Mentor Lita

Luisiana Rosales

English 1A

Mentor Lita

    Who is my mentor? When I first thought of this question I really couldn’t think of anyone specifically. Naturally I started to name off different people who have mentored other individuals in the past like, Socrates to Plate, Aristotle to Alexander the Great, Watson to Mary Jones Cover, etc. Each of these past mentors have made a great impact to their mentees by taking them under their wing and showing them the ropes of how to do something, by using their own knowledge as a guide to go off from. Eventually only one person came to my mind, who fit the criteria, my grandmother; Rosario, Or how I’ve come to call her over the years, Lita.
    Over the years Lita has served as a role model to all of her grandchildren altogether. As children she taught us the importance of education and hard work. She openly admits on more than one occasion that she regrets never taking her education more seriously because she has had to settle for temporary jobs such cleaning up after others. However with all the hardships she has had to deal with she doesn't allow it to bring her down. In addition, rather than shamefully hide her past mistakes, she instead teaches us from them.
    For example, she became a teenage mother at the tender age of 15. Fortunately, the father decided to marry her but proved unfaithful many times during their marriage. However Lita never allowed those grim events to change her outlook on life. She remained faithful to God and taught all of her grandchildren to always keep the faith even when hope no longer seems existent to us. Although attempting to hold onto this mentality seemed difficult, it still proved to help me through the most excruciating times.
    Furthermore, to this day Lita still remains to be an example to all of her grandchildren. With all of her life lessons and constant support, my amount of respect and gratitude to her almost seem frugal compared to all her years of timeless tutelage that in return I feel that I should follow her words of wisdom in gratitude for all the years she has aided me and hope to become as great as a person as she is.

Breaking Boundaries

Luisiana Rosales

English 1A

Frankie Lennon

Breaking Boundaries

    “Respect your elders! Respect your elders! Respect your elders!” As a child I was told this one too many times by one person who adored flaunting the fact he exited the womb earlier than I did.  Due to this constant reminder I was forced to always agree or do whatever my older brother Luis said. Whenever I would tell my parents about his insipid ways they would be blinded by his sudden look of innocence. In addition, whenever we were left alone at home, he was unfortunately in charge, which made me always resent him because he would view this responsibility as a power over me. As a result, we never saw eye to eye on anything, creating countless arguments over frivolous things.

Luckily, as Luis progressed into a pre-teen his foul behavior became visible to my parents. Although they reprimanded him for his rude behavior toward me; he would only momentarily cease his tyranny, remembering later to pick up where he left off. This laborious routine annoyed me at first, but as we continued to grow up this became normal to me and overtime I learned to fight back. With time the routine began to be tweaked. It usually started off with a calm conversation proceeded by a disagreement.  This was then followed by a bitter silence plagued of annoyance. Ending with us, forgetting the whole thing ever happened. With time we picked up where we left off. Gradually this lack of resolution became the resolution until one day it became too much for me to bare.

    It was the summer of 2005, and it was another blistering hot day. It was one of those days where no one wanted to go outside to face the dry air; air that by simply inhaling it just once caused one’s throat to become instantaneously dry, making one direly crave anything to drink. Thankfully my parents had invested in an air conditioning system years before, otherwise we would all be sitting in our sweat fanning ourselves excessively as sweat beads would run down our backs like insects crawling rapidly away from a light. On this afternoon my brother, grandmother, and I were all pleasantly sitting in our living room calmly watching TV on three separate couches that faced the television set perfectly. As he usually did, Luis sat across from my couch with his laptop resting on his lap, chatting with who knows who and doing who knows what. I, on the other hand, had the remote control and was looking for something “tolerable” to watch, because by this late in the summer one had already seen everything on TV, ensuing a tediously long search for new entertainment. My grandmother on the other hand kept going in and out of the kitchen as she prepared a cholesterol healthy lunch for my brother. Overall it was just another day, or so I thought.

