Thankful

In thinking of something that I am thankful for, I tried so hard to find something that would not be seen as the generic Thanksgiving response, but in the end , I failed in that quest. Sitting at dinner tonight, my family members seated so close together we were bumping elbows, I came to the realization that I am truly thankful for my family. Life would be so boring without them. No inside jokes, no moments of hysterical laughter, and none of the occasionally bloody battles we fight with one another. I would never sit through the after dinner talks about the classmates from high school, and where they are now, or the disputes over who really got shot in the forehead with the BB gun that summer. I would never have experienced the heated arguments about politics and who is doing what wrong and "if you're so sure that's right, why don't you go and get elected" that always seem to wriggle their way into dessert conversations. Sometimes I think maybe the dessert is too sweet, so we feel the need to sour it up a bit. I am thankful for all the satisfied sighs of bloated contentment after a surprisingly filling holiday dinner, because those sighs are some of the few moments of silence we experience on those nights. Without my family, I would never know how fun, but completely overwhelming, a truly raucous and chaotic group of people is. I would never have experienced moments of sensory overload, as fourteen cousins compete for the attention of their respective parents, in the quest for the largest piece of pie. My ears would not hurt after holidays if it were not for my family, my head would not feel as though it were spinning off into another dimension if I did not have my family. If my family were no longer here, I would be so lonely. If there is one thing that family has over friends that makes them far superior, it is that, no matter how mad or upset you become with one another, you always have a connection to them. That cliche... that I cannot remember at all at this point in time, about friends going but family always being there, is so true, and something I am very grateful for. I would be lost without my family. They are a piece of my identity, the people who make me laugh so hard I cry, and who make me so angry I want to rip my hair out. I am thankful for my mother's loud laughter and witty comments, no matter how shocking they may be. I am thankful for my father's quiet observations, and his well-placed comments in a conversation. I will always be thankful for the companionship of my three younger siblings, because we made our childhoods absolutely memorable, and we were best friends for the entirety of our pre-middle school years. As common as being thankful for your family may be, I think my thanks are more for who my family is, and how they make my life so dynamic. Without them I would be an entirely different person, a far more boring and bland person, with very few stories to tell. I wouldn't have experienced the walloping from pillow fights, the days of misery out in the fields, made more interesting with a few well-aimed dirt clods, and I would never have had the connections with people like I do with my brothers, my sister, or my parents. They have taught me so much, and I am probably still learning. They are such a loud, happy, and stubborn group of people, and they make my life so interesting. I will always be grateful for being born into this family of craziness, a family that at times seems almost surreal, and to outsiders can be totally overwhelming. My greatest fear used to be that my family would scare my friends away if I invited them over, but I have come to realize that, if my friends can't handle my family, they don't deserve me, because, in a sense, I am my family. My family has shown me that there is more to life than material things, that if a person does not like my family they are not a true friend. They have shown me how being true to yourself is the most important thing that you can do, that the comments of other people should not affect me, because I am my own person, and I control what happens in my life. I know that my family will always accept me, no matter who or what I decide to be, and even if they voice their opinions, good and bad, about what I am, they will always love me. I am thankful for family dinners with my family every night, for family movie nights, for the badly sung happy birthdays, for the loving pokes and jabs we bestow upon one another as we pass. Who would have thought it took a chorus of "shut-ups" at dinner for me to see that my family is the one thing that I am most grateful for? We may be rude, we may not hold anything back, but we have fun and we each have a cause in life, and we all have a love and appreciation for one another that cannot be destroyed. Family is what holds me together when life gets tough, and I will never in my life deny them, no matter how embarrassing they are being, because without them, I have no identity. They define me, and I define them, and I am very thankful for that.

Feminism in The Glass Castle

Feminism is defined as "comprising a number of social, cultural and political movements, theories and moral philosophies concerned with gender inequalities and equal rights for women." In the memoir The Glass Castle an aura of feminist pride seems to surround Jeanette's mother, however, her ideas of feminism are slightly warped interpretations. She claims she wants independence, that domesticity is not her thing, that she does not need to bend her values for a man, yet Rosemary Walls is forever taking her ideas to an extreme, or defining her laziness as feminism. I understand, the woman is bipolar, but I think it is wrong to cry feminist if your views of the philosophy are incorrect and reflect poorly on the cause. One instance in the novel that truly disgusted me was on page 56 :

Mom didn’t like cooking much— “Why spend the afternoon making a meal that will be gone in an hour,” she’d ask us, “when in the same amount of time, I can do a painting that will last forever?”—so once a week or so, she’d fix a big cast-iron vat of something like fish and rice or, usually, beans. We’d all sort through the beans together, picking out the rocks, the Mom would soak them overnight, boil them the next day with an old ham bone to give them flavor, and for that entire week, we’d have beans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If the beans started going bad, we’d just put extra spice in them, like the Mexicans at the LBJ Apartments always did. (Walls 56)

In the name of her independence, this mother defies many societal norms of the era in which this story takes place. The passage shows how the mother would rather be a self-absorbed person and let her children eat rotting food, as opposed to taking some time to make sure that the are eating healthy, balanced meals. Although this style of meal preparation is easy and food is always on hand, it is unsanitary, and completely lazy. As much as the mother disagrees with domesticity, she could approach feeding her family in an entirely different way, and still have time for herself and for her artwork.
The mother in this story also says many things that I find completely out of line for a mother to say. After attending a college seminar for a few days, Rosemary returns home and suddenly feels as though she is a new woman. Walls writes:

A few days later, Mom came home. She seemed different, too. She had lived in a dorm on the university campus, without four kids to take care of, and she had loved it. She’d attended lectures and she’d painted. She’d read stacks of self-help books, and they had made her realize she had been living her life for other people. She intended to quit her teaching job and devote herself to her art. “It’s time I did something for myself,” she said. “It’s time I started living my life for me.” (Walls 218)

Any person who decides that they are going to be a parent is making the decision to give up a part of their life for their children, and they just have to accept that. Although I do not feel a parent should live vicariously through their child, there has to be some level of involvement otherwise what was the point of having kids. Yes, the mother in this memoir wants independence, but I find it ironic that she of all people feels she has been living for other people. Throughout the memoir the mother is the one character who seems to not be living for someone else, and who appears to be the most independent, yet in this passage she claims to have been held back by her family. I find her striving for independence a joke, and if this woman were my mother, I would be pretty annoyed with her.
I think that the feminism in this novel was not actual feminism beliefs, but instead the way that these beliefs are warped and twisted by other people to defend their short-comings, neglect their families, and act downright ridiculous. If Jeannette's mother were truly an equality seeking, independent woman, she would have left her husband, cared for her children in a humane way, and made sure that she divided time between herself and her family equally.