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涓撲笟
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涓撴敞
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word
鍙紪杈?/p>
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Everyday Use for your grandmama
Alice Walker
I will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavy yester day
afternoon. A yard like this is more comfortable than most people know. It is not just a
yard. It is like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean as a floor and
the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular grooves, anyone can come and
sit and look up into the elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the
house.
Maggie will be nervous until after her sister goes: she will stand hopelessly in corners,
homely and ashamed of the burn scars down her arms and legs, eying her sister with a
mixture of envy and awe. She thinks her sister has held life always in the palm of one
hand, that "no" is a word the world never learned to say to her.
You've no doubt seen those TV shows where the child who has "made it" is
confronted, as a surprise, by her own mother and father, tottering in weakly from
backstage. (A Pleasant surprise, of course: What would they do if parent and child came
on the show only to curse out and insult each other?) On TV mother and child embrace
and smile into each other's face. Sometimes the mother and father weep, the child wraps
them in her arms and leans across the table to tell how she would not have made it
without their help. I have seen these programs.
Sometimes I dream a dream in which Dee and I are suddenly brought together on
a TV program of this sort. Out of a cark and soft-seated limousine I am ushered into a