    As I finally decided on a television show, of which I cannot recall the name of, Luis looked up and found the need to roll his eyes and mumble something. I decided to ignore his obvious bait to criticize me for something else. As I turned my attention to what I had chosen, Luis decided to blast a song that he knew all too well I disliked, because the lyrics and the song itself seemed idiotic to me. However Luis took it upon himself to poison the air with this obtrusive noise, and instead of yelling at him to turn it down I decided to ridicule him by asking him in a disgusted tone, “Why are you listening to that?” He immediately grew furious and shot back, asking why was I even watching TV if I had seen everything on TV. He then added that I should get a life already because my TV watching was getting annoying. I should have done the Christian thing and turned the other cheek, but instead I retorted with, “Look who’s talking; all you ever do is spend time on that computer listening to God-awful music.” He glared at me and subtly responded with, “rude.” I found this extremely hypocritical because he had decided to be inconsiderate of everyone by blasting music that only he enjoyed. Naturally I told him this which resulted in what seemed to be the next David & Goliath feud.
    As usual, Luis started spouting his elitist rhetoric that he was three years older than me and that he knew much more than I did, hence he was always in charge. To this I swiftly corrected him by saying that he was two and a half years older than me and that our grandmother was the one in charge, not him, so he should stop kidding himself with those delusions of grandeur. He looked at me bitterly saying that if this was the way I acted with my teachers that he felt sorry for them because I obviously did not know how to respect my elders. Without a second thought I responded that unlike him I respected them because they earned my respect whereas he was someone whom I would never respect. This rebuttal apparently sparked the fire to his dormant anger because he got up without missing a beat, and I got up ready to stand my ground. However in the time it took me to stand up, Luis had already pounced on me pushing me to the wall. I was distraught and was ready to kick him but instead he pushed me again, yelling out “dog.” Tears began to cloud my vision and I tried desperately to hold them back but I felt powerless. All those years as a kid I had believed myself to be so full of hidden strength, enough so that I could take on the world, the idea now seemed to diminish in the face of danger. I was no longer a lion ready to fight but a zebra ready to run for its’ life, and upon registering my situation I ran from my brother into the kitchen where my grandmother stood advising my brother in Spanish to calm himself and to think of his cholesterol. He shrugged off her concerns and spat out “dog” to me once more. This time my grandmother was here to witness Luis’ rage, and although she only understood simple English words, she understood fully what Luis was calling me and quickly penalized him for calling me as such.

During this moment of deliberation I quickly ran out of the kitchen through the hallway, and into my room, making sure to firmly close the door behind me; locking and barricading it with anything I could find in my room. As I scanned my towering handiwork looking for any flaws that could allow Luis any easy entry, I heard heavy footsteps reverberate in the hallway quickly followed by a slammed door adjacent to my room. Presumably Luis had been admonished for his behavior and later when my mother came home I would have to explain what had been said. However, hours later when my mother came home, my grandmother nor my brother made any reference to what had happened earlier. It was days later when my brother finally did speak to me and when he did, it was as if he was talking to someone he had never met before. Eventually his hostility melted away and he started to pick up on his usual habits forgetting that the whole thing ever happened, leaving yet another fight unresolved.

To this day, I continue to fight with my brother, and like all our other fights they remain unresolved. One key difference between our past fights and now is their frequency. When we were growing up, we lived together under the same household making the likelihood for an argument to start easily. When Luis moved out to attend college in Berkeley, somehow things just seemed to settle down between us. We didn’t find the need to disagree anymore. Eventually I realized that I needed to put aside my differences and notice that I wouldn’t be able to spend time at all with my brother like I used to. Simultaneously Luis came to this realization and we progressively began to disagree less when he visited. Realistically we do argue every now and then but the tendency has dramatically dropped. I believe it was because we both came to this understanding that we came to  appreciate each other more. Overall what really matters in life is having each other through the good and the bad times because in the end age is nothing but a number.

