Lindsey Dougherty

Ms. Elizabeth Chappel

Pre-AP English 10

12 May 2013

In Anton Chekhov’s “Ward No. 6”, Dr. Andrey Yefimitch changes from a dedicated, professional psychiatrist to a paranoid, insane patient of his own hospital, all to illustrate how he came to realize the real conditions of his hospital and his patients.

In chapter five, Dr. Andrey starts becoming distant and keeps his thoughts to himself. “Oppressed by such reflections [his curiousity living and death], Andrey Yefimitch relaxed his efforts and gave up visiting the hospital everyday”. He is becoming laid back in his work and is not focused like he used to be. “But he reflected that his will alone was not enough to do this [close down the hospital]”. Andrey knew what the right thing to do was but he was too lazy to even make an effort to close the hospital.

Immediately after this, Yefimitch started noticing all of the terrible things about the hospital, and how people were treated. In chapter six, Chekhov says, “Andrey Yefimitch knew that such surroundings were torture to feverish, consumptive, and impressionable patients.” As he walking through the hallway, he noticed all of the nastiness and poverty in the hospital, and kept it heavy on his mind. Chekhov also explained, “If twelve thousand patients were seen in a year” then it meant “that twelve thousand men were deceived”. This is how Andrey began thinking about the patients; how they were being cheated and treated poorly.

At first, Andrey’s life was about helping patients; but the roles got reversed as he befriended a patient and went crazy. “And for the first time in his life, [he] felt bitterly grieved for medical science.” While Andrey’s friends are testing him for a mental illness, Andrey just proves his friends right by making he go insane for just testing him. During the questionnaire, Andrey responds to a question about a prophet in Ward No. 6,”Yes, he is mentally deranged, but he is an interesting young man.” Andrey did not realize that during the process of becoming Ivan’s friend, he had changed his ways of thinking and all of the thoughts and ideas in his mind caused him to be mentally unstable.

Throughout the story of “Ward No. 6” Dr. Andrey Yefimitch learns that his hospital was a wretched place, through distortion. This includes the befriending of Ivan and coming to know his true identity, through the process of insanity.  

Click here to view my presentation on "The Twelve"

Cry, The Beloved Country

Throughout Cry, The Beloved Country, Stephen Kumalo is described as a gracious, all around well-liked holy man in his small town in South Africa. At one point, he crusades in an arduous internal conflict with fear; a conflict he is unsure how to handle. While talking to Mimangu late one night, he says, “Here in my heart there is nothing but fear. Fear, fear,fear.” Kumalo is describing his struggling pain searching for his troublesome son, Absalom, who has moved off somewhere and gotten in touch with the wrong crowd while living on his own. The father and son have had no communication with over the past few years. And with no communication with the son, Kumalo is hearing all these rumors about him, not sure of what is true and what is false. The fear he has for, not only his child, but his family also, is at a climax; and he feels he is in this alone and is helpless. Absence causes fear to grow.

Although Kumalo is a healthy, active religious man, he lets fear overcome his life as well as his faith. “There is no prayer left in me. I am dumb here inside". He is allowing the confusion and stress of his recent troubles (Absalom's crimes) to cover over his original life like a blanket; and rather than becoming stronger in faith and certainty, he is becoming weaker. Being the caring and giving priest he is, Kumalo should already know how to handle a situation like this, as he gives advice to his fellow church members on handling tough position similar to Absalom. Unfortunately, he seems to have trouble with coming to the reality. Although, since he is a minister, and a father at that, he automatically has the instinct to want to help his son, no matter the cost. He is not sure on what to do, or how to do it; but his willpower is what adds on to the inspiring character traits Stephen Kumalo has.

It is quite tough and catastrophic for Kumalo to go through this change; and him playing such a big role in this situation, he is spending a great time over-thinking it all. He begins to doubt his parenting and starts feeling as if his teachings and morals have only done bad for Absalom. “It is not permissible for us to go on destroying the family life when we know that we are destroying it.” Kumalo held himself to a higher standard by measuring his success by his son's successes or subsequent failures. Like other parents, he has the guilt that Absalom should have, only because he has that connection that a father has to his son. He is also questioning the unity of his family all together. Has he jeopardized the family's reputation from the way he has handled this?

