Wife Swap Response

I feel like the whole Wife Swap ordeal was more difficult for Maryanne. I would not have been able to put up with Scott disrespecting me; I could have handled Maryanne's children disrespecting me, because that behavior is more easily changed than a grown man's behavior, but I grew up in the type of household where, if the woman is a stay-at-home mother, she took care of the cooking and cleaning, and the husband works full-time and does odd jobs around the house, like fixing the plumbing or building things.

That's not how I want to live though. I want to have kids but I also want my own career. With my ideal career, I will be able to have a flexible schedule, so that I can build it around my children, but I intend on my future husband also helping around the house. That's just how I am; I'm independent but I expect help with things. It's a partnership for a reason, to me.

I was appalled that Maryanne didn't let Leo cut his hair; I plan on letting my kids have their hair the way that they want. If I don't let them do anything to physically express themselves, like dress the way they want or have their hair the way they want, then when they're older they're going to be dying to do all these crazy things to themselves. I'd rather let them do what they want with their self-expression so that they know how they like things (their hair, clothing style) by the time they're young adults.

There's a lot more I could say, but I don't want this to be an essay on gender roles.

China Email Exchange

I have two pen pals. One is Cathy and the other is Seven. Cathy is very athletic, and her significant object piece was about her cell phone. I'm not so sure if Seven sent an object piece, but he may have written about antiques and a bracelet he designed.

Both are very friendly, and I enjoy emailing them quite a lot.

That's about it.

Favorite Book Excerpt

My favorite book is The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. It is a coming of age story written in letter form by Charlie; it begins as Charlie starts high school.

The excerpt that I chose is a poem written by an anonymous 15-year-old in the 1960s, two years before he killed himself. While Chbosky did not write it himself, it was the first time I read the poem, and I thought he wrote it until I did some research on it. 

Santa Claus and Little Sisters

"Once,

On yellow paper, with green lines, he wrote a poem,

And called it "Chops",

Because that was the name of his dog,

And that’s what it was all about.

And the teacher gave him an "A"

And a gold star,

And his mother hung it on the kitchen door,

And read it to all his aunts.

That was the year his sister was born,

With tiny toenails and no hair,

And Father Tracy took them to the zoo

And let them sing on the bus.

And his mother and father kissed a lot

And the girl around the corner sent him a Christmas card

Signed with a row of x's.

And his father always tucked him in at night,

And he was always there to do it.

Once,

On white paper, with blue lines, he wrote another poem.

And he called it "Autumn"

Because that was the name of a season,

And that’s what it was all about.

And the teacher gave him an "A"

And told him to write more clearly.

And his mother didn’t hang it on the kitchen door

Because the door

Had just been painted.

That was the year his sister got glasses,

With black frames and thick lenses.

And the kids told him why father and mother

Kissed a lot,

And that Father Tracy smoked cigars

And left butts on the pews,

And the girl around the block laughed

When he went to see Santa Claus at Macy’s.

And his father stopped tucking him in bed at night,

And got mad when he cried for him to.

Once,

On paper torn from his notebook, he wrote another poem,

And he called it "Question Marked Innocence",

Because that was the name of his grief

And that’s what it was all about.

And the professor gave him an "A"

And a strange and steady look.

And his mother never hung it on the door

Because he never let her see it.

That year he found his sister necking on the back porch

And his parents never kissed, or even smiled.

And he forgot how the end of the "Apostle’s Creed" went,

And Father Tracy died.

And the girl around the block wore too much make-up

That made him cough when he kissed her,

But he kissed her anyway.

Once,

At 3 a.m., he tucked himself in bed,

His father snoring soundly.

He tried another poem, on the back of a pack of matches,

And he called it "absolutely nothing"

Because that’s what it was all about.

And he gave himself an "A"

And a slash on each damp wrist,

And hung it on the bathroom door,

Because he couldn’t reach the kitchen."

I don't know why I like it, honestly. Maybe because it's morbid; maybe because I relate to it, in the way that the author of the poem wrote about how he was praised for his work and later on, things changed. He stopped getting validation from his parents to the point he didn't show anyone his work.

It also hits close to home because there were people in my life that I was close to and they committed suicide. 

That's all I have to say.