Commonewealth Effect

Luisiana Rosales

English

Frankie Lennon

Commonwealth Effect

    “The End,” “Dead End,” “Fín,” usually when you read or hear anything that finishes off it means there’s nothing else to see or do. However, I grew up on a dead end street and to me; it was never a dead end, but just another adventure waiting to begin. During the 1990s, as a child I wasn’t aware of any racism growing up. Instead the only thing I was focused on and deeply affected by was school and whether or not I was passing the first grade. Another thing I vividly remember about the 90’s was the amount of fun I had playing pretend with my next door neighbors. I met these neighbors a few weeks after I moved into the duplex on 446 N. Commonwealth Avenue, Los Angeles, California and had just started the first grade. Before the duplex I had just lived in another duplex in LA, but this Commonwealth duplex felt much different than all the others.
           For example, the Commonwealth duplex was no ordinary duplex. For one, it was built somewhat like a fun house. I say that because there were four families living in total in this duplex. If anything, it was much smaller than the structure of an apartment building, but the living space was much bigger than an apartment would be. There was a downhill driveway that led to a hidden parking lot behind the duplex. The neighborhood around the duplex was very much diverse. To the left of the building stood a rehab center for mature adults, to the right of us lay anther duplex that didn’t seem to have too much commotion happening in it. Across the street lay a dark abyss of hollow looking trees that you would believe to be haunted by the dark, by the ominous color it emitted, under all those trees lied a very much hidden house. As children, my brother Luis, my two neighbors, Judy and Abby would each make up stories about that house, we each dared each other to cross the street and touch the gate of this mystery house; however none of us had the guts or permission to cross the street and knock this dark colored gate. Further down the road stood a large faded pink bricked wall that said “dead end, not a through street.” Whatever lay beyond that wall always filled us with wonder and curiosity.
           Some of the people that I grew up with included my older brother Luis who always seemed to have an answer for every question anyone asked him. My neighbors Abby, who was the same age as me yet, had a terrible temper and a knack for lying, and Judy who was a year younger than my brother and seemed to have the caring and compassion of a mother. If someone were to look at us they’d never believe we’d all be able to get along or be able to stand one another. Nevertheless we were the best of friends, and every day I would be anxious for school to end, not for the obvious reasons, but for the pure joy I got from playing “pretend” with my neighbors and brother. Each day we came up with a different adventure such as pretending to be kings and queens of different countries who were also gifted with a vast amount of power. The next day we would probably decide to race our bikes down the hill that laid adjacent to our duplex and see who could brake the fastest. Fortunately we were all well taught so no one got hurt. Either way, everyday seemed like a new adventure just waiting to happen.
          When I contemplated all of those past events I noticed ethnicity and beliefs never really played a part in my friends. For one, my friends back on Commonwealth, Judy and Abby were raised Jewish whereas my brother and I were raised Catholic, however we never disputed or ridiculed one another based on our beliefs. Quite the contrary, instead we taught each other different traditions and practiced different things. As a seven year old I didn’t fully appreciate that experience but when I think back to it, I was lucky, lucky to have shared my beliefs with someone and learn about theirs in the process. Sadly this type of acceptance is no longer present around me because everyone is either afraid to state what they believe in or it’s a subject filled with argument. In result I grew up with a deep and profound understanding, because I was never afflicted by racism or any type of discrimination. As a result, as an older individual one of my many characteristics is acceptance. I accept everyone around me and I thrive to know more about them because we are all different and we each carry a new and unique way of thinking that has yet to be discovered because of all the existing prejudices.
           As I continue to grow I gladly take with me every day the adventures and lessons I learned on Commonwealth and instill it into whatever I partake in, because Commonwealth will not only be my past dwelling but will forever more be a part of me as I continue to explore new revenues. I’ll always remember the time I spent on Commonwealth not as a “dead end,” but as a new exciting adventure waiting to be fully reveled in.  

Changes

Luisiana Rosales

Eng 1A

Frankie Lennon

Changes

Change, it is a concept that is sometimes both feared and often sought after. In retrospect change usually means something is wrong with how you conduct yourself. Other times it just means there’s a better method of how to do something that is already competent; in other words, something for the better. When I thought about what I need to amend about myself, a rush of different things came to mind. Mostly physical appearances, but then again there’s only a select few individuals who can truly say that they are perfect in that department. How I envy those people who can honestly say that they find themselves perfect in every way, while people like me can’t help but notice the defects in myself. Overall, maybe that is my problem, I am too negative not only about my appearances but about everything as a whole.  What I need to change about myself is my overall negative outlook on life.

Conceivably my problem may not just be that I am too negative it may also be that I fear being let down. My fear of being let down may have been rooted when I was a child and I had expected something more than what actually occurred. Some people view this as natural because children always have high expectations because of their immense imagination, but I disagree as a child I knew the difference between what could happen and what couldn’t. For example when I was younger I had hoped my parents would purchase me a certain toy for my birthday because I had begged profusely beforehand for it, instead my parents got me the opposite of what I wanted. At the time I had to be grateful but something like this occurred on more than one occasion. So when the plausible didn’t happen my negativity set in to replace the feeling of disappointment.

In addition, if I wasn’t such a pessimist all the time then maybe certain obstacles in my life wouldn’t seem as dreadful as I believe them to be. But, because I’ve always believed that if I were to expect the worst then maybe the reality may not be as bad as I expected it to be. My expectation of the worst has always somehow aided me to never get my hopes up too high, because I expect that nothing I expect will ever come true. By having this mentality if the actual event that I predicted would occur, it just proved my point to never get my hopes up, fueling my pessimistic mentality.

However, as a child I had seemed to balance the idea of something good occurring but measured it well with a good sense of realism. For all one knows if I were to go back to that same mentality of my childhood self then I would be taking the chance of actually believing that something good may occur then perhaps my negativity would clear up with time. But suffice to say I shouldn’t take up all my old beliefs as a child otherwise I may begin to lay out cookies for an old fat man in a red suit. Instead I should make the transition to speculate for the worst but to hope for the best.

"Memory"

This week my English Professor, Frankie Lennon has assigned us to answer a couple questions concerning a chapter from her memoir, The Mee Street Chronicles: Straight Up Stories of a Black Woman's Life, the chapter is called, "Memory."

6. (a) What topic is the writer writing about? (b) If there is a main idea, point it out in your own words. Is it directly stated or implied?

In this chapter Lennon discusses her past detailing from where she grew up, moved to and what she did for fun. She mainly focused on many of her past memories, therefore I believe the topic the writer is attempting to convey to the reader  the importance of memories. This idea is presented repeatedly when she describes her life growing up on Mee Street, and her move to 1919 Dandridge Avenue. Lennon then concludes the chapter by stating that memories make up who you are and inform others who you are as well.

