muscles, bikes and cigarettes

I like reading Carver because it's like sitting on your porch and watching the goings on around you in your neighborhood. His characters are so genuine and familiar. He keeps his descriptions so minimal that the reader's imagination is allowed to fill in the backdrop. I love this because although we're all reading the same story, the uniqueness of our own experiences set the scene and create the plot on our own terms. The characters could be your neighbors as much as mine. Because of this, I think his stories would be a great entry into a short story unit in any high school class.

This was such a sweet story fo me to read. I have two boys and though they are not angels by any stretch of the word, they are generally good boys and rarely give me any issues. (believe me, I know how fortunate I am). They have such an underlying sense of goodness that even though they are "typical boys" and stir up their share of mischief, they ultimately would never intentionally do something to hurt someone else. At least, I don't think they would. They're just not mean spirited. Somehow they've become very empathetic to the feelings of others. I'm not going to take credit for this attribute, but I do take advantage of it and try to foster their understanding of other people's circumstances. It helps them to see outside of themselves, and I think that is an important attribute for any human to have.

My dad would never have done anything like this when I was a child. He's very non- confrontational and for a long time I also hated to rock the boat on any issue in anyway. I'm not saying that it's a terrible personality trait, just that more often than not I found myself getting taken advantage of and that led to resentment and tension. Instead of talking about what was bothering me, I'd just cram it all inside and stew about it. I still have a tendencey to do that, but I try to put my feelings regarding a situation out here before they can fester and cause a larger issue later. Which, by the way, is always the case when you try to be a "non boat-rocker." (at least that's been my experience). My mother...on the other hand would totally have gone down the street and made an issue of the bike situation. I'm trying to think how she would've behaved if it were my bike, and she definitely wouldn't have been as nice as Gilbert's mother.
I'm not sure how I would react in such a situation, my Jon let someone ride his bike this summer and complained that the kid "bent his rim". He is my ...opinionated child. I really didn't know anything about it until about 9:30 one night when my doorbell rang and it was the kid's mother with a twenty dollar bill in her hand. She apologized and tried to give me the money, "this is for Jon's bike, " she'd said. I asked her what she was talking about, and then she gave me the story about her boy riding Jon's bike and Jon accusing him of bending the rim and then demanding payment for it. OMG!! I was mortified. Now, don't get me wrong, I stand up for my own when the situation calls for it, if you know anything about me it has to be that I'm not afraid to..express myself. This, on the other hand was different. I smelled a rat, and he was living in my boy's room. So you can get a better idea of this..allow me to paint the picture for you. Jon, my 12 year old, is the hardest headed child that Jesus has ever made. He is going to learn EVERYTHING the hard way. I love this boy beyond words..but there are definitely days when I've considered taking two twenty's for him. Obstinate would be putting it mildly. Jon is 50,000% boy, really, no exageration. He hates to shower, he smells his clothes to see if they're clean, I can smell him coming home in the summer, and even though he goes to school looking like a clean and well brought up child, he comes home looking like he's been working in the coal mines for eight hours. There are actually times when I throw his clothes out because I don't want to foul up my washing machine..yes, really. We bought him one of those silly BMX bikes a couple of years ago, the ones with the pegs sticking out of the wheels. He "ramps" over twigs, okay? Once I looked out the window and he was dragging a palate from behind the grocery store down the street. He came in and started rummaging through Matt's (my husband) tool box, grabs the hammer and walks out. Because I wanted to see where this was actually going, I just watched for a minute. He took apart the palate, and started leaning the boards next to each other against the blue recycle bin. He throws the hammer down and rides his bike to the end of the street. I knew where this was going so I went out and said "uh, whatta ya doin?" "I made a ramp for my bike, he says. "I'm gonna jump it with my bike." Yeah, okay, that's happening, Can you wait 'til I get an ambulance to stand by? "Are you insane???!!!!!!!!!!." He goes through a minimum of four inner tubes for his bike tires every summer, we finally wised up and got the "Unbreakable" ones...and unbreakable is really a matter of opinion, he managed to ruin one of those as well. This is a kid who tried banging a 9volt battery into a AA battery spot, and was irritated with the fact that he couldn't "make the stupid battery fit." When Jon got the bike he gave every kid in the neighborhood a ride on the back pegs...even though we recommended against that. "It's my bike," he'd say to me. (Can you feel my pain)?
so..the point here is I knew damn well the neighbor's kid didn't bend Jon's bike rim. I certainly couldn't take her money. I did make Jon come downstairs and face the music, and he was really mad at me for a while. He really insisted that this kid bent the rim. Now, I'm not sure what this has to do with the story other than I think there are two sides to every story. I was glad Mr. Hamilton kicked Berman's ass. He deserved it. I can see my little (long) story going completely the other way if I decided to pretend that my kid is a perfect specimen of humanity..but I know better. He's not. Can I fault him for it? Neither am I, but I do want him to make the right choices and even if it makes him want to "stick my doll"..I'll do that to the best of my ability. I want them to say that they wish they knew me when I was little, like they could imagine us being friends. I loved this story. Sorry that I carried on and on and on..