Pink Power Ranger

            I walk in and I smell vinegar. Before I even shut the door, I can picture Debbie over the stove, her brick red hair frizzing and a wash-cloth folded over her shoulder. “HOT WINGS!!!” I thought to myself. They weren’t just any hot wings; they were her famous homeade chicken wings. As I’m putting down my backpack I pull out my A+ Spelling test to show off to Debbie, although I knew I would need to wait till she was done cooking. I had come to be pretty close to Debbie more everyday, but I was still hesitant around the other kids. After I get settled, my mind begins to wonder. I go over to the striped leaf rug in the middle of the kitchen, and imagine that I am suddenly putting on an acrobat show in the circus in front of thousands of people. The previous day, I was Shirley Temple, tap dancing on stage. And tomorrow I would be an opera singer belching highest scales in soprano.

            “Marco!”

            “Polo” replied all of us, except Brandon or Marco. Summer was only beginning, yet its already felt like I’ve done a great amount of things. Going to Debbie’s everyday was the highlight of my summer, despite the trips to Silver Dollar City and Smoky Mountains. Swimming with my newly called “friends” became a part of my daily routine, in a way.  While I was underwater thinking about my life here the past few weeks, I guess Brandon had gotten a hold of Stone’s ankle, explaining the uproar happening above the water.

“Oh come on! I’m always it!” complained Stone. He had never really been fond of this classic game, ergo his sore loser attitude.

But before we could go any further in this, the cannon was shot. “Come and get it!”

It was like everything was in slow motion. One by one we all leaped out of the pool, clumsily, as if it was the Matrix. Water was splashing everywhere, the ladder becoming unsteady; along with all of us kids acting like hooligans. Of course we have to dry off before we even think about entering the house, so we are fighting over the two dry towels on the back porch. After what seemed like forever, I was in my happy place. I was eating that chicken like I hadn’t eaten in ten years. The kick of that spicy, tasty chicken was the sweet bliss that put me in my heaven. It was Debbie’s famous chicken wings.

The trampoline was squeaking and screeching as we all jump on it. We know we aren’t supposed to be all jumping at one time, but we do it anyway. I take one big jump then land on my bottom and sit to catch my breath; everyone followed my lead.

We start talking about whether to play Power Rangers or Teen Titans. I, personally, favored Teen Titans better, since I never got to be the pink Power Ranger.

“All in favor for Teen Titans, say ‘I’,” says Stone. Of course, I raise my hand and say “I”, along with Stone. There has always been just the four of us, Brandon, Stone, Shyenne, and I, so I never understood why we voted. It was always two against two.

“And all in favor for Power Rangers?” Brandon and Shyenne raise their right hand. I see Debbie waving her hand through the blinds in the slightly cracked window (a crack I’m pretty sure we put their playing kickball), signaling that it was time to eat.

“Hey guys, lunch is ready,” I yelled, getting up to jump off the trampoline. As I have one foot on the edge, I hear more screeching, and a big scream from Shyenne. I feel a sudden force of wind brush past me.

Next thing I know, I see Shyenne laying on the ground, sort of whimpering, but not crying. Shyenne never cried.

“Shyenne! Are you ok?!” I jump off quick and go help her.

Still moaning she says,”My arm…”

“This one?” I lift her limb right arm off the ground and let it dangle in my hand; I didn’t want to grab it forcefully and make it worse. She whines louder and longer, which is my signal that it was indeed that arm. Without realizing it, I quickly drop it to the ground.

That was the day Shyenne broke her right arm. And that was the day I didn’t eat the hot wings Debbie made for lunch.

