By Robert Pack, Jay Parini
Greater than 3 dozen voices supply varied expressions of the dynamic interplay among way of life and the yank awareness, and plenty of solutions to the query of the way to "construct a 'self' from the fabrics of existence in our contentious and infrequently incoherent culture."
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Extra info for American Identities: Contemporary Multicultural Voices (Bread Loaf Anthology)
My grandfather liked it that way; he wanted no customers. He sat by the cash register leafing through pharmaceutical journals or cleaning his old-fashioned gold-rimmed spectacles with a handkerchief. "He was brilliant," my father was always reminding me, "a physics wizard. He Page 14 had a diploma from the czar. ) By the time I came to know him he had already had a stroke, and shuffled around the apartment above the store in a bathrobe and slippers, the leather seamed and cracked. On Saturday afternoons he sat in a bristly armchair beside the radio, a wooden Magnavox with a speaker in the shape of a cathedral arch, and listened to the live broadcast from New York of the Metropolitan Opera, sponsored by Texaco and narrated by Milton J.
My mother said. "And don't lean over your soup like that. " My grandmother glanced up from her plate with a sly look; embarrassing my mother was a good game. Remember, her bright shawls and antique jewelry proclaimed, your ancestors were peasants, bohemians, foreigners. " my mother said. " Page 9 "Mother, we know from 'pos'l cards' already. " But I was curious; I found this lore exotic, vivid. Besides, three of my grandparents were dead; my cousins were in Kew Gardens and Florida; my parents had sold their home in Evanston and moved to California the year before, during my last semester of college.
Her voice seemed cold, remote. " "Forgive me, Mom. I know you go to French class and everything. " There was no reply. How could I have said that? I felt as if an evil spirit had spoken through me: The debbil made me do it! Oh, Mother, please come out; please say something. Please! "It's all right, dear," she said through the door in a shaky voice. " "Mom, come out. " A sob rose in my throat. "Go away now. " In my room, I could hardly read for the tears that streamed down my face. After that, I concentrated my demand for intellectual rigor on my eighth-grade teacher, Mr.