7. (a) How does the author organize this piece-- what modes of development are used? (c) Use you hand or notes on Transitions to identify the words or the phrases used to make transition within a paragraph.

Lennon utilizes description, cause and effect, as well as a narration.Throughout the essay the author uses words such as, "By, At first, In spring, Which is why, Sometimes, Back then" which are all considered a sequence of events. Therefore the narration is provided in sequential order.

9. Choose a paragraph from the essay. Pick out a word to describe the tone of voice you hear. (b) identify one thing that the author values. Choose a paragraph that reveals this value. (c) Identify a feeling and pick a word to describe it. Define the word. Choose a paragraph that reveals this feeling.

On page 4, the first paragraph the author conveys a voice of loneliness  she again makes a reference to this loneliness  on page 5  the third paragraph, when she discusses her departure away from a neighborhood that contained people she could identify with. Instead the author is presented with people who don't have children her age. Leaving her alone without anyone to really relate to. Later Lennon broaches up her new companion being a new puppy, but in the end she labels herself a loner because of her lack of communication with anyone. One thing the author may value is the gift of literature, on page 6 she discloses her great fondness for reading and how she could completely lose track of time while reading. In addition to valuing literature, she communicates her appreciation for memories because they allow her to know who she is as well as depict who she is to others.

Cofer's Gift

In Judith Ortiz Cofer's memoir, Woman in Front of the Sun: On Becoming a Writer, I've decided to answer the following questions based on her selection of "The Gift of a Cuento."


1. I liked (something) because . . .
I liked Cofer's anecdote about her uncle because it explained how Cofer may have been influenced by her uncle to pursue the art of storytelling for the sake of others. In addition I liked the uncle's somewhat provocative story about a woman, because it really gave me an example of how the uncle delivered his story with such enthralling details that it kept me captivated to know what would happen next.


3. I found (something) interesting from a writer's point of view because . . .
I found Cofer's description of her uncle interesting from a writer's point of view because she utilizes adjectives very eloquently to pain a vivid picture of her vivacious uncle. As a writer, often times describing certain things may seem too intricate, but Cofer harnesses the skill of detailing that it serves as an epitome for depiction.


5. What bored me was (something) because . . .
What bore me the most about this selection was Cofer's leading events to Christmas day, because she only briefly mentioned what her uncle gave her for Christmas. Moreover, Cofer could have gone into more detail of her disappointment towards her uncle's appearance at Christmas and his quick departure. Cofer coud have shared how she felt let down by her uncle's actions.

In conclusion, "The Gift of a Cuento" was partially interesting. I liked that Cofer echoed the intro in her conclusion of how a cuento helps someone, because in the end, Cofer gave her uncle joy through her own stories.

"Taking the Macho" Questions

In Judith Ortiz Cofer's memoir, Woman in Front of the Sun: On Becoming a Writer, I've decided to answer the following questions based on her selection of "Taking the Macho."

1. I liked (something) because . . .

I liked how Cofer on page 69 suggests to the reader to liberate the personified "macho." By advertising everyone to conquer the macho, one is faced to confront certain syllogisms and completely dominate the long lasting stereotype that all girls are "girly" and all boys are "macho."

2. I didn't like something because . . . 

I didn't like that some of the said history of women warriors/chiefs died off through time, because maybe some of the stereotypes would evaporate if the now generation knew what they were capable of doing.

3. I found (something) interesting from a writer's point of view because . . .

I found Cofer's description of conquering the macho as a matador would fight a ball an interesting metaphor, because although a writer may not be physically fighting anyone or anything specifically, when you write you have to conquer your fear of what others might think and instead write from the heart.

4. I found (something) interesting from the reader's point of view because . . .

 I found the storytelling in this selection interesting from a reader's point of view because Cofer gives a brief fictional story about how women were once in control. For example, although the idea is demeaning to marriage, when she discussed how women decided when they desired "to lie with their husband," it showed a shift in power and over all breaking the generalized idea that men are always in power.

7. I learned a couple of important things from reading this. The first was _____ and I think that's important because . . .  The second was ____ and that's important because . . . 

In this selection I learned a couple of important things, such as that we learn from society, that men are meant to be "macho" but women can also be "macho" without having the supposedly necessary anatomy. In addition, I also learned that as a write it is necessary to conquer the "macho" because if we continuously fear failure we will be ultimately doomed to never claim the "macho."

In conclusion, overall I enjoyed the essay because I could relate to Coffer's feelings of restraint as she grew obligated to follow the old fashioned Hispanic traditions of young girls acting and being feminine. I hope to follow her advice of trampling the "macho" and break free from these outdated traditions by finally claiming the "macho" for myself.