The blue Velvet chairChance! Missy!” I heard for the back door, my poppop yelling, “Get in here!” The screen door screeching behind him as the dogs followed in front. The sun, shining through the back screen door, leaving the heavier, first door, wide open. My older brother and I, watching 90s game shows in my pop pop’s dark blue, velvet-feeling recliner with our little brother sitting in between us. A calm Chincoteague, Virginia setting sun in our peripheral vision, with voices and steps in the background. I’m more interested to overhear the background, than what is playing on the television. “Cash!” I hear, “Get over here!” Thinking, to myself, who’s Cash? “Dad!” I heard my aunt say from the living room, his name is Chance!” Hearing my family laugh amongst themselves in the other room, I decided to get up and join them. I see my grandfather having an ice cold glass of Pepsi given to him by my grandmother, sitting in an upright rocking chair, grabbing, the drink from her hands with a subtle, “thank you” given to her. His hands shaking, bringing it up to his lips, always wondering, why his hands would always shake like that? Later to find out it was his Essential Tremors. Admiring this view of him, sitting next to my mother’s side, with the huge air vent in the floor, behind him, separating the bathroom for the living room. It hurting like hell to step on it barefoot.
The long hallway room at the end of the house. A door that goes to the backyard on the left wall and a table meant for breakfast and newspapers right before it. At the very corner of the room, his giant velvet blue reclining chair and flat screen tv with his white new balance brand looking shoes next to him. A couch to the left of his chair, the family would sit there. If you were lucky, you would be able to find a spot on his chair on his lap, With as many grand children that could fit on it with him, watching 90s nickelodeon tv game shows. Occasionally getting up, when he asked one of us to put the dogs on the leash and let them outside. May 2nd, 2006. One of my aunts, (that i’m closest with) pulls into my driveway in the afternoon, with her friend in the passenger seat. “Hi Aunt Chris!” “Not now, where’s your mother?” I was taken aback by this, since she usually greets with me with a more loving tone in her voice. I tell her that my mother was on the third floor of the house, taking care of my little brother. She races up the stairs, and has my mommom follow. She lives with us, follow her up the stairs. (It may help if I explain the story of my family a little more. My mommom and my poppop were married and had two children, my Aunt Chris and my mother, Robyn. They were divorced after some time, but my mommom never remarried. My poppop, however, had a child with two other women as well. He moved to Virginia and married a woman we call, mommom Gail, also having two children with her. So, in total, I have 7 aunts from him and two official grandmothers.) My aunt’s friend, Stephanie, took me into another room on the second floor of the house, in my parents bedroom. All of a sudden I heard incredible screeches from the room above me, saying,”Oh my God” “Why” “Why God, why?” and all around just pure screams coming from that room. I start panicking. When you hear your mom in such a state of hysteric, you automatically think the worst, My mind went straight to my dad. He is a police officer in the City of Chester. Where is he? He went to work didn’t he? Why is he not back? Is he okay? Did he get shot and killed? He must of. I think my dad is dead. I start crying a great deal of emotion, screaming and crying. However, I’m still very greatful to this day, that Stephanie, who was with me, reassured me that my dad was okay over and over. But as a child, I never believed in the tooth fairy, the easter bunny, or even Santa for that matter! So, believing her in this instance of my father being okay without proof? Quite impossible to say the least. My mom called both me and my brother up to the room upstairs. I left Stephanie's side and bolted up the stairs to see my mom. I look around the basketball themed room with the slanted roof, and I see my aunt, my mom, and my grandmother with blotchy faces and tears dried on their faces. My mom sat me down on her lap, and carefully explained to me that my poppop had a heart attack earlier that night and died suddenly. As a seven year old child, I couldn’t help to be relieved that it wasn’t my own dad, but hearing that your pop pop had died was not something you want to hear either. I started crying, immediately questioning the how and whys as any child would do in that situation. The funeral was lead by a fake looking grass ramp up to the front door of the building. I remember staring it down, memorizing the texture and the patterns in the ramp as my mother tried to uncomfortably explain to me, with tears in her eyes that, “pop pop's body is going to look like he is sleeping in a box, but he is up in heaven forever now.” Something that you don’t quite want to process what that looks like at seven years old. Probably why I remember the fake grass looking ramp so clearly. I