One of the first object-things a baby imprints is the concept of comfort and safety. It is one of the first object-things you own as a child that represents parents, comfort, safety, softness and warmth. I became attached to my blanket as a baby, that to this day it still holds a special meaning to me. A blanket will never have the capability to protect you from any real harm, but the blanket is a tangible safety net for all our insecurities and fears. Soft and thick this blanket kept me warm at night, and its colors of wonder, pink, green, blue, and brown kept my imagination going throughout the day. Plush and soft, warm and thick yet light, and durable with rounded thick corners, and two bears imprinted on both sides. Before me, it belonged …show more content…
When we grow older we don't use our blanket as often. As a child, I would take it anywhere I would go, even if it were an amusement park or simply my relative’s house. It is amusing to think that a blanket can be so intricately linked facets of one’s life as it is with mine. In fact, it is so intertwined with day-to-day lifestyle because every day I must do my bed so my room can look neat and clean, I can honestly say that I cannot imagine my life without it. The gifts I receive from my grandparents will always be cherished in my heart. It gives me an obligation to keep it, this blanket is simply priceless, because when they leave forever I still have a physical piece of them that will remind me of them every day. Wrapped around me, my blanket reminds me of my parents and my family hugging me, flooding me with support and love every …show more content…
When the sun went down and darkness filled the sky, I covered myself as if it were a shield, an anti-lechusa object in which no witch would come my way. Looking through my picture albums I observe that I carried my blanket with me everywhere; there are only a few pictures in which I don’t have it. And in the pictures where I don’t have my blanket, tears rolled down my pink-reddish face. I wasn’t the kind of child who threw a tantrum in the store because I wanted a candy or a toy; I was the child who needed her blanket everywhere she went or else I would be with my crossed arms, upset the whole
Sandra Cisneros writes a memoir through the eyes of an eleven year old. Turning eleven happens to be a tragic day for the main character, Rachel. Through various literary techniques such as hyperbole, simile, and syntax, Rachel is characterized. Rachel is a fresh turning eleven year old who finds herself in an awful situation on her birthday. Forced to wear a raggedy old sweater that doesn’t belong to her, she makes it defiantly clear her feelings towards the clothing item, and we see this through use of hyperboles. Rachel describes the sweater as ugly and too “stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope.” This extreme exaggeration demonstrates the fire within Rachel. She is a defiant and pouty little girl who out of stubbornness has to defy the sweater in her mind. “It’s maybe a thousand years old”, she says to herself in act to degrade the filthy red sweater even more. The sweater to Rachel has become an eternal battle of ages. She is torn on whether or not to stand up and act bigger th...
The message the Snuggie expresses is all you need in life is a best friend, a glass of wine, junk food, gossip, the latest TV show and a snuggie or a matching snuggie and everything in life will be okay. If you have a best friend and a snuggie know matter what life throws at you, you will be happy.
...tanding alone; explaining why Grandma Bradley’s children always ended up on her doorstep when they were confronted with trouble. Parents fear that their children will grow up too fast, being exposed to reality before they are ready but until children experience life for themselves, with all its complications, they can never truly learn the importance of family; as it is family that will stand behind its members no matter the situation. Charlie did grow up during the summer, he saw things he would not have otherwise seen but he learned the strength of family, something he could not have learned at home where he passively watched the world go by.
Susie’s mother opened the door to let Molly, Susie’s babysitter, inside. Ten-month old Susie seemed happy to see Molly. Susie then observed her mother put her jacket on and Susie’s face turned from smiling to sad as she realized that her mother was going out. Molly had sat for Susie many times in the past month, and Susie had never reacted like this before. When Susie’s mother returned home, the sitter told her that Susie had cried until she knew that her mother had left and then they had a nice time playing with toys until she heard her mother’s key in the door. Then Susie began crying once again.
Everyone remembers someone who they care about. Whether they have just left or have been gone for a long while. People keep their memories close, and their family even closer. Some people do not care about their memories, but the most do. To some, items such as a necklace or even a plate, can keep precious memories. To others, those items are just materialistic things that may have a purpose but are not that important, or should be used for a different purpose. In the poem "My Mother Pieced Quilts" by Teresa Acosta and the short story "Everyday Use" by Alice Walker, both authors use imagery and figurative language as a symbol for memories tied to family bonds to illustrate their themes.
