"Twelve"

click here to view my presentation on "The Twelve."

Weep, Sympathize, and Smile My Beloved Country

Weep, Sympathize, and Smile, my Beloved Country

 

 

Throughout Cry the Beloved Country, Stephen Kumalo's personality is constantly changing. Kumalo's character starts out emotionally stable, but is driven to his breaking point as the life that left him abruptly exploded, once his son Absalom and sister Gertrude travel to a far away city. Stephens’s characteristics are portrayed extremely accurately for someone who has had such troubles and sorrows. His profession and guilt are his weaknesses, while his hopefulness, generosity, and forgiveness are positive aspects for his personality.

 

Stephen Kumalo is a priest from a small town in South Africa. He and his family lived a quiet, peaceful life, completely faithful in God. Every Sunday Kumalo would preach to his audience, providing faithful words of advice and great hopefulness for the broken. However, thoughts of fear trickled through his mind. It had been so long since both his sister and son went to the crime ridden city of Johannesburg. Neither of the two had written him letters or left any trace of their existence aside from memory. Now, Kumalo receives a letter explaining that his sister is sick and is in need of care. So, Kumalo travels to the grungy over populated city and finds that he can trust no stranger. As soon as Stephen steps off of his train, he is robbed of a large sum of money by a teenage boy. Already feeling overwhelmed, he finds more disappointment as he finds that his sister Gertrude is a prostitute and has made her living by making and selling bad liquor. Later as Kumalo finds his sister and her young child, living in awful conditions, he has enough heart to take them into the home he is staying in and very generously buys them new cloths. Soon after, Stephen receives news that his son is living in a nearby town. With much enthusiasm and hopefulness, Kumalo searches for his long lost child. To his dismay, Absalom has long since been away from the place he was told to search.

 

Disheartened by the news his son has disappeared once again, Kumalo keeps searching. He searches for ages, getting closer to the trail, but then having it become shut off again. Finally, through much hardship and loss of vigor, Stephen finds that his son is in prison for murder. Kumalo was too late. He is so burnt up inside with guilt and depression, that he becomes unfaithful to God. Hopeless and angered, he begins to become a different person. He is changed by the constant flow of disappointment and fear. He no longer prays to God for help or forgiveness. He sulks and feels sorry for himself. However, he doesn’t give up hope for the well being of his son and his unborn grandson.

 

Like any parent would do, Stephen does everything in his power to lessen his son’s jail sentence, and mend the broken family bonds that he, his son, and sister have created.

 

Although Kumalo felt angered that his son had killed a man, stole, and got a girl pregnant that he wasn’t married to, he felt more ashamed of it because he was a preacher. He felt guilty for is sons actions because he had not raised him better. His guilt led him to fear, clogging his mind with hopelessness and shame that he had failed as a parent. However, Stephen Kumalo forgives his son for the wicked deeds he had done, and by doing so, realizes it was not his fault as a parent. With this newfound strength and hope, Kumalo prepares a lawyer to defend his son from a harder life in jail.

 

A Forest of Memories

          We followed the bright red trail through a jungle of anticipation. Leaves and twigs grabbed at my arms and legs. “What if it kept running?” I asked my Grand paw. He looked at me with his wise, sky blue eyes and laughed. “With a shot like that she’ll go down sooner or later.” Although he too looked a little worried about finding the creature in this thicket.

            My great grandmother was the kindest woman I’ve ever known. At the age of four, I was her second great grandchild. Even though my Nana said she loved all her grandchildren equally, there was no fooling anyone that I was her favorite. “He’s got that Smith way about him”, she would say. I can remember her telling me the stories of when her husband (L.C. Smith) had hard times on the farm, and she had to help pick cotton. Her rough worn hands Proved as evidence. Some days, she would gather all her great grandchildren up, and we would build forts in her living room, pretending to ward off soldiers or dragons that had escaped from the patch of forest behind her house.

            He zipped through my Nanas yard, almost hitting me and knocking over the sandcastle I had spent many laborious hours on. My distant cousin was a mean, selfish, brute with an ego to big for his twelve year old body. He stomped across the yard fix his grip on my shirt, his red hair seemingly on fire. With his other hand he grabbed the remnants of my sand castle and thrust it in my face. Then he started yelling at me for making a sand castle in “his riding space.” He pushed my down, scraping my knee. As a seven year old, I had taken too much from him. Don’t cry Tanner, now is not the time. Now is a time for vengeance. I popped up from the ground, buzzing with rage. My cousin started laughing. In his fit of laughter I saw an opening. His face was bent at just the right angle. Whack! I saw red. I wasn’t sure if it was my rage, my cousin’s hair, or the sea of blood gushing from his nose. Before he could assess the situation, I ran to the woods.

            My grandfather’s snow white hair blew in the rough winter wind. It was my eleventh birthday. He had taken me out to the patch of woods behind my Nanas house to teach me to shoot. He loaded his old blued and scratched western style revolver. Previously, he set up glass bottles on old tree stumps. He showed me how to aim, and how to control my breathing. I took his gun and set a bottle in my sights. I pulled the trigger. Such force exploded from the barrel, creating a swirl of fire and ferocity. The bottle shattered into bits of light in the winter sun.

