Jerry & Jeanette: how upbringing affects a kid's personality

“All happy families are alike, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”, wrote Leo Tolstoy in Anna Karenina. On the contrary, unhappy families also have something in common and it’s the family that leaves an unchangeable impact on the children’s personality development .The main characters in the Glass Castle and A Mother in Mannville, Jeanette and Jerry, are kids who are raised in the similar kind of confusing growing environment. That similar background contributes to their like characters. In the following paper, I will compare these two children and see how their upbringing shapes their identity.

First, both of the children lived in poor conditions in a low social class. For Jeanette, she lived in a car with her parents and two siblings. They had to change the parking places over times. They couldn’t afford a house, even a pillow. Her father explained that no pillow was his plan and Indians did not sleep with pillows and stood straight. Jeanette’s poverty is also clear when she enjoyed the atmosphere in the hospital which is generally an uncomfortable experience for average people. The living conditions show the horrible economic status her family had. In Jerry’s perspective, he was an orphan and lived in an orphanage. The description of his clothes is the clear proof: “He wore overalls and a torn shirt, and was barefooted.” He liked the writer’s gloves and wanted to buy one pair for his “mother” with the money he earned through hard work. Apart from that, he made a living on chopping woods and the money was used not only just for him but the whole orphanage.

Secondly, the differing parental styles were resulted in this upbringing condition. Jeanette’s parents showed less caring and help in her growth. She learned how to cook hotdogs when she was only four while her mother was immersed in her painting and ignored the housework. When they visited her in hospital, her brother had fallen off and cracked his head but they decided not to take him to hospital. For Jerry, he was an orphan and sent to the orphanage when he was four years old. He grew little but had to take care of others. He chopped woods for years in the orphanage for the other kids’ living as well. Nobody would care about his inner feeling but he had to take care of others. The writher was the first one to appreciate his help and excellent work and he was shocked for he could not say a word like “My pleasure” to express his feeling to the writer.

Last but not least, the personalities of these two characters are similar due to the similar family background and parental style. Both of them were independent and brave. Jeanette could cook at three and Jerry could chop wood and did better than those big boys. What’s more, they both longed for care and love. Jeanette was moved by the doctors and nurses’ caring, thinking she could live in hospital forever. Jerry opened his mind to the writer and cared about her in details after she showed the appreciation toward his “splendid work”. After knowing the writher was about to leave, he behaved abnormally and “was not Jerry anymore”. Finally he found someone cared about him and could offer the love he needed but suddenly it disappeared. It is totally acceptable for his inappropriate behavior.

In conclusion, how the family can affect a child’s character development is obvious. The brave, optimistic and independent personalities of these children were born of the poor economic condition and their desire for love resulted from the careless and cold parental raising style. The family education is important to the mental and physical growth of children. It can build the foundation of a mature human; and it can also affect a child from within.

Remember, “Merry Christmas”

Artist: Florine Stettheimer, American, 1871–1944

Christmas

1.The groom

“It’s here.”

A fabulous Christmas tree is standing at the center of this square, with shiny lights and various decorations. But I only feel the loneliness spreading in the air, invading my cold skins and bones. With quiet street and closed shops, the glorious Christmas tree reminds me of a dressed-up kid who is waiting for his parents to pick him up but it seems they have forgotten him.

Yes, today is Christmas. But don’t say it out loud.

I helped these two young ladies off the horse and watched them walk towards the Christmas tree, one was joyful but the other was in sorrow, and stood there with my dear horse John, keeping patient and waiting.

Though I like the smell of money, I have to admit it’s weird. People in this town do not celebrate Christmas anymore since they think Christmas is a silly and boring man-made holiday. In fact, they do not celebrate any holiday. The money, the beautiful jewelry, the spacious estates… Achievements, in this realistic and business world, like these are more worthy to hold a carnival and enjoy a feast.

I expected to have a rest for me and John and had no idea someone would order my service tonight. I would never choose to go outside and work in this frozen dawn, but, well, I am just a mere groom. I also want to be rich and need to work.

My customers are pretty, quiet and kind. But they give me a destination which is hard to find

“A Christmas tree? Really? ”

They did not respond but threw me a bunch of green cash.

What can I say? I bent my knees, jumped on the horse and started our adventure, which seems ridiculous, to find a Christmas tree.

2. Maria

Do you know what Christmas is?

It’s the snow, a white and pure spirit, consisting of coldest heart.

It’s the light, delightful and mild, guiding for the dream paradise.

It’s the laughter around families, the eye contact between lovers, the father and child holding hands…

I can tell you every detail of what Christmas is supposed to be, but there is no such thing as Christmas in my real life.

But I know once upon a time, people in this town did celebrate Christmas. I remember that was a freezing and sparkly night, when everyone joined in the festivities, kissed each other’s cheeks and said: “Merry Christmas”.

Mom was sitting in the armchair and read Santa Claus’s story to me and my dear sister, and the pink and light yellow flames in the fireplace. Dad was reading poetry, giggling about how childish we were.

“Maria, you know there are no elves in real world right?”

“Don’t listen to your father.” Mom interrupted, “Of course there are.”

Dad smiled and kissed mom’s forehead.

“Yes, your mom is always right.”

That night was peaceful and quiet. The remaining memory was mom’s last bed story and father’s warm hands touching my face. At that time I did not realize the world would be totally changed after tomorrow’s sunrise.

My sister has not been willing to tell me what happened on that morning until now. When I woke up, only she was sitting on my bed and sobbing. I asked why she was crying and where were mom and dad. She quickly wiped away her tears and touched my face, like father always did.

“Get up. I made you breakfast.”

Since then, I have never seen Christmas in my home.

