Dear Margaret,
I read your story My Name is Margaret and it is undeniably one of my favorites. You were a young girl during slavery but came out on top. This part of your story stands out most to me
"Old speckled-face leaned down and asked, “Who did it, Viola? Was it Mary? Who did it?”
Everything was happening so fast I can’t remember whether her action preceded her words, but I know Mrs. Cullinan said, “Her name’s Margaret, goddam it, her name’s Margaret.” And she threw a wedge of the broken plate on me. It could have been the hysteria which put her aim off, but the flying crockery caught Miss Glory right over her ear and she started screaming.
I left the front door wide open so all the neighbors could hear.
Mrs. Cullinan was right about one thing. My name wasn’t Mary.
This part of your story stands out most to me because you took a stand for yourself. You walked out of that house with such determination and relief.
Standing up to authority is not an easy thing to do. Wether it be law enforcement, or you own parents. I once had to stand up to my parents. It was the night of my sisters sweet sixteen around 4am when I could hear the loud music and loud voice coming from my living room. My house was a rancher and I was lucky enough to have the room right off of the living room. After two hours of trying to fall asleep but being unable too, I stormed out of my room and yelled at my parents. I didn't even realize that I was yelling until everything got quiet and I could see the looks on my parents faces. "Oh shit" I thought, what had I just done?
My dad was the first to say something and he was not happy. He yelled at me for talking to them like that and lectured me on having respect. It was my sisters sweet sixteen and I was ruining it, he told me loudly. I was so mad and upset that I started crying. The hot tears ran down my face as my mom started, she wasn't happy either. It turned into an hour long fight between me and my parents. We started just yelling about the music and the noise and before I knew it we were yelling at each other about any and everything. My mom and I were crying with one another as we yelled and at one point we both had enough. The next morning, I felt bad about yelling at my parents and ruining the fun my sister was having the night of her party, but I also felt relieved that I had gotten a lot of things off of my chest with my parents.
I'm sure other families would have handled that situation differently, maybe there woundn't have been the noise at 4am or there wouldn't have been the crying and yelling. My parents are very loud individuals and have no trouble expressing their true feelings and thoughts and I love them for that. They were not afraid of putting me in my place when I deserved it and listening when I needed to talk.
Ashley
I read your story My Name is Margaret and it is undeniably one of my favorites. You were a young girl during slavery but came out on top. This part of your story stands out most to me
"Old speckled-face leaned down and asked, “Who did it, Viola? Was it Mary? Who did it?”
Everything was happening so fast I can’t remember whether her action preceded her words, but I know Mrs. Cullinan said, “Her name’s Margaret, goddam it, her name’s Margaret.” And she threw a wedge of the broken plate on me. It could have been the hysteria which put her aim off, but the flying crockery caught Miss Glory right over her ear and she started screaming.
I left the front door wide open so all the neighbors could hear.
Mrs. Cullinan was right about one thing. My name wasn’t Mary.
This part of your story stands out most to me because you took a stand for yourself. You walked out of that house with such determination and relief.
Standing up to authority is not an easy thing to do. Wether it be law enforcement, or you own parents. I once had to stand up to my parents. It was the night of my sisters sweet sixteen around 4am when I could hear the loud music and loud voice coming from my living room. My house was a rancher and I was lucky enough to have the room right off of the living room. After two hours of trying to fall asleep but being unable too, I stormed out of my room and yelled at my parents. I didn't even realize that I was yelling until everything got quiet and I could see the looks on my parents faces. "Oh shit" I thought, what had I just done?
My dad was the first to say something and he was not happy. He yelled at me for talking to them like that and lectured me on having respect. It was my sisters sweet sixteen and I was ruining it, he told me loudly. I was so mad and upset that I started crying. The hot tears ran down my face as my mom started, she wasn't happy either. It turned into an hour long fight between me and my parents. We started just yelling about the music and the noise and before I knew it we were yelling at each other about any and everything. My mom and I were crying with one another as we yelled and at one point we both had enough. The next morning, I felt bad about yelling at my parents and ruining the fun my sister was having the night of her party, but I also felt relieved that I had gotten a lot of things off of my chest with my parents.
I'm sure other families would have handled that situation differently, maybe there woundn't have been the noise at 4am or there wouldn't have been the crying and yelling. My parents are very loud individuals and have no trouble expressing their true feelings and thoughts and I love them for that. They were not afraid of putting me in my place when I deserved it and listening when I needed to talk.
Ashley