In its simplest form, a child is a product of a man and a woman but Alice Walker one of the foremost authors during the twentieth century, adds depth to her black American women by focusing on the role that race and gender played in their development. Family reunions can be times of great anticipation, excitement and happiness but for Dee, a young, beautiful, African American and our leading character, it was a reunion with underlying, unspoken tensions. Dee was Dee but Dee had changed; a new husband, nice clothes, and a college degree to boat. Maybe that college degree certificate could be farmed and hung on the wall replacing that old photo of George Washington Carver, out with the old and in with the new. Alice Walker is showing how one’s education influences thoughts about traditions. There are two different ways of thinking about the traditions and the author realizes and put them as two characters in the story. The evidence of culture and traditions become very clear with the introduction of the family quilt. For example, Dee says that “the quilts are priceless” and decides to keep them as a material substances. Maggie, her sister, also sees the quilt as priceless but priceless as it relates to her culture. Walker focuses on African American heritage and its value. She emphasizes that cultures are the foundation of families and pointing out to the reader that traditions are rooted in everyday use.
Throughout the movie, Lars has a clear attachment to an everyday grey blanket. After being separated from it for more than a few hours after lending it to his sister-in-law, he’s anxious to get it back. As the plot progresses, it is revealed that the blanket was knitted for Lars by his mother, whom tragically passed away during childbirth.
To be honest, there is still much that needs to be learned about the security blanket and the role that it may play in the development of the child. Does it cause the child to be independent, or does it simply allow them to deal with a stressful situation better? That is yet to be determined, but one thing is certain, blankets and lovies are popular among children and that is not likely to change anytime soon.
I gazed out the window, amazed at how the sun rose from the horizon and illuminated the dimly lit car. It was the beginning of August but my teeth chattered violently as I sat against the cold seat. My grandfather was wise to insist that I change from my bathing suit before we left from our annual trip in Atlantic City, New Jersey, however, my sister and I choose to spend our last minutes merrily wadding in the ocean. A feeble yawn escaped my lips as I felt the cold penetrate through the flimsy blanket and make my clothes cling to my skin. I was going home.
I was curled up in my warm blankets listening to the wind throw a tantrum outside. I thought about how much I hate wind, hoping that it would die down by the time I had to head out for school. I think suddenly thought about tents and sleeping bags on the sideway. I wondered how they were doing at that moment. I wondered if they were warm and how they were faring in the wind. I wondered how they ended up there and who’s to blame. I wondered why there wasn’t an easy solution. The next morning, as the bus approached the camp, instead of counting the tents and sleeping bags, I tried to look at their faces and reflect on how they got
Bree had spent the last few days setting up a little one bedroom apartment that her father had secured for her just before she returned from school. Boxes and piles littered the place still and with clothes taking up her bed, she had been sleeping on the old couch she had fallen asleep on time and time again back when she was in high school. So much of it was familiar but at the same time everything was different - everything.
The sound of the train’s wheels chugging across the tracks had long become monotonous. Looking out the window I saw trees quickly passing by; I only had a small sealed suitcase with a few marks in money and a photograph. In the picture was the last family portrait my family took before I had to leave Poland. There were about 200 other children on the train headed to England. We all left our beloved home country to escape the danger that might lie ahead. My parents told me that it would only be until the end of summer, like boarding school, and I would be back in no time.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
It was a beautiful fall evening. The sun was just beginning to give way to incoming twilight. I could smell winter in the air, even through my closed window. Soon there'd be snow on the ground. Matchbox Twenty was playing on my clock radio." I want to push you around...” The mood was set for a soft autumn night. However the mood inside my room was quite different. I was running around trying to do a million things a one time. My makeup was all wrong for my outfit. My hair was too big, no, now too flat. My stomach was rolling inside itself. My poor tummy was on tumble dry and I couldn't quite get it to stop. I couldn't find my shoes; my shirt had foundation on the side. What I really wanted to do was to sit on my bed and cry.
The night was frozen in a deep silence, but I could still hear the whisper of the distant whoosh of the river getting closer and closer every step we would take into our new lives. I could see the excitement of my little brother and my sister on their faces; their dark chocolate eyes were as big and bright as the moon. The woman next to me held my hand tightly; I could feel the calluses of her hands from all those years of hard work in the fields harvesting the corn, which every morning she would turn in yummy tortillas! I knew she was tired, I could see it through that shiny armor of toughness she would wear every day. “Don’t let go my hand mijos,” she said with a sparkle of a star in her eyes. My sister, my little