3.Sister

When Maria asked me whether she could see a Christmas tree this year, I thought she was kidding. Even though I disapproved, she still kept trying to convince me. I told her I couldn’t find one for nobody celebrated Christmas anymore, but she said:

“You are the richest and most beautiful lady in this town. No, in the world!” she smiled with innocence, “Most importantly, you are my beloved sister. You will do anything for me.”

She hugged my neck, kissed my cheek and refused to stop.

I finally agreed.

I remember father told me that there was a groom whose horse named John knew many secret places in this town. On the day of snowy Christmas, I sent my assistant to search for him and he/she found him in his modest apartment He was surprised that we wanted to find a Christmas tree but agreed to help us after I showed him the amount of payment.

Money heals everything.

We got on his carriage and felt the frozen ice crystals on our faces, hands and eyes. Suddenly, I felt tired of supporting this family alone. I missed my childhood with my whole family. The message father left for me that long-ago night still hurt my heart. It said:

“Take care of your sister and yourself. We have to leave. Sorry.”

After years I learned that they had suffered in the great depression, and people found their bodies on a mountain. They lost all their money and chose to avoid the following horrible consequences by taking their own lives.

Tears filled my eyes but I kept smiling for my little girl. I hid my sorrows and laughed with her. Then I felt a shot of mild light kissing my icy eyes. I looked toward the light. A marvelous sunset was illuminating a huge Christmas tree, with pink clouds and an unimaginably pink sky, like a heaven or a paradise.

I got off the carriage and was shocked by what I saw. I walked step by step and felt my parents were with me. Mom sat on the bench and dad smiled at her, like they never left me.

Then I heard mom say: 

“Remember to say Merry Christmas, my little girl.”

Love Is Not A Spark

The ticking of the clock mirrored my heartbeats, counting every remaining second I could squeeze. My fingers were flying over the keyboard, my eyes were flashing over the complex material, but my brain was on strike. The deadline was coming closer and closer, and I was left with only a few poor words and my messy thoughts. 

It was 9:20 p.m. - only 2 hours left to submit my final essay for this semester. The fear of a delayed submission controlled every cell of my body but there was nothing to do. Nobody wanted to be the person who tortured themselves on New Year's Eve, a harmonious and peaceful night when all the family members and relatives gather together to celebrate the start of a new year. Unfortunately, I had to be.

I heard the washing machine running and mom was busy mopping the floor, but I didn’t have a second to care about that. All my attention was on my unfinished paper, until I heard mom’s order to help her do the laundry.

"Could you please wait for a second? I am busy now."

I managed to ignore my mother’s voice for two minutes but then it rang in my ears again:

"Stop working and come here NOW!"

I looked at my computer screen, thoroughly uninterested in explaining my current horrible situation to her. At that moment I did not recognize that my silence would turn into an emotional disaster two hours later

I didn’t respond to her and she finally came to my desk and asked what I was doing.

"My homework." I answered with no eye contact.

She wanted me to explain more but I ignored her words and still stared at the computer screen.

"What do you mean by that?"

I stopped my work suddenly and raised my head to meet her face. All right, now I could hear and feel the tension between us.

"Why are you still wasting time on it? You have had no progress the whole day. "

I suddenly lost my ability to have a conversation with my dear mom. The words were flowing in my mind but I just couldn’t let them out of my month. I wanted to tell her this class’s professor was so hard to cope with, I had read the tons of paper for this essay, and that I had limited time to submit my final work. But I couldn’t manage to find the words under her untrusting and interrogative eyes.

“I have had enough of your silence.”

She left and shut the door with no more words to say .

Tears flowed from  my eyes quietly. I could hear the sound as they hit the desk. I also heard the sound of sobbing from another bedroom – my mother’s bedroom - my persistent, tough, and gentle mom.

I walked out of my room, stepped quietly across the hall , pushed the bedroom door open and whispered: “I am ready to talk.”

That night we did not watch the Spring Festival Gala. Instead, the laundry water, the washing machine, the tears, the laughter, mom’s caring words and my pressure was released with the scene of fireworks. All the unpleasant memories and my unwillingness to communicate were left behind in the old year. The long, deep and moving conversation as I helped my mom finish the laundry was a key to opening the heavy door of my heart.

The firework sparks were sometimes just like our emotions – appearing for just a moment but hurting for a long time. But as mom told me that night, the people who love you will always be there, never disappearing.

Listen to the Silence - Yale Center of British Art

I heard thousands of voices screaming, though nobody was talking when I entered the Yale Center of British Art. The sculptures, the paintings, the photos… all of them are talking about the stories, the feelings, and the myths behind themselves. Especially when I walked into the Long Gallery on the fourth floor, the scream of voices was deafening.

More than two hundred paintings, including those of beaches and coastlines, the British Empire, the British theater, families, gardens, “the horse and sporting art,” “into the woods,” portraits of artists, war and the military, and “women of distinction.”, fill the both sides of walls. My eyes were too busy to attend all of them. When the sunshine climbing on the walls, the true story they want to express exposed to the audience.

In the middle of the Long Gallery, sculptures of horses and figures are displayed on the grey tables or pillars. The luster shows the lively spirits hiding in the bronze and marble. Every figure is not frozen but it has just stopped moving momentarily, like a static movie frame. In a photo of an army at war, a soldier blows his horn to call on his people to fight. All of the figures in this sculpture are lively and this moment is captured by the artist.

Though the lonely chair is not a work of art, it implies another feeling of silence. Like a man waiting for his beloved girl, this chair is waiting for a person who can appreciate and touch the truth of art. I wish I could have more time in Yale Galleries, sit on the chair, enjoy the pleasantly warm sunlight, and listen to the silence from the art works.