61 Although the origins of antisemitism are rooted in the Judeo-Christian conflict, other forms of antisemitism have developed in modern times. Clarification needed Racial antisemitism isRead more
The means utilized to obtain these objectives are: to measure the extent, fluctuation, distribution, and nature of crime through the collection of data on the eightRead more
21 WGA has a potent, disruptive effect on platelet endothelial cell adhesion molecule-1, which plays a key role in tissue regeneration and safely removing neutrophils fromRead more
ECU 5 state and around 30 private universities. In all your ways acknowledge him and he will direct your path." Proverbs 3:5-6 Significant Life Experiences ThatRead more
that what the two of you need to get your act together and stop goofing off in class? We are both long-limbed and toothpick thin, our bellies hollowed out beneath our ribs. My mother tugs and pulls, each stroke painfully snapping back my neck. He peers beneath the waistband of my underwear, makes a sound of displeasure, and takes a measured step back. Were not going to talk about that sort of stuff at the breakfast table! That I will look like my sister and all the other straight-haired girls at school: clean, neat, and properly feminine. That if he keeps up his football training, he could be all-American one day. I sit on the wooden bench, my eyes hot, until everyone else has left. They laugh as they pinch my thighs and shove their sweaty palms against the small of my back.
In the classroom, the boys raise their hands and laugh as they try to reach their arms around my gravity-defying strands. Its time to be a big girl, she reminds. I picture us giggling as we smoke and drink beer up in the boarding schools attic, as we purposely flout proper etiquette and plot our next big prank. Nothings Gonna Change. American Woman In time, I learn how to tame my hair, but my shame and self-loathing still linger. When my sister mocks my need to shave, he drops his fork, casts the paper aside, and slaps his palm down so hard that the motion nearly unseats his plate. My father smiles, his teeth white beneath his mustache, but I dont laugh. When the storm clouds gather and I'm losing my way. He gathers my hair in his one free hand, his palm still damp and covered in grass, and pretends to chop the ends off. Come on, my friends mother says as she attempts to pull the wet shirt over my head. He sits at the table in his threadbare navy bathrobe, a patch of his gray chest hair poking out of the opening.