“19-Mississippi…20-Mississippi! Ready or not, here I come!” My heart is beating fast and I feel adrenaline running through my body. My hiding spot was classic, and it was the only place I ever hid by myself--sometimes we played in partners, you know, to mix it up a little. The A/C unit was right next to the oak tree that Brandon was counting at, which gave me the best chance at the first one not “it”. I peek around the corner, to see where Brandon had ran off too. He often liked to hide somewhere when he was it, to make people think we was gone so he could run and tag them. Not sure if this was his strategy, I go for it anyway. Running and running to reach that tree, I look behind me to see if anyones there. Still looking behind me as I’m racing, I unexpectedly bump right into Debbie. She’s standing there, trying to look fierce and scary, but starts smiling. “The wings are ready sweetie, go get everybody.”

My Love for Books. SIKE

I'm really not the bookworm type. I don't exactly remember how I learned to read, probably at home with my mother shoving flash cards down my throat, but I remember that I loathed it. When I was a wee little girl, we had a reading system called Accelerated Reading, or A.R. You would read a book then take a quiz on it. It would take me a long time to read a book and actually apprehend what was happening. All of the other kids in my class would read a book and quiz over it in one day. So then, it came to be a competition for me. I felt like it was a game, and everybody was beating me. That's how my animosity for reading launched.

Let me explain to you how A.R. works. The books were ranked on levels by grade, 1st to 12th. So say I was reading a Magic School Bus book. That would be a second grade level book, considering the pictures, vocabulary, word count, etc. Depending on how small or easy the book was depicted how many questions there would be on the test you took. The years in which A.R. lived, there was an appealing, decorated wall in the cafeteria that had all of the wonderous children who were the top-notch, overachievers that could read anything and understand it. Can you guess who's picture never made it on that wall? This girl. After about 4th grade, I gave up trying too; it seemed like what I was doing was never good enough. I get that this whole shabang was to help kids practice reading comprehension, but not all of us have benefited. Maybe I'm wrong, but that could be why I hate reading now. I would always compare my speed and such to the other children.

So, as you can see for yourself, my reading history didnt have a tremendous start. And here I am today, with mixed feelings about it. There have been a few books that I've read and finished, and did end up enjoying them, but nothing has really stuck with me yet. It doesn't help that I was born into a family of booklovers. It breaks my sister's heart to hear me talk so harshly of reading books. My dad has made me three different memberships at thre different libraries, including a big one in Memphis, and I'm not interested at all. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that I am adopted at this point. My poor teachers have tried their best to make me a reader; it just hasn't happened yet. And take note that I said YET. I know one day it will hit me like a train, and I won't be able to keep my hands off of a book.

The very few books that I have read and liked are the teenage love stories; as if there's any other genre a 15 year old girl would read. I would say Nicholas Sparks is the only person that can actually please me with his books.

I Am

I am an emotional gigglebox

I wonder about the future

I have no desire to be famous

I see the Cheesecake Corner 20 miles away

I want to find somebody who fully understands my life

I am an emotinoal gigglebox

I pretend my singing is professional

I feel happy one second, then sad the next

I touch...ehh I don't want to touch that

I worry our generation will only get worse

I cry at anything I feel guilty of

I am an emotional gigglebox

I understand that life is a gift

I say don't spend it mad at the world

I dream about the day I get married

I try to not care what others think

I hope I will someday succeed

I am an emotional gigglebox

Drop Dead Sexy

Ladies, any of you ever wonder why the men we want seem to not exist? Blame the book writers. Even in regular stories or non-love stories, the majority of the men that the women go crazy for are described as "big" or "tall" or "charismatic".

So with everything going on in our lives, there's "no room for these men in our imagination". In Gabriel Marquez's short story "The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World", the women go crazy over the dead man that washed up on the shore. What gets me is... He's dead. The dude is dead. Yet the ladies are still mezmorized by the "tallest, strongest, most virile, and best built man they had ever seen". I can understand drooling over a guy, I mean we all do that. But naming a DEAD man and giving him all the royalty of your village? Talk about love at first sight

Just shows how crazy women can get over a good looking guy. Even better, a guy that doesn't exist anymore, or never did. I guess it's not our fault.