is an image I like to remember one of my earliest memories: I have four or five years of age at the kindergarten, and I 'm sitting on the lap of my guardian makes me read. Forget
Miou-Miou and all-literary associations pédophilo could come to your head. What she reads, the Sears catalog.
Sears catalog? Yes sir. In the house where I was being kept as in many others where I grew up (although not in that of my parents), the books had never been an endangered species of appearance. We sometimes had a dictionary, a Bible even more rarely, but nothing that can be described as literature. Not even Marie Laberge, yet it sells.
I had the opportunity to describe this scene, a few days ago, a teacher from the Midwest who works on the reading habits among African American women in prison. Not question the worse you'll have no fib: My life is complicated and I meet all sorts of interesting people too improbable.
Anyways, when I told him my story, proud of my originality, the teacher in question took blankly, then dropped the piece: almost identical scenes, Sears catalog and all, appear repeatedly in interviews it leads in the prisons of North Carolina to Ohio.
She then asked me why. Why the Sears catalog? Okay, there were no other books in the house, but there was still television, toys, I know, I could have fun going out, right? And at this moment that I realized I did not know, even if it's me requiring the reading of my babysitter, the reason that pushed me to do so is not part of my memory.
I was reminded a bit later, and I think I understand why: The memory remains alive in me because it has symbolic value because it is the part of my childhood with people to that reading, like many other intellectual activities, reported to a foreign world. It is a symbol, whether to be totally honest and not too polished, a world which I feel myself out.
Everything is connected to this memory without serving its symbolic value (the time of the day, what drove me to make this request or pages on which we focused), this has simply no reason for me to return to the spirit. Then I forgot.
When we talk about recent history, the first half of the twentieth century, for instance, we often feel it's a past that may affect them directly because the people who lived through that era are still there to testify. We forget too quickly that the most vivid memories are the memories that have a purpose, and that reason may be cached longer she said. Yes, of course, the dark cassock's brother who taught us in tenth years, a symbol of the influence of obscurantist Catholic Church on the education system Canaduh-French. But this image does not help us understand the experience of a guy who abandoned his right to found a family and eventually teach adolescents. I would add, it prevents us from understanding the experience.
I returned to Sears catalog a few weeks ago, and my experience has once again scored. Once again, I remember, there is a new symbol that relates to this new experience. It's something a little less intellectual, something a little more material:
Really There's people who are willing to pay three hundred bucks for a razor?!?
0 comments:
Post a Comment