they did for me. I should have played more with Margaret and been nicer to Aunt Judith. But I'm not evil. I'm not damned. When she could see again, she looked up at the building. Mr. Newcastle had said something about the church. Was it this one he meant? She avoided the front of the church and the main doorway. There was a side door that led to the choir loft, and she slipped up the stairs noiselessly and looked down from the gallery. She saw at once why the streets had been so empty. It seemed as if everyone in Fell's Church was here, every seat in every pew filled, and the back of the church packed solid with people standing. Staring at the front rows, Elena realized that she recognized every face; they were members of the senior class, and neighbors, and friends of Aunt Judith. Aunt Judith was there, too, wearing the black dress she'd worn to Elena's parents' funeral. Fell's Church was here, every seat in every pew filled, and the back of the church packed solid with people standing. Staring at the front rows, Elena realized that she recognized every face; they were members of the senior class, and neighbors, and friends of Aunt Judith. Aunt Judith was there, too, wearing the black dress she'd worn to Elena's parents' funeral. â€Å"†¦ share our remembrances of this very special girl,† he said, and he moved aside. Elena watched what happened after with the unearthly feeling that she had a loge seat at a play. She was not at all involved in the events down there on stage; she was only a spectator, but it was her life she was watching. Mr. Carson, Sue Carson's father, came up and talked about her. The Carsons had known her since she was born, and he talked about the days she and Sue had played in their front yard in the summer. He talked about the beautiful and accomplished young lady she had become. He got a frog in his throat and had to stop and take off his glasses. Sue Carson went up. She and Elena hadn't been close friends since elementary school, but they'd remained on good terms. Sue had been one of the few girls who'd stayed on Elena's side after Stefan had come under suspicion for Mr. Tanner's murder. But now Sue was crying as if she'd lost a sister. â€Å"A lot of people weren't nice to Elena after Halloween,† she said, wiping her eyes and going on. â€Å"And I know that hurt her. But Elena was strong. She never changed just to conform to what other people thought she should be. And I respected her for that, so much†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Sue's voice wobbled. â€Å"When I was up for Homecoming Queen, I wanted to be chosen, but I knew I wouldn't be and that was all right. Because if Robert E. Lee ever had a queen, it was Elena. And I think she always will be now, because that's how we'll all remember her. And I think that for years to come the girls who will go to our school might remember her and think about how she stuck by what she thought was right†¦Ã¢â‚¬  This time Sue couldn't steady her voice and the reverend helped her back to her seat. The girls in the senior class, even the ones that had been nastiest and most spiteful, were crying and holding hands. Girls Elena knew for a fact hated her were sniffling. Suddenly she was everybody's best friend. There were boys crying, too. Shocked, Elena huddled closer to the railing. She couldn't stop watching, even though it was the most horrible thing she had ever seen. Frances Decatur got up, her plain face plainer than ever with grief. â€Å"She went out of her way to be nice to me,† she said huskily. â€Å"She let me eat lunch with her.† Rubbish, Elena thought. I only spoke to you in the first place because you were useful in finding out information about Stefan. But it was the same with each person who went up to the pulpit; no one could find enough words to praise Elena. â€Å"I always admired her†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"One of my favorite students†¦Ã¢â‚¬  When Meredith rose, Elena's whole body stiffened. She didn't know if she could deal with this. But the dark-haired girl was one of the few people in the church who wasn't crying, although her face had a grave, sad look that reminded Elena of Honoria Fell as she looked on her tomb. â€Å"When I think about Elena, I think about the good times we had together,† she said, speaking quietly and with her customary self-control. â€Å"Elena always had ideas, and she could make the most boring work into fun. I never told her that, and now I wish I had. I wish that I could talk to her one more time, just so she would know. And if Elena could hear me now†-Meredith looked around the church and drew a long breath, apparently to calm herself-â€Å"if she could hear me now, I would tell her how much those good times meant to me, and how much I wish that we could still have them. Like the Thursday nights we used to sit together in her room, practicing for the debate team. I wish we could do that just once more like we used to.† Meredith took another long breath and shook her head. â€Å"But I know we can't, and that hurts.