was so focused on not hearing a word anyone had to tell me, I drew my solid attention to that ramp. My cousins and I stayed in the car at the burial, but we were forced to come out of the car at the last bit, because he loved his grandkids so much, he would've wanted it that way. Trying not to cry in front of my cousins, I made sure my cousins got out of the car first, before I would even unbuckle my seatbelt, indicating I was not going until they were. I opened the passenger door and proceeded to walk on the gravel towards the sight with my aunt leading the way and my cousins trailing behind. They played his favorite music as we were told to place flowers onto the coffin. I look over to my left and look at my mom, holding onto my dad in a pure sorrow goodbye to her dad. This was the first day I ever saw my dad cry. It’s not something you want to see as a young child, so I broke down at the sight of seeing my parents, clinging to my grandmother, who I saw to be such strong parents, to be so weak in that moment of sadness. As I write this, with tears slowly making its way down my face, I remember the memories of that house and the screen door that annoyed me to no end and how it would never shut all the way. I never thought as a child, that it would come a memory that won’t leave my mind as a young adult. In the moment, I hated that obnoxious door. Now, I realize, it’s the sound of him welcoming him into our house, and waving goodbye when we left. Still being able to hear the door close by itself behind him, when we were pulled out of the driveway. “Snake eyes! Snake eyes! My poppop would yell, as he taught all of his grandchildren, very patiently might I add, the game of Monopoly. Never having any of the fat pieces off of a steak on anyone’s plate because he had asked for them all. His giant round belly, his slightly balding head. Not letting any of his grandchildren leave without, “giving poppop a hug”and telling us he loves us. I yearn for the days back of having him around again, hearing his voice again. Hearing that stupid door again with his waving signal of hello and goodbye from it. Needing to know what his voice sounds like again, but having only certain phrases I can put his voice to. That long hallway room. The breakfast table? now filled with clutter. The blue reclining chair? Gone. I always relate that chair to him because most of my memories with him are in that chair. The chair that’s gone? Represents him. The chair I won’t see again. A yearning for the smell of the chair that smells like him and his grandchildren being loved. The air outside blowing in through the crappy screen door. Walking in the house and knowing exactly where he is. His beloved chair never moved from the same spot. Hearing the blue velvet chair speak to its grandchildren to come give hugs and watch whatever was on the big screen, three feet in front. Along with the couch and the beloved tv. The side door to the yard? Closed off. I haven’t seen the backyard in years. I see the old dog leash from the window still attached to the ground so the dogs would never run off. Every monopoly board game I come across reminds me of him. When there’s fat pieces on my streak. I try to enjoy them like he did, but I just eventually throw them away. Every time I pick up a pair of dice. “Snake eyes! Snake eyes!” I would shout. Could never do it better than he did. Chincoteague Island. That was an annual excuse to go see my poppop and his family around the same time as the annual pony swim that we went to every year. I desperately yearn for the togetherness that my poppop bought when all of his families were together. The only thing we all had in common was him. I definitely feel like I took for granted the time I had with him and what he did for our family as a whole. It is not the same anymore and I’ll never get that time back again, His wife, still lives in that house. Occasionally, we would visit, My brother and I, who was too young to realize, would walk to the back of the house, and I would see the difference in the hallway room. I want to reexperience it, the past, with him. but only be left with the memories of him. Hating the fact that he was always camera shy. As we walk back in the house, after putting our suitcases from staying the week with my poppop. We all say our goodbyes, the grandchildren running to the back room to say our goodbyes to the dogs outback and to poppop in the blue velvet chair. He would get up, and take us with him to the blue painted living room when everyone else was saying their goodbyes and “til next time!” “Give mommom Gail a hug!” As we would scurry from poppop to mommom with our young embraces, one at a time. Poppop would walk us out, to the front porch that lead to the squeaky door, and give a big hug to each of us. We couldn’t let go of him until we exchanged “I love you too’s!” As we got in our car seats and drove away, we would look out the window and see him waving. Eventually, walking back inside, shutting the front porch door that never fully closed. Not knowing that was going to be the last time I saw him and that blue velvet chair together again.
