Wildcard
The "Unwanted" Gift
Memoir
About this Unit
By creating an engaging memoir, I was asked to outline a story that concludes with an epiphany that reveals something about the depth of my character. I was asked to craft concise and nuanced statements to build my paper. I was also asked to contain the story within an appropriate scope that included only what was necessary. This was the most challenging and rewarding unit for me due to my success.
By the time I was in middle school, I had become an expert at hiding in the center of the action. I hover in the middle of the dining room with a root beer taking in the kitchen and living room on either side of me. It’s only my second time at this house. I can’t remember the names of most of the people here, or how we’re related for that matter.
Despite being in middle school already, my parents dressed me up like any other day. No, they didn’t make me put my hands over my head and put my clothes on, nor did they set out my clothes for me. Instead, I had already learned to just say okay to the hideous plaid cargo shorts and unbearably tacky polo tees at department stores. And just like the t-shirt I have on today, this family party is shaping up to be as ordinary as possible.
I am able to recognize Maria, who is preparing some dish out of my line of sight that I can’t identify by smell with a couple of aunts. Every so often there is a loud hoot coming from one of them. She’s probably going on about how disgraceful one of our cousins is or something. I often wonder how well my family thinks I can translate their conversations. It’s not infrequently that I have gotten my own feelings hurt by my perceptiveness. I shift my gaze to the thing that was pulling my attention since the beginning of the party. A group of girls sits excitedly making Rainbow Loom bracelets on the dining room table beside me.
I was happy to see Ana, one of my favorite cousins that I had grown up with. I remembered the theatrical dance she and I made together to the Nicki Minaj song “Super Bass” when we were little. After our family performance, I could feel the quiet applause directed towards her and the confused stares left for me. I fixate on the mix match of the different colored bands in each tiny cubicle of their container. I can’t help but wish that they would be organized my way. The perfect icy blue color was being cornered by the awful, dull, and dark purple, brown, and black bands. I notice almost everyone at the table has at least one of these gross colors in their bracelets. My eyes skim from their atrocities to the brighter whites, yellows, and pinks that lay untouched in desperate patience.
The soft pink of the loom bands reminds me of my favorite shirt that was mostly unworn. It was a beachy pink color with white fuzzy cloth sewn on to spell out the brand name and two oars crossing through the center of the chest. One of many morning arguments over the shirt revealed that boys don’t wear pink, and that was that. I envy the freedom that the loom bands had to intermingle and be bold. Regardless of how much they contrast from each other.
Without turning, I can feel and hear the pulsing funaná coming from the living room, begging us to “dance! Dance!” The intensity of the music blurs all of my senses together and exacerbates the experience. I begin to feel the weight of just how much is going on around me. I turn to examine the other half of the house. I wonder why the books in the living room corner are organized by thickness and not by height. Naturally, I start reshuffling them in my head. Coming from the living room is the low hum of uncles and grandfathers preparing drinks. There are occasional booming laughs and the sharp striking of glasses onto the coffee table coming from that direction. My gaze darts back and forth between the living room and the kitchen as the energy escalates.
As if the party wasn’t doing well enough being completely on script, Ana does the unthinkable. She perks her head up to me and shouts “come make bracelets with us!” Goosebumps traveled through my hair like an army of insects beginning from behind my ears. I remember all the innocent passers-by who fell victim to my family’s side remarks about their flamboyance or flashy clothing. The pointed words whirl around in my head and put my reaction on autopilot. I immediately reject her offer.
I sit down in one of the low twin armchairs that were on either side of an end table with my root beer in one hand and my forearm in the other. Just to put some safe distance between us. I really hope none of the uncles or grandfathers heard what just happened. The window behind them was at the perfect angle to let in the dulled sunlight that cascades onto the tall table. The perfection of the sun’s rays is almost comical and reminds me of the intro shot of the unreachable Mount Olympus in the Hercules movie.
My mind snaps back to the crisis at hand and I finally take in how absurd it was for her to ask me to join. I could just imagine everyone's reaction if I were to join them at the table. The smirks of the uncles. The quick comments of the aunts in the kitchen. Of course, I don’t want to make bracelets—ever! That just simply wasn’t on the list of the things I could do, anyway.