† What are you talking about? Elena thought, her misery interrupted by bewilderment. We used to practice for the debate team on Wednesday nights, not Thursdays. And it wasn't in my bedroom; it was in yours. And it was no fun at all; in fact, we ended up quitting because we both hated it†¦ Suddenly, watching Meredith's carefully composed face, so calm on the outside to conceal the tension within, Elena felt her heart begin to pound. Meredith was sending a message, a message only Elena could be expected to understand. Which meant that Meredith expected Elena to be able to hear it. Meredith knew. Had Stefan told her? Elena scanned the rows of mourners below, realizing for the first time that Stefan wasn't among them. Neither was Matt. No, it didn't seem likely that Stefan would have told Meredith, or that Meredith would choose this way of getting a message to her if he had. Then Elena remembered the way Meredith had looked at her the night they had rescued Stefan from the well, when Elena had asked to be left alone with Stefan. She remembered those keen dark eyes studying her face more than once in the last months, and the way Meredith had seemed to grow quieter and more thoughtful each time Elena came up with some odd request. Meredith had guessed then. Elena wondered just how much of the truth she'd put together. Bonnie was coming up now, crying in earnest. That was surprising; if Meredith knew, why hadn't she told Bonnie? But maybe Meredith had only a suspicion, something she didn't want to share with Bonnie in case it turned out to be a false hope. â€Å"Thank you,† Bonnie said, wiping her streaming eyes. She tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, either to regain her poise or to get inspiration. As she did, Elena saw something that no one else could see: she saw Bonnie's face drain of color and of expression, not like somebody about to faint, but in a way that was all too familiar. A chill crawled up Elena's backbone. Not here. Oh, God, of all times and places, not here. But it was already happening. Bonnie's chin had lowered; she was looking at the congregation again. Except that this time she didn't seem to see them at all, and the voice that came from Bonnie's throat was not Bonnie's voice. â€Å"No one is what they appear. Remember that. No one is what they appear.† Then she just stood there, unmoving, staring straight ahead with blank eyes. People began to shuffle and look at one another. There was a murmur of worry. â€Å"Remember that-remember-no one is what they seem†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Bonnie swayed suddenly, and Reverend Bethea ran to her while another man hastened up from the other side. The second man had a bald head that was now shining with sweat-Mr. Newcastle, Elena realized. And there at the back of the church, striding up the nave, was Alaric Saltzman. He reached Bonnie just as she fainted, and Elena heard a step behind her on the stair.

Untraditional Families - 1552 Words

Untraditional Families Naomi Gerstel and Natalia Sarksian have shed new light on the subject of minority families and their differences to the traditional nuclear families in their essay, â€Å"The Color of Family Ties.† According to their work, those of White descent make up most of all nuclear families which can be described as a father, mother and children all living in one household. Gerstel and Sarkasian point out that it is not always the case that, â€Å"Black and Latino/a, especially Puerto Rican families are more disorganized than White families, and that their families ties are weaker,† as they are often thought of by those in politics or the media (62). In fact Gerstel and Sarkasian write, â€Å"Blacks and Latinos/as, are as likely as†¦show more content†¦Jack was left out of his father’s nuclear family and he even goes on to say, â€Å"It was like we were strangers living a quarter mile from one another† (53). Many could argue that th ese circumstances are undesirable and frankly quite sad. In the poem â€Å"Aunt Ida Pieces a Quilt† by Dixon we do not see any evidence that there is any abandonment by parents and the poem demonstrates stronger family ties and support than those of â€Å"An Indian Story.† â€Å"Aunt Ida Pieces a Quilt† is a poem about an elderly woman who is stitching a quilt in memory of her great nephew, Junie, who has died of AIDS. It is a remarkable poem about a close knit family who comes together to help each other during hardship. Like â€Å"An Indian Story† this poem speaks of long family traditions and illustrates the importance of family. â€Å"My mama and my mama’s mama taught me†, says Aunt Ida (49). The two writings are also similar, in that, the main maternal figure also makes sacrifices for her family. This is illustrated when Aunt Ida helps sew a quilt for her family even though, as she describes, â€Å"My eyes ain’t good now and my fingers lock in a fist, they so eaten up with arthritis† (49).It is evident throughout the text that this family spends a great deal of time together and have a very strong bond. â€Å"That’s where Junie got his flair,† says Aunt Ida after she describes the secret that, she sews her name in red thread on the backside of every quilt that she has ever madeShow MoreRelatedFamily Structure And Children s Educational Success1280 Words   |  6 Pages Family Structure and Children’s Educational Success Taylor Yonce Sociology 2010-Section 012 Shannon McDonough 11/23/15 Introduction Nontraditional family structures have become more common and accepted throughout today’s society than in the past. This shift in family structure could have great implications for children and their future success. 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