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Melanie Chubb
English 100 Assignment #3: Film-Based argument Due date: Draft #2 by 11:59 on 4/4/17 Should Illegal Immigrants be Allowed in the United States? In the film, Survivor, screenwriter, Philip Shelby writes about Kate Abbott’s struggles with saving America from a terrorist attack. Abbott is a security service agent who will discover of a plot where an illegal sniper will shoot a gas bomb in Time Square in an attempt to kill thousands of innocent civilians. Members of her team, through death, deception, and false assumptions, she must fight the battle of survival against these trespassers, in order to save New York in another possible terrorist attack. This movie relates very well for a point to be made for the United States in relation to terrorist threats. Should Americans allow immigrants into the country? Should it be this easy for terrorists to walk into the United States? Or even, why is it so easy for for people to enter the U.S. just because we are to be known for being a “melting pot” country. A country that invites diversity with open arms, needs to have somewhat of a boundary to that statement. Things that Americans go through every day for foreigners to come into the United States, are crucial into feeling like a safe citizen of our own beautiful land. Seemingly, getting attacked frequently. Should Americans allow immigrants into their country?My opinion is no. Why is it so easy to let possible terrorists into the country, because they do not want to offend anyone? It’s crucial, that we, as Americans need to think about who we let in, to keep our land a better, and safer place.Things such as suspicion, over riding our population with non Americans, and bringing danger to our lives as Americans, in more ways than we know. These are all prime examples as to why immigrants should not be allowed in the country. Suspicion itself is a powerful thing. After the 9/11 attack in 2001, suspicion and uncertainty across the U.S. has made people angry and pure hatred towards immigrants and Muslims, in general. The responsibility that the “Muslims” had on 9/11, gave them the reputation of being the most hated group of people in America because they caused the greatest tragedy in all of America. A big problem and a great target here in the U.S., are airports around the world. Americans are very weary flying around the world because of past events shown. How Muslims, specifically, use airports to create havoc among American citizens. So many people are trying to fight back against racial profiling at traveling that it is hindering and doubting at the lives of people who actually live in our beautiful county. I get it, we are supposed to be a loving, melting pot of all sorts of diversity. But when your country has been attacked by bad foreigners trying to disguise themselves as regular citizens? It is difficult to decipher between the two. An article called, “How Did Hijackers Get Past Airport Security?” written by Michael A. Hiltzik, David Willman, and Alan C. Miller, for the Los Angeles Times, wrote, ”At almost every step along the way, the system posed no challenge to the terrorists--not to their ability to purchase tickets, to pass security checkpoints while carrying knives and cutting implements nor to board aircraft.” Since then, security has increased in United States Airports. In an article titled, "U.S. Airport Pat-Downs Are About to Get More Invasive" The Author, Justin Bachman states that, "Denver International Airport, for example, notified employees and flight crews on Thursday that the “more rigorous” searches “will be more thorough and may involve an officer making more intimate contact than before.” Showing, how security has increased and airports are becoming more drastic in their changes towards Americans becoming safe. Just like in Survivor, five men were questioned about their entrance into the U.S. They were claimed as being racially profiled and somehow allowed in the U.S. An article written by Stephen Jones for Mirror, wrote, “Five reasons why airports are prime targets for terrorists like ISIS in wake of Istanbul attacks” He gave examples as to why airports might be the main target for terrorists and why security at airports are dwindling. For example, “...Ultimately security checks can be a dehumanizing experience - so they remain kept to a minimum. Airports ultimately don't want to put off people using them.” (Jones) His fourth reason as to why airports are a prime target for terrorists, “The attacks are symbolic and airports are a status symbol of a nation” He elaborates more to the topic by saying, “Everyone uses airports - and they all look very similar - so when a terrorist incident happens, everyone can more easily imagine being there are wondering if it could have been them or could happen to them in future. Creating such fear is an aim of terrorists.“ (Jones) I understand, however, that we should all be loving and kind to all people. An Article posted by the American Immigration Council, titled, "How the United States Immigration System Works" wrote, "The Immigration and Naturalization Act (INA), the body of law governing current immigration policy, provides for an annual worldwide limit of 675,000 permanent immigrants, with certain exceptions for close family members. Lawful permanent residency allows a foreign national to work and live lawfully and permanently in the United States." Confirming, it is legally okay for immigrants to come into the United States by the Immigration Policy. But how many more innocent Americans are going to be killed because of these acts of “racial profiling being excused.” Another issue as to why we should not let immigrants in our country is the over population. Watson Institute for International Studies from Brown University stated that “if immigration continues at its current pace, more than fifty million newcomers will flood into the United States in the next half century, overloading our schools, hospitals, and other social services”(Brown). Seemingly, leaving no space for our own citizens. Prioritizing foreigners before our own citizens is becoming an overwhelming problem. Brown University also contributed the fact that, “The continual arrival of large numbers of immigrants, both legal and illegal, will eventually overwhelm American culture and contribute to the fragmentation of our society.”