 Contributors: K.C.
Osuji (PA 2001) "Soccer: Nigeria and the U.S." |
COMPARISON: What do the great apes have in common with humans? How is Canadian football different from American? We ask such questions constantly, setting one element of our experience against another. The two brothers in this photograph may look much like one another, but in many ways they may be very different, too. |
2. "Comparison" literally means "a demonstration of similarities and
differences." However, we often limit its meaning to "demonstrating
similarities," reserving the term "contrast" for "demonstrating
differences." Is this essay a comparison or a contrast? In what situation
would you write one or the other? Are there ever situations when you might
write both?
3. K. C. establishes "we" as his narrative point of view. What are some
of the meanings of "we" when an author uses it in an essay? To whom does
it refer here?
4. Whom does K. C. mean with the pronoun "they" in the third and fourth
paragraphs? Why doesn't it appear in the first two? How does this fact
suggest a major distinction between Nigerian and U.S. soccer?
2. Look carefully at the last sentence. What is the effect of the word
"tried"?
3. If there is a moral to this essay, what might it be? Why doesn't
Nicole state her point more explicitly?
2. Is this essay a "comparison" or a "contrast"? Why?
3. Consider the title of this essay, "Twilight." What element of the
first paragraph does it call attention to? Why is this element
particularly important throughout the essay?
2. Describe the structure of this essay -- block or shuttle? Is the
structure effective?
3. What does Elizabeth mean by the last sentence?
K. C., who was born in Nigeria,
played soccer in two different worlds -- Africa and North America. He
discovered that the game is very different in each.
K. C.
Osuji
When I was growing up as a
kid in Nigeria, my life was soccer. During lunch time in school, we all
rushed outside to play. The oldest boys among us would automatically be
the captains, and they picked the people for the teams. Our teachers
warned us to always play in our sandals but we seldom listened. It felt
much better playing soccer barefoot because the bottoms of our feet
brushed the moisture-glistened grass. The goal posts were each made of two
rocks set eight steps apart from one another. Lunch time was the best time
of the day for us. We had absolutely nothing else on our minds but soccer.
We played full of energy and joy, as if there was no tomorrow. Every day,
even if we didn't like our teachers or classmates, we went to school just
for that feeling we got at lunch dribbling a soccer ball. It was the
feeling that made us lift our hearts to the outer limits of the sky. It
was like playing a symphony in an orchestra, but there was no end to this
unique rhythm; we needed no applause to get our feeling of
appreciation.
At home we would go out again to
play soccer after we had done all of our homework. The evenings brought on
a cooler feeling to the game; we didn't sweat as much as we did in the
afternoons, playing in the sweltering heat. The mere feeling of dribbling
the ball between our legs, moving past defenders and neatly scooping the
ball over the head of the goalie, gave us the best feeling. We dreamt of
becoming the next Okochas and Olisehs of the Nigerian soccer team; we
played the game in a all-out fashion because we loved
it.
Now, in the United States, we play sports
differently. We have less exposure and contact with nature in the game. In
order to play soccer in U.S, we need equipment to protect our bodies. We
wear pads to protect our shins, long socks to cover the shin pads and a
pair of shoes to help keep us from falling. We also now have to play with
a lot of care. If we make a mistake, our coach reprimands us and our
parents are there to watch us embarrass ourselves. We even get yellow
cards for a little friendly shove that is normally a part of the game. At
the end of the game, we have to face our parents, who are constantly
loaded with their so-called constructive criticism. They are so geared to
make us the next Peles of the world, that they don't even allow us the
time to appreciate the game. They mean no harm in this; they're just
helping us shape a future that will help us be prosperous later in
life.
The way we feel about soccer in Nigeria
certainly is different from how we feel about it in the U.S. In Nigeria,
we play it with more passion and freedom. However, in America our parents
have the tendency to take control of the direction we take in playing
soccer before we have the chance to develop our love for it. It isn't
necessarily wrong that our parents are looking down the line for us, but
it would be helpful if they also thought about what kind of soccer players
they would be making of us. If we look at the effect this attitude has had
thus far on national soccer in the U.S and in Nigeria, the results speak
for themselves.
Questions:
1. There are two primary structures for
comparison/contrast essays, the "block" and the "shuttle." The former
presents a full presentation of material about the first subject, and then
presents a full presentation about the second. The shuttle, like the plane
that flies to and fro between New York and Boston, moves back and forth
between the two subjects. What sort of structure has K. C. used here? What
words show how he has organized his material?
Nicole writes about two very
different grandmothers.
Nicole
Schwartzberg
Hefting a brown paper grocery sack under
one arm, Boebe began the short trek home past Williams Avenue and Turner
Street. The cracked cement path left gaps in the pavement and mounds where
the walkway tilted upward. Stumbling along, Boebe moaned from time to time
as she bumbled towards Macallester Avenue and the front stoop to her
apartment.
As usual, the kitchen smelled of
fresh matzoh ball soup, kugul, and a Jewish American blend of spices which
filtered through the open windows past the boys out in the street playing
stick ball alongside the crowded spaces of parked cars. The aromatic scent
of honey wafting from the pots atop the stove lent a blend of Boebe's
Lithuanian immigrant background to the room as the sun melted towards
dinner time. In another kitchen, two thousand miles away, my grammy in
Wisconsin settled her feet on a wicker chair in her sun room overlooking
the lake. Sipping tea as she rocked back and forth on the sunny porch, she
noted that Celia, her Polish maid, would return any moment now to whisk
away her cup and bring her a warm plate of cookies. The house exuded an
aristocratic American style, and a fancy Cadillac purred on the driveway.
The pristine silence of Lake Mendota went uninterrupted while Boebe leaned
out the window of her kitchen to holler at the rowdy neighborhood
children.
I am used to the differences of my
two grandmothers. They are two women, two worlds apart, who share the same
role. Boebe, my father's mother, chose the Yiddish appellation while
Grammy preferred a more traditional American name. This simple difference
is one of many which contribute to the diverse ways in which my two
grandmothers show their love.
My
grandmothers' gifts have always reflected their different natures. On a
visit to Grammy's house, my sister and I received two stuffed bears with
immaculate white fur and matching bow ties. I was delighted. Holding my
new bear up to one cheek, I cuddled the sumptuous softness for hours. When
I look at my bank account, the high balance coolly reflects the savings
bonds and checks Grammy issued me frequently. And the porcelain china tea
set was a gift from Grammy several summers ago. Boebe's gifts are more
thoughtful and infrequent. Some years, Boebe has only been able to greet
me with a