            That sunset created the most magnificent display of colors I had ever seen. I had spent all day in the clouds of a sixteen foot tree stand. The wind chilled my bones. I turned to the sound of something moving in a thicket behind me. “This is it”, I thought to myself. I slowly raised my rifle. It was a present from my grandfather on my fifteenth birthday. I sat motionless in the ephemeral rays of the sinking sun. It was going to get dark soon. Suddenly, a Doe steeped out to my left. She sniffed the air and stared right at me. My heart leapt. She finally lowered her head. I held my breath, willing my shaking limbs to be still. I aimed for her heart. BOOM! She ran. She ran into the forest. The forest full of memories.

Dr. Suess`s Persuation

At the age of about three, my mother started reading to me every night before bed time. It started off as just a way to get me to fall asleep, but I eventually took interest as to what the little scribbles and brightly colored pages of that nights book meant. So, I listened more intently, and began to follow along with stories such as Green Eggs and Ham, or Clifford the Big Red Dog. I watched with amazement as my mother flung words off the page with a twitch of her mouth. I knew then that I wanted to learn to read.

One night I became tired of my mother always reading to me, so I decided I would make an attempt at understanding what the scribbles meant, and try to form words out of them. With great travail, I had no success.However, after many nights of rehearsing Green Eggs and Ham with my mother, I fervently and successfully recited the entire story.

Later on in my life around the age of 8, reading became an every day occurrence in my classes and at home. That year, I can remember the librarian apologising to me that there were no more Magic Tree House books on the shelves for me to check out. That day I went home heavy hearted that I had nothing to read. However, upon the arrival of my home, I noticed my older brother heaving a large book out of his backpack and opening the great abyss of paper and words. From the time I got out of the car to the time we reached the garage door, I never took my eyes off that book. Once I got inside and did my chores, I quickly ran to my brother to ask him about the book. It was Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone. I begged and begged for him to let me read it, but he never gave in. So, with much discomfort and shame, I spent an entire night without a book to read.

A few weeks later I noticed my Dad reading the Harry Potter books as well. I would often sit beside him and read bits and pieces of the story. I thought the story's were amazing. I mean, who could believe that the little kid with a scar turned out to be a wizard! He eventually caught on to what I was doing, so one day he surprised me with a trip to the book store, and a whole new set of Harry Potter books.

Once I got into Jr. High, I had forgotten all those nights of Dr. Seuss. I became more interested in books like The Hunger Games, and the Percy Jackson series. I eventually became uninterested in reading. Nothing really striked my imagination. I stopped reading on my own. The only time I would ever read is when it was required for school work. Nowadays I still don't read unless its required, however I need to get back into the habit of cracking open a book every now and then.

                                                                                                        - Tanner Bratton

The Astahmatic Hunter

Iam an astahmatic hunter
I wonder why they cant just give that rabbit some cereal
I hear the wistle of wings flying overhead
I see my faithful comapion raise her eyes to the sky
I want to make an impact on peoples lives
I am an astahmatic hunter

I pretend im a tree
I feel the icy water of a winter feild running through my veins
I break the ice cliging to my boots
I worry my 4-wheeler wont start
Icry for the lost soldiers who dfended our country
I am an astahmatic hunter

I understand not, the concept of being a vegetarian
I say spray and pray
I dream to fly
I try to be the best that I can be
I hope it will stay cold forever
I am an astahmatic hunter

Angels Need Insurance Too

Wouldn’t it be magnificent if everyone wasn’t so caught up in there selfish, greedy ways? Then there would be no need for insurance, money, or even politics for that matter. A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings is a magically realistic short story written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The story is about a very old man, who is caught flying in a storm (haven’t we all been there) and crash lands in the courtyard of a man named Pelayo and his wife Elisenda. Pelayo and his wife are shocked by this terrible occurrence, but somehow (like most Politicians these days) find a way to make money off of the poor and helpless.

            It’s quickly decided that this man is a fallen angel. Afterward, the old man is,” locked up with the hens in a wire chicken coop.”(This doesn’t sound at all like hospitality). Soon, all the towns and cities throughout the countryside are hearing about the,” fallen angel.”  Pelayo and his wife are becoming wealthier by the minute. People from all over are traveling to catch just a glimpse of the supposed angel. The angel, however, isn’t responding as enthusiastically as hoped for some. It’s either because he’s locked in a chicken coop, or the fact that with Geico he could’ve saved fifteen percent or more on his insurance.

            Thereafter, a new sight came into town. “The woman who had been changed into a spider”, acquired everyone’s attention. Like kids with new toys, the townsfolk left the old man all by his lonesome at the chicken coop. Some time after that, Pelayo and his family are living large in their ill gained mansion, while the old man,” went dragging himself here and there like a stray dying man.” “Elisenda shouted that it was awful living in a hell full of angels.”(I wonder how the angel is feeling at this point). This goes to show just how people can be so washed up in their self pity, that they over look how blessed and healthy they are.

            In time, the old man grew back some of the bigger feathers on his gigantic wings. Eventually, the old man makes some attempts flying again. It starts off pretty ridiculously, resembling the effect of a dog running into a glass door. Then the angel finally takes flight. He’s free once again, away from the insensitive wants and needs of everyday life.   

Tanner Bratton