(Brown) Welcoming in Immigrants into the United States and being so welcoming is so natural for the U.S. However, Over population is a great example as to why, I believe, the United States should not allow immigrants into the country. In the NewsMax article, “16 reasons Donald Trump Is Not Wrong on Immigration,” by Jim Meyers states multiple times how dangerous having immigrants in our country are, in more ways than we think about. “About 4.5 million illegal aliens in the U.S. drive on a regular basis, many without licenses or insurance or even the ability to read road signs written in English (Meyers). "The New York Times reported in Arizona that 63 percent of cited drivers have no license, no insurance, and no registration for the vehicle, and 97 percent of them are illegal aliens. Of the 188,380 deportations of illegal aliens in one recent year, 23 percent had committed criminal traffic offenses, primarily driving under the influence. Rep. Steve King of Iowa has estimated that illegal alien drunk drivers kill 13 Americans every day.” (Meyers) I understand, accidents happen, and I'm not blaming illegal aliens on these accidents alone. However, It is a scary fact that you could be killed driving, because of stupid decisions by the illegal aliens for driving in the U.S. I get that American citizens are guilty for all of this as well. But if we can stop the dangers that this is becoming, why wouldn't we? Suspicion, over riding our population with non Americans, and bringing danger to our lives, as Americans, in more ways than we know are crucial aspects that we, as Americans, need to think about to keep our land a better, and safer place. However, I get it. I do. We are the land of a melting pot and a free country to foreigners who want to chase the “American Dream” and live a free life. However, if we keep getting these terroristic attacks, like the ones Kate Abbott did in, “Survivor,” the good guys, might not able to outsmart the bad ones in future attacks. Clearly, this whole, “melting pot” of a country is not working for us anymore. We are at war with many different countries! Especially, in the Middle East. I believe, it is very normal to be wary of the certain type of people we are at war with, in our country. Think about this. Anybody who are criticized Islam and Muslims are seen as racist or scums of the earth. When really, those who are, are the ones who are trying to prevent any possible terrorist attack and care about our own people. Why does these type of people, get the blame for what others have done? A prime example as to why we need immigrants in America was a quote directly taken from an article called, "Benefits of Immigration Outweigh the Costs" by, Pia Orrenius. They show a statistic that is quite astonishing. "Forty-four percent of medical scientists are foreign born, for example, as are 42 percent of computer software developers. Immigrant workers are also over represented among college professors, engineers, mathematicians, nurses, doctors and dentists, to name a few." If immigration makes the economy larger, more efficient and productive, what’s the problem? Why do we, as a nation, strictly limit immigration? However, I still believe the down sides mean much more that what I believe Americans can do for our country as well. After watching videos right after the attack in London, a man in a trending interview, right after the London attack stated,“The blood of our own citizens is in the hands of those who allow these things to happen. Politicians and the media especially are allowing this to happen because our own citizens and people around the world are fighting so hard for equality, making it easier for terrorist to get in without question and possibly become your next door neighbor.” We might not have a Kate Abbott on our team like “Survivor” did in possible future attacks. It’s a scary thought to think about if fighting the battle against Trump to keep foreigners out of the United States to protect us, is really worth it? Brown University. "US Immigration Policy: What Should We Do?" Studylib.net. Watson Institute for International Studies, n.d. Web. 25 Apr. 2017. Hiltzik, Michael A., and David Willman. "How Did Hijackers Get Past Airport Security?"Los Angeles Times. Los Angeles Times, 23 Sept. 2001. Web. 25 Apr. 2017. "How the United States Immigration System Works." American Immigration Council. N.p., 30 Jan. 2017. Web. 04 May 2017. Jones, Stephen. "Five Reasons Airports Are Prime Terrorist Targets in Wake of Istanbul Attacks." Mirror. Mirror, 29 June 2016. Web. 25 Apr. 2017. Meyers, Jim. "16 Reasons Donald Trump Is Not Wrong on Immigration." Newsmax. Newsmax, 08 July 2015. Web. 25 Apr. 2017. “Chance! Missy!” I heard for the back door, my poppop yelling, “Get in here!” The screen door screeching behind him as the dogs followed in front. The sun, shining through the back screen door, leaving the heavier, first door, wide open. My older brother and I, watching 90s game shows in my pop pop’s dark blue, velvet-feeling recliner with our little brother sitting in between us. A calm Chincoteague, Virginia setting sun in our peripheral vision, with voices and steps in the background. I’m more interested to overhear the background, than what is playing on the television. “Cash!” I hear, “Get over here!” Thinking, to myself, who’s Cash? “Dad!” I heard my aunt say from the living room, his name is Chance!” Hearing my family laugh amongst themselves in the other room, I decided to get up and join them. I see my grandfather having an ice cold glass of Pepsi given to him by my grandmother, sitting in an upright rocking chair, grabbing, the drink from her hands with a subtle, “thank you” given to her. His hands shaking, bringing it up to his lips, always wondering, why his hands would always shake like that? Later to find out it was his Essential Tremors. Admiring this view of him, sitting next to my mother’s side, with the huge air vent in the floor, behind him, separating the bathroom for the living room. It hurting like hell to step on it barefoot.