Perspective

I think an interesting creative decision Carver chooses to make has to do with perspective, especially in the stories "Gazebo" and "So Much Water So Close to Home." In "Gazebo," he chooses to tell the story from the perspective of the husband and in "So Much Water..." he tells the story from the perspective of the wife. Why do you think he chooses these perspectives? I thought about it a lot this week and I really don't have an insightful statement to make either way. The wife's perspective is so personal and jarring, I feel like I am inside her skin when I read it and it's disturbing. The husband's perspective is less reflective and more matter-of-fact; instead of sympathy I rather feel as though I'm being bludgeoned by the story. I feel empathy for the characters and am frustrated by their obstinancy to the feelings of their partner in both cases (the husband's decision to cheat and make no effort to re-establish trust, the wife's decision to shut her husband out because of his insensitiviy to the dead girl). I was hoping that one of us might shed some light on these characters and the way they tell their stories...

arguing parents..yuk

This story so reminded me of my parents when I was that age. They were constantly arguing, and the house was a giant hive of tension. No one ever wanted to be there. I totally empathize with the kid wanting to stay home. I never wanted to go to school during their divorce.

I was annoyed with the mother's comments about how the father "wanted to tear apart the family." My mother talked trash about my father all the time and it didn't do anything but breed resentment in me. It certainly didn't bring me over to "her side" if there really was such a thing.

I think it's awful to put kids in the middle of it all, they didn't ask to be brought into the world or your mess, why should they get stuck sqare in the middle of something that they really don't have any choice in? It's awful to expect them to pick sides. They love both of their parents. You should't ask them to choose. (sorry..a little pent up anger coming out..my ex is constantly putting my boys in the middle of our crap. It frustrates them and infuriates me..which doesn't allieviate the situation any either). I keep praying for him to spontaneously combust..but God hasn't come through for me yet...Awful aren't I? No, not bitter...anyway...............

The rest of the story seems to pretty much follow the plan of action that any typical teenage boy would follow when he cut school. Wait until mom (or dad) leaves, turn on the television, eat a bunch of crap, then go find something to do and make sure you're home before your parents get there. It is almost like Ferris Bueler's day off..but not as much fun.

I wasn't getting the father's reaction to the fish, but again, I may need some remedial reading lessons from you all. It seems as though the further I read into the book, the less I'm understanding. I have had to read everything twice so far...I'm really feeling that my status as "reader" has greatly declined over the past 48 hours or so. I keep thinking..."What was that?"

Perhaps you all want to reconsider my membership to this club..You may consider voting me off the island, or perhaps providing me with a bunch of reading life-lines..yikes..(no I really don't watch that much tv..especially that kind of crap..) Maybe I'll get the bike and muscle one...

A small good thing..what's small or good about it?

Okay, I remeber reading this during my observation period in one of the English classes. I kept thinking, God, what an awful story. those poor people lose their boy and if someone would have reacted a little bit sooner, maybe(probably) it could've been prevented. Not that I'm a fan of this litigitous society that we live in, but somewhere in the back of my head I'm thinking someone bears some responsibility in all of this.