I fidget in my seat and note how a new bracelet was created. One girl would choose a few colors then deliberate with the others over what the final color should be. Then the bands were taken to the loom board that was as long as my lower arm. It was just a matter of overlapping the bands a few times before the bracelet was off the board. They twist and cross over in an arrow shape that looks so easy to replicate. Their meticulous attention to detail brings back all the memories of watching my grandma make her jewelry. She would string evil eye beads on necklaces and earrings with sharp, swift movements. The small, glossy black beads and their white-painted dots were encapsulated in gold caps like fancy tree ornaments. I always wondered what their shiny surface felt like. The girls seal a bracelet with a final clear plastic infinity hook and then it is on an arm helping another one be created. I could practically smell the plasticity of the tiny bands and feel the satisfying squish of a completed bracelet between my fingers.
Ana asks again. “I’m fine,” I tell the thick black leather cushion she was sitting on. “I’m kinda tired,” I explain to her chair’s stumpy legs. My thoughts are muddled by the room. The funaná pounds the inside of my head. My mind picks out laughs from elsewhere in the house and convinces myself that they are directed only at me.
My mind’s fabrication is cut short by Ana as she glides down to stand practically on top of my chair. She reaches down and plants a glittery green and pink alternating bracelet on my wrist. I am sure the floor would part underneath us. Or the laughter that was sure to erupt again would cause the house to crumble. Or most likely, I would never hear the end of this.
The party continued like any other day.
I look down at the way the bracelet screamed in color against the clothes I wore that day. I finally connected the dots. The way I dressed, the things I so fiercely rejected out of fear, the things I stopped myself from doing in general. I spent the whole party rejecting the fact that I wished I had made this bracelet myself. The people around me simultaneously represent everything that is and is not giving me so much fear. I am looking at an outfit fit for my parents, a set of hobbies and passions fit for my aunts and uncles, and a personality built for everyone but myself. I was a perfect actor in a role that was completely untrue to whom I wanted to be. The lack of reaction made me realize that I was just afraid of sticking out in a bad way that didn’t really exist. My emotions were so intense and detached from what was actually unfolding in front of me. In reality, I was free to act the way I wanted and my fear was the only thing that was getting in the way.
Unit 3 Reflection
I was really satisfied with my original hook “by the time I was in middle school, I had become an expert at hiding in the center of the action.” However, this was not very accurate to my story, so I tried “despite being in middle school already, my parents dressed me up like any other day.” This was a much less interesting start, so I decided to go with my original hook and have it switch perspectives in order to keep it interesting and also relevant to the rest of my paper.
I clarified a lot of why I felt the way I did. For example, I elaborated on my feelings of nervousness, and my relationship with my family. I included a reference to my family’s comments on other’s flamboyance to show how I felt self-conscious for expressing myself in the same way. This snippet helps explain why I was so sensitive about their opinions. I also explained my tendencies during the epiphany by pointing out how I wanted to avoid bad attention. All of these things truly prove my feelings from before the story even begins and why I acted the way I did at the moment.
I started using shorter sentences and noticed a big difference in my writing. My writing is more impactful and clear. I often feel the need to completely outline every aspect of an idea at once for some reason. However, my writing is more effective when I say only what is necessary.
The readings from Naked, Drunk, and Writing completely turned my writing around for the better. During the whole writing process, I was extremely nervous that my epiphany was not substantial enough or significant enough. I felt like I either was being too explicit or not explaining how the epiphany made me feel. I also was nervous about how I would deliver it since the epiphany moment came as I got older and was not during the moment that this occurred. The readings helped me understand that I simply needed to use more declarative statements here to explain the full extent of my epiphany. I realized that this was an exception to the show-and-don’t-tell rule. I also used the tip in chapter 9 to bring back the image of my clothing at the end. I revised my paper one final time by recording myself reading it out loud, and this helped me catch any parts that were unclear.
My paper has a lot of harsh transitions. I go from talking about how nervous and unsettled I was in one paragraph and then calmly talk about the loom bands in the next with no transition. I do have one more seamless transition towards the beginning where I say “my mind snaps back to the crisis at hand.” I was able to smooth out these transitions by playing around with the order of my paragraphs. One instance of this is where I talk about my favorite shirt after seeing the loom bands instead of just before the epiphany.
I believe that my paper deserves a grade in the A range. I was able to incorporate many of the recommended aspects of memoir writing from you, the Adair Lara readings, and my peers. I started this assignment a bit unsure of the goals, but as I was writing, I began to fully understand what was being asked of me. I pushed myself to balance each part of the paper and really identify what was necessary and what was working for the paper. In my final revision of the paper, I had to repeatedly kill my darlings to strengthen the underlying meaning. While the paper can be longwinded at times, I am very satisfied with it and feel a major difference from where I started.