The long hallway room at the end of the house. A door that goes to the backyard on the left wall and a table meant for breakfast and newspapers right before it. At the very corner of the room, his giant velvet blue reclining chair and flat screen tv with his white new balance brand looking shoes next to him. A couch to the left of his chair, the family would sit there. If you were lucky, you would be able to find a spot on his chair on his lap, With as many grand children that could fit on it with him, watching 90s nickelodeon tv game shows. Occasionally getting up, when he asked one of us to put the dogs on the leash and let them outside. May 2nd, 2006. One of my aunts, (that i’m closest with) pulls into my driveway in the afternoon, with her friend in the passenger seat. “Hi Aunt Chris!” “Not now, where’s your mother?” I was taken aback by this, since she usually greets with me with a more loving tone in her voice. I tell her that my mother was on the third floor of the house, taking care of my little brother. She races up the stairs, and has my mommom follow. She lives with us, follow her up the stairs.My aunt’s friend, Stephanie, took me into another room on the second floor of the house, in my parents bedroom. All of a sudden I heard incredible screeches from the room above me, saying,”Oh my God” “Why” “Why God, why?” and all around just pure screams coming from that room. I start panicking. When you hear your mom in such a state of hysteric, you automatically think the worst, My mind went straight to my dad. He is a police officer in the City of Chester. Where is he? He went to work didn’t he? Why is he not back? Is he okay? Did he get shot and killed? He must of. I think my dad is dead. I start crying a great deal of emotion, screaming and crying. However, I’m still very greatful to this day, that Stephanie, who was with me, reassured me that my dad was okay over and over. My mom called both me and my brother up to the room upstairs. I left Stephanie's side and bolted up the stairs to see my mom. I look around the basketball themed room with the slanted roof, and I see my aunt, my mom, and my grandmother with blotchy faces and tears dried on their faces. My mom sat me down on her lap, and carefully explained to me that my poppop had a heart attack earlier that night and died suddenly. I couldn’t help to be relieved that it wasn’t my own dad, but hearing that your pop pop had died was not something you want to hear either. I started crying, immediately questioning the how and whys? The funeral was lead up to the front door, by a fake looking grass ramp. Staring it down uncomfortably as my mother explained to me, with tear strained eyes that, “pop pop's body is going to look like he is sleeping in a box, but he is up in heaven forever now.” Me and my cousins stayed in the car at the burial, but was forced to come out of the car at the last bit, because he loved his grandkids so much, he would've wanted it that way. This was the first day I ever saw my dad cry. As I write this, with tears slowly making its way down my face, I remember the memories of that house and the screen door that annoyed me to no end and how it would never shut all the way. I never thought it would become a memory that won’t ever leave my mind. In the moment, I hated that obnoxious door. Now, I realize, it’s the sound of him welcoming him into our house, and waving goodbye when we left. Still being able to hear the door close by itself behind him, when we were pulled out of the driveway. “Snake eyes! Snake eyes! My poppop would yell, as he taught all of his grandchildren, very patiently might I add, the game of Monopoly. Never having any of the fat pieces off of a steak on anyone’s plate because he had asked for them all. His giant round belly, his slightly balding head. Not letting any of his grandchildren leave without, “giving poppop a hug”and telling us he loves us. I yearn for the days back of having him around again, hearing his voice again. Hearing that stupid door again with his waving signal of hello and goodbye from it. Needing to know what his voice sounds like again, but having only certain phrases I can put his voice to. That long hallway room. The breakfast table? now filled with clutter. The blue reclining chair? Gone. Along with the couch and the beloved tv. The side door to the yard? Closed off. I haven’t seen the backyard in years. I see the old dog leash from the window still attached to the ground so the dogs would never run off. Every monopoly board game I come across reminds me of him. When there’s fat pieces on my streak. I try to enjoy them like he did, but I just eventually throw them away. Every time I pick up a pair of dice. “Snake eyes! Snake eyes!” I would shout. Could never do it better than he did. Chincoteague Island. That was an annual excuse to go see my poppop and his family around the same time as the annual pony swim that we went to every year. I desperately yearn for the togetherness that my poppop bought when all of his families were together. The only thing we all had in common was him. I definitely feel like I took for granted the time I had with him and what he did for our family as a whole. It is not the same anymore and I’ll never get that time back again, His wife, still lives in that house. Occasionally, we would visit, My brother and I, who was too young to realize, would walk to the back of the house, and I would see the difference in the hallway room. I want to reexperience it, the past, with him. but only be left with the memories of him and our families being brought together. Chance! Missy!” I heard for the back door, my poppop yelling, “Get in here!” The screen door screeching behind him as the dogs followed in front. The sun, shining through the back screen door, leaving the heavier, first door, wide open. My older brother and I, watching 90s game shows in my pop pop’s dark blue, velvet-feeling recliner with our little brother sitting in between us. A calm Chincoteague, Virginia setting sun in our peripheral vision, with voices and steps in the background. I’m more interested to overhear the background, than what is playing on the television. “Cash!” I hear, “Get over here!” Thinking, to myself, who’s Cash? “Dad!” I heard my aunt say from the living room, his name is Chance!” Hearing my family laugh amongst themselves in the other room, I decided to get up and join them. I see my grandfather having an ice cold glass of Pepsi given to him by my grandmother, sitting in an upright rocking chair, grabbing, the drink from her hands with a subtle, “thank you” given to her. His hands shaking, bringing it up to his lips, always wondering, why his hands would always shake like that? Later to find out it was his Essential Tremors. Admiring this view of him, sitting next to my mother’s side, with the huge air vent in the floor, behind him, separating the bathroom for the living room. It hurting like hell to step on it barefoot.