I suppose I'm a little reactionary, but I am a mama and I would be paralyzed by an event like this. I suppose if I think on it a little more, I imagine any parent would feel the same. It would be so hard to accept the death of a child. My husband just lost his 26 year old daughter and I just don't know how he gets up in the morning. He hasn't been able to go to the cemetary yet, and over the weekend we went to our storage unit and, of course, some of her stuff was in there, so he had a really hard time getting through the rest of the day. He's not a sobber , but it definitely affected him.

I thought the parents were a little wierd, the mother seemed to be content to wait for the Doctors to sort of plod along. I try not to be a "heli-mom" and hover over everyone, but I think I would've been a little more proactive. I suppose hind sight is 20/20. It's easy to be an armchair quaterback when you're not in the game. The other side of that coin is that I would hate to second guess the doctors. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. I guess losing a child would pretty much incapacitate me. I suppose the parents reaction was what they could handle at the time?

I was a little confused about the baker's phone calls. I mean, what was the purpose? I guess he was annoyed because he thought they stiffed him on the cake, but prank phone calls just seem a little juvenile to me. Maybe he should've sent them a bill anyway, and when he found out about the circumstances he could've just forgiven the bill. that's probably not the best way to run a business. I suppose the parents could've blown the bill off..I don't know. I think this story left me with more questions than answers...obviously it did. I actually feel like less of a "reader" after reading it..does that make sense? Did any of you get this feeling? I hope I can make sense of the rest of the stories. You guys might be in for a pretty long discussion forum while you try to explain everything to me. I'll have to go back and read your posts, and then try a re-reading of the story....

Readings for the week of 2/17-2/24

Hey everybody!

So we have decided on four selections this week, try to get to at least three. 

So Much Water So Close to Home

They're Not Y0ur Husband

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love

Gazebo

Okie dokie? 

Stealing bikes and pulling weeds

So...

this happened to me--"this", as in I was in a situation where a missing bike was involved and the high parental court was forced to interject (which is never good in kidom). I remember the high tension between my mom and the mom down the street because someone's bike went missing. I am not sure of the details, but I think I was covering for my friend down the street or my brother. Either way, we were all punished and forced to weed the garden for the rest of the day. 

I can see how relationships between parents can be dicey. No one has the same familial constitution set up and one family's rule broken is another's rule bent. I think about this more and more as we talk about starting a family in the future. 

As for teaching, I guess this is the same between teachers. A late arrival or cell phone is a detention (or even ISS!) for one teacher and a conversation or look from another. 

I have never seen my parents throw down with anyone else's, and thank God for that. I would d.i.e.

Raymond Carver's style makes me tense and anxious!

My Dad could beat up your Dad...

Here was another protoypical teenage boy story. I never saw my old man get into a physical confrontation with anyone's dad: the only kid on my street I ever fought with didn't know who his dad was (which is probably one of the reasons he liked to fight so much.) My dad was always a big guy, like my Danish grandfather: tall and thick with wide shoulders and an enormous head. Somehow I got to be short and chubby like my mom's Hungarian father. Anyways, that's another subject. My old man used to fell trees in our woods with his chainsaw and then me and my older brother would chop them up for firewood. My best friend's dad chopped and delivered firewood for a living. I always associated the whole process with masculinity, the way the boy in the story is doing with smoking and muscles. I still find myself sometimes looking at a man that I meet for the first time and thinking, "I wonder how many swings with an axe it would take him to split a trunk?" or "Does this guy know how to operate a chainsaw?"
Another thing my old man used to do was to tell my little brother and I stories before we would go to bed. They were pretty outlandish stories about his boyhood in Washington: spearing a steelhead with a fencepost, the three-legged coyote with green spit who took off with the neighbor's goose, the avalanche he drove through with his milk truck, his Indian friend John Moses who killed a guy with a shotgun. So another thing I've always associated with masculinity is the ability to tell a good story (regardless of getting the facts straight.) My mother would read to us often, but never tell stories the way Dad did. I suppose that's why he became a preacher.