travis: innocence and a hope for change

Dear Diary,

Today sure was an unusual day. 

A cracker came to our house late afternoon, lookin' all formal-like with his big ole briefcase and thick glasses. He walked in the door with a huge smile on his face, as if he just done chase a rat as big as a cat and beat it to a pulp beneath his feet (I am strictly forbidden to do that anymore). But Mama and Grandma and Aunt Beneatha and them all looked so tense, as if the rat they had been chasin' fly right outta their hands and underneath a building where they couldn't reach him no more. 

And, Daddy—well he was tryna say somethin' to the man, but I done noticed that he looked mighty nervous. He kept wiping his sleeve across his mouth and faltered in his speech. At one point, he grab me and say, "This is my son, and he makes the sixth generation our family in this country." Oh, gaallee! I sure must be something if Daddy say that to the white man so proudly! 

And then, Daddy said something even more strange. He said, "And we have decided to move into our house because my father—my father—he  earned it for us brick by brick. We don't want to make no trouble for nobody or fight no causes, and we will try to be good neighbors. And that's all we got to say about that. We don't want your money." And then the white man, he was jes' lookin' all flustered and whisking away his things in a flurry, parting with a warning, "I sure hope you people know what you're getting into."

That sorta struck something in me. I remember Daddy's strong voice, Grandmama's tear-streaked face, Mama with her head bowed, and Auntie with her head raised in pride. I mean, what exactly are we gettin' into? Why it such a big deal if we move into Clybourne Park? I never met none of them white boys before, but I know we could get along just fine. After all, Daddy say I am the sixth generation in this family. If Granddaddy and his ancestors weren't able to stand up shoulder to shoulder with a white man, then by gallee, I will be the first one in my family to do that. And when that day come, Mama and Daddy will say to me, "Yes, son. Ain't nobody out there that can tell you you ain't fit to walk this earth. Thrive, prosper, live alongside the others. You done make us proud."

Now that sounds like a lot more respectable goal to work for than to trade marbles or chase them rats down the streets. 

Yours truly,

Travis Younger

an allegory of youth

Anyone who has read The Diamond as Big as the Ritz would agree that Fitzgerald does an admirable job of manipulating rhetoric into creating a piece that has all the elements of a heartwarming “Once upon a time” tale: a castle situated on a supernatural diamond mountain, a magical bathtub, an evil villain, a beautiful princess and her Prince Charming, and even a moral-of-the-story that’s painfully true. What it lacks is the “happily ever after.” It’s quite ironic, really, that instead of rising from rags to riches, our wonderful Kismine and her beloved actually descend from the “floating fairy-land” into a pit of Hell. So maybe they aren’t so wonderful after all.

Although Kismine is deemed the “incarnation of physical perfection” itself, none can match the naivety of her mind. She reveals her foolishness when she claims, “I believe that girls ought to enjoy their youths in a wholesome way”—much like Daisy, who thinks girls are better off being “beautiful little fools.” Frankly, the fact that Kismine “never…read[s] anything” nor knows “any mathematics or chemistry” convinces me that she would better fit in with a herd of pink elephants rather than the human race. (At least I’m not saying she can only have water as a beverage.)

So what’s wrong with John T. Unger? Doesn’t he rescue, heroic and Moses-like, the damsels in distress? Shouldn’t he have been spared the torments of Hell? Unfortunately, our main character lacked the nobility and wisdom of Moses; he allowed himself to get caught up in the “warm enchantment” of luxury and began “measuring up the day against [a] radiantly imagined future.” Like Gatsby, his fantasizing about the “unattainable young dream” eventually results in a hard fall back to reality.

And so, although DBR was written decades ago, its message is very applicable even today. The shiny, gaudy opulence of the Washington estate is representative of the excessive, dreamy way in which we live youth. Like Unger, it is a time when most everyone experiences the flush of first love sitting atop their mountains of unrealistic aspirations, a time when one is first exposed to the “terrible and golden mystery” of life, a time that abruptly ends with “the shabby gift of disillusion.”