May 2nd, 2006. One of my aunts, (that i’m closest with) pulls into my driveway in the afternoon, with her friend in the passenger seat. “Hi Aunt Chris!” “Not now, where’s your mother?” I was taken aback by this, since she usually greets with me with a more loving tone in her voice. I tell her that my mother was on the third floor of the house, taking care of my little brother. She races up the stairs, and has my mommom who lives with us, follow her up the stairs. (It may help if I explain the story of my family a little more. My mommom and my poppop were married and had two kids, my aunt Chris, and my mom, Robyn. They were divorced after some time, but my mom never remarried. He had a kid with another woman, as well as another woman. You can say he got around a bit! He then got married for the second time, in a different state with my mommom Gail, having two kids, Heather and Michelle. So in total, I have 7 aunts, but two of them live in virginia.) My aunt’s friend, Stephanie, took me into another room on the second floor of the house, in my parents bedroom. All of a sudden I heard incredible screeches from the room above me, saying,”Oh my God” “Why” “Why God, why?” and all around just pure screams coming from that room. I start panicking. When you hear your mom in such a state of hysteric, you automatically think the worst, My mind went straight to my dad. He is a police officer in the City of Chester. Where is he? He went to work didn’t he? Why is he not back? Is he okay? Did he get shot and killed? He must of. I think my dad is dead. I start crying a great deal of emotion, screaming and crying. However, I’m still very greatful to this day, that Stephanie, who was with me, reassured me that my dad was okay and alive. My mom called both me and my brother up to the room upstairs. I left Stephanie's side and bolted up the stairs to see my mom. I look around the basketball themed room with the slanted roof, and I see my aunt, my mom, and my mom with blotchy faces and tears dried on their faces. My mom sat me down on her lap, and carefully explained to me that poppop had a heart attack earlier that night and died suddenly. I couldn’t help to be relieved that it wasn’t my own dad,but hearing that your pop pop had died was not something you want to hear either. I started crying, immediately questioning the how and whys? The funeral was lead up to the front door, by a fake looking grass ramp. Staring it down uncomfortably as my mother explained to me, with tear strained eyes that, “pop pop's body is going to look like he is sleeping in a box, but he is up in heaven forever now.” Me and my cousins stayed in the car at the burial, but was forced to come out of the car at the last bit, because he loved his grandkids so much, he would've wanted it that way. This was the first day I ever saw my dad cry. As I write this, with tears slowly making its way down my face, I remember the memories of that house and the screen door that annoyed me to no end and how it would never shut all the way, would become a memory that won’t ever leave my mind. “Snake eyes! Snake eyes! My poppop would yell, as he taught all of his grandchildren, very patiently might I add, the game of Monopoly. Never having any of the fat pieces off of a steak on my plate, because he would eat them all, as well as everyone else's! His giant round belly, his slightly balding head. Not letting any of his grandchildren leave without, “giving poppop a hug”and telling us he loves us. I yearn for the days back of having him around again, hearing his voice again. Needing to know what his voice sounds like again, but having only certain phrases I can put his voice to. Chincoteague Island is a very special place for me. That was an annual excuse to go see my poppop and his family around the same time as the annual pony swim that we went to every year. I desperately yearn for the togetherness that my poppop bought when all of his families were together. The only thing we all had in common was him. I definitely feel like I took for granted the time I had with him and what he did for our family as a whole. It is not the same anymore and I’ll never get that time back again, to re-experience it but only be left with the memories of him and our families being brought together. Melanie Chubb
English 100 Assignment #3: Film-Based argument Due date: Draft #2 by 11:59 on 4/4/17 I Get It. In the film, Survivor, screenwriter, Philip Shelby writes about Kate Abbott’s struggles with saving America from a terrorist attack. Abbott is a security service agent who will discover of a plot where an illegal sniper will shoot a gas bomb in Time Square in an attempt to kill thousands of innocent civilians. Members of her team, through death, deception, and false assumptions, she must fight the battle of survival against these trespassers, in order to save New York in another possible terrorist attack. This movie relates very well for a point to be made for the United States in relation to terrorist threats. Should Americans allow immigrants into the country? Should it be this easy for terrorists to walk into the United States? Or even, why is it so easy for for people to enter the U.S. just because we are to be known for being a “melting pot” country. A country that invites diversity with open arms, needs to have somewhat of a boundary to that statement. Things that Americans go through every day for foreigners to come into the United States, are crucial into feeling like a safe citizen of our own beautiful land. Seemingly, getting attacked frequently. Things such as suspicion, over riding our population with non Americans, and bringing danger to our lives as Americans, in more ways than we know. These are all prime examples as to why immigrants should not be allowed in the country. Why is it so easy to let possible terrorists into the country, because they do not want to offend anyone? It’s crucial, that we, as Americans need to think about who we let in, to keep our land a better, and safer place. Suspicion itself is a powerful thing. After the 9/11 attack in 2001, suspicion and uncertainty across the U.S. has made people angry and pure hatred towards immigrants and muslims, in general. The responsibility that the “muslims” had on 9/11, gave them the reputation of being the most hated group of people in America because they caused the greatest tragedy in all of America. A big problem and a great target here in the U.S., are airports around the world. Americans are very weary flying around the world because of past events shown. How muslims, specifically, use airports to create havoc among American citizens. So many people are trying to fight back against racial profiling at traveling that it is hindering and doubting at the lives of people who actually live in our beautiful county. I get it, we are supposed to be a loving, melting pot of all sorts of diversity. But when your country has been attacked by bad foreigners trying to disguise themselves as regular citizens? It is difficult to decipher between the two. An article called, “How Did Hijackers Get Past Airport Security?” written by Michael A. Hiltzik, David Willman, and Alan C. Miller, for the Los Angeles Times, wrote,”At almost every step along the way, the system posed no challenge to the terrorists--not to their ability to purchase tickets, to pass security checkpoints while carrying knives and cutting implements nor to board aircraft.” Just like in Survivor, five men were questioned about their entrance into the U.S. They were claimed as being racially profiled and somehow allowed in the U.S. An article written by Stephen Jones for Mirror, wrote an article called, “Five reasons why airports are prime targets for terrorists like ISIS in wake of Istanbul attacks” He gave examples as to why Airports might be the main target for terrorists and why security at airports are dwindling. For example, “...Ultimately security checks can be a dehumanising experience - so they remain kept to a minimum. Airports ultimately don't want to put off people using them.” (Jones) His fourth reason as to why airports are a prime target for terrorists, “The attacks are symbolic and airports are a status symbol of a nation” He elaborates more to the topic by saying, “Everyone uses airports - and they all look very similar - so when a terrorist incident happens, everyone can more easily imagine being there are wondering if it could have been them or could happen to them in future. Creating such fear is an aim of terrorists.“ (Jones) I get it. we should all be loving and kind to all people. But enough is enough. How many more innocent Americans are going to be killed because of these acts of “racial profiling.” Another issue as to why we should not let immigrants in our country is the over population. Watson Institute for International Studies from Brown University stated that “if immigration continues at its current pace, more than fifty million newcomers will flood into the United States in the next half century, overloading our schools, hospitals, and other social services”(Brown). High levels of immigration will deprive American workers of jobs while forcing government to spend more on the needs of immigrants. Leaving no space for our own citizens, to be left homeless, rotting away, and possibly dead on the streets of our own country.! Brown University also contributed the fact that, “The continual arrival of large numbers of immigrants, both legal and illegal, will eventually overwhelm American culture and contribute to the fragmentation of our society.”(Brown) In the NewsMax article, “16 reasons Donald Trump Is Not Wrong on Immigration,” by Jim Meyers states multiple times how dangerous having immigrants in our country are, in more ways than we think about. “About 4.5 million illegal aliens in the U.S. drive on a regular basis, many without licenses or insurance or even the ability to read road signs written in English (Meyers). The New York Times reported. In Arizona, 63 percent of cited drivers have no license, no insurance, and no registration for the vehicle, and 97 percent of them are illegal aliens. Of the 188,380 deportations of illegal aliens in one recent year, 23 percent had committed criminal traffic offenses, primarily driving under the influence. Rep. Steve King of Iowa has estimated that illegal alien drunk drivers kill 13 Americans every day.” (Meyers) Suspicion, over riding our population with non Americans, and bringing danger to our lives, as Americans, in more ways than we know are crucial aspects that we, as Americans, need to think about to keep our land a better, and safer place. However, I get it. I do. We are the land of a melting pot and a free country to foreigners who want to chase the “American Dream” and live a free life. However, if we keep getting these terroristic attacks, like the ones Kate Abbott did in, “Survivor,” the good guys, might not able to outsmart the bad ones in future attacks. Clearly, this whole, “melting pot” of a country is not working for us anymore. We are at war with many different countries! Especially, in the Middle East. It would be crazy if we did not stereotype a certain type of people who are trying to fight the world, and our country especially. Think about this. Anybody who are criticized Islam and Muslims are seen as racist or scums of the earth. When really, those who are, are the ones who are trying to prevent any possible terrorist attack and care about our own people. A man in a trending interview, right after the London attack stated,“The blood of our own citizens is in the hands of those who allow these things to happen. Politicians and the media especially are allowing this to happen because our own citizens and people around the world are fighting so hard for equality, making it easier for terrorist to get in without question and possibly become your next door neighbor.” We might not have a Kate Abbott on our team like “Survivor” did in possible future attacks. It’s a scary thought. I get it. Do you? Here I am, sitting in class, making changes to my hiraeth that I feel is necessary to improve it. Just about to hand in my movie argument. As he, my teacher, is talking about the paper more, I am noticing changes already that I could be making on my paper. One being, to cite my sources better. Give proper credit as well as keeping in mind the give back of an argument to be more persuasive, seeing the other side of the argument. I seemed to do that in the beginning, but re writing it, I switched over to more, my side of the argument, seeing proper sources that agree with where my mindset is on this particular topic. These sources don't show the other side of the argument, but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't. It might help my argument make more sense, and why I see my point of view the way that I do.
On thursday' class time, Professor Mangini sat with me to discuss my hiraeth project that I had turned in early for review. I was very confident with this draft and wasn't sure what feedback I would receive because I wasn't sure what else could be done to fix it, honestly. However, i am glad he found things that I can work on to revise it. Such as, fixing up my imagery and cleaning my thoughts up a bit more. It is always much more helpful when someone else reads your work. Especially, when they have a degree in that field! I like to take advantage of opportunities like that when they are offered! Once I take his feedback and begin draft number 3, I will be working or my argument based project and turn that in for review as well!
Over the course of this week, I decided to write another draft for my hiraeth project. After reading it, over and over again, I saw that I really liked what I had written in terms of imagery. I needed to do more about my home that I can't return to, rather than focusing it on my grand father. I wrote an entirely new scene that gave a better sense of my home away from home. The actual home itself. The room specifically, that is part of my hiraeth. it was more difficult to think of memories that he was in, other then the main one I could remember. I was around 7 or 8 years old when he passed away. I'm excited to see what changes can be made to the second draft of my hiraeth and how I can start to make changes to make a third one.
After discussing with my professor about which drafts I wanted to work on, I couldn't decide. I thought the film-based argument was too strong of a controversy to touch on even more so I chose the mindset argument which was a lot harder to write, personally. He kinda persuaded me to lead towards the film-based argument because it was very powerful. He recommended that if I couldn't decide which one to go with, along with the hiraeth project, that I would write a second draft for both of these topics.
Trying to analyze my mindset argument again, was a lot more difficult the second time around. Looking at it again, to see, where it would need a touch up. Not because it is well written, but because I didn't know what else to add to make it sound more interesting. I thought about doing a draft on the film-based argument, and it felt like I had a lot more to say and more researched points that I can add onto it. I can shape up my points to be more argumentative without neglecting the other side of the argument and the facts they include as well. I may continue to do both drafts anyway if I get a brainstorm of ideas. However, I'm going to start with the film-based one first before I jump to the mindset one and still have writers block the day before its due. In this blog post, I will be responding to this questionnaire post below about Chef's Table: Francis Mallman.
Question #1: How does this episode fit into the narrative mode? Questions #2: How does Mallman's story connect to the hiraeth story you are writing in this class? Consider his discussions about home and childhood. Question #3: What major ideas/themes from this episode connect to ideas/themes from our composition course? Consider Mallmann's argument about composing a good dish, examining his life environments, and being productive. Telling a personal story about his childhood, he shows and tells his story. Tells a specific story about a specific scene. A scene is shown of his small kitchen. His kitchen. Alone in a single chair, facing a desk, ingredients stacked on a beat up shelf. He is stoking the flame of a wood-burning oven, pouring what looks like hot tea in a yellow cup, with a matching plate underneath. There is a small house he walks out of in the countryside. A single house on a small island. Sets a scene of him driving down a dirt road, waving to people on the side of the road of where he lives. He and his sister had a restaurant for about 15 years that she basically lived at. His sister loved that place. She can't return to it, because the memories takes a toll on her. “The feeling of Patagonia I feel, is my deepest rooted feeling for home.“ His home reminds him a lot of his childhood. He was first interested in music. He explains a scene of his childhood of when 4 girls from Australia played music from The Monkees and started dancing on top of a low table. He was stubborn about his freedom. He would dream about whatever he wanted. He creates his "chef's table" as decor, similar like his childhood. He talks about his childhood friendship and how growing up changed him to tell the truth and to show who you are. Explaining, it's okay to lose friendships. The memories they had, he will forever cherish, but they can't make the memories again, because they are at different points in their lives to continue a friendship over 30 years of passing. He related his cooking days a lot about being a cocky chef with a giant white hat. However, a chef once told him he was not making the right thing, just copying everything he learned. It weighed heavily on him, and he never forgot it, because that chef was right. He explained his cooking with his past. His argument about composing a good dish is what captured my attention and they way he looked at certain things of life. He explains the passion of making fires compared to making love. “It goes from zero to ten in strength. He talks about love with such a passion, however, showed he is divorced. You would think of love as loving one person for the rest of your life. He wants freedom of love. To love more than one person. He sees love as loving women as much as possible, without chasing girls left and right.He explains the process of living together, is feeling like a caged animal. He is explained as a hopeless romantic. He explains the process of cooking a steak. Gypsy of chefs, he doesn’t cook alone. They take young apprentices instead of experienced chefs. He likes creating leaders within these groups. "Maestranza" he said, means, "the people who are around you helping." He, however, doesn't like spending time with people he doesn't like. He very seldomly, invites people to eat with him. He used the environment around him, to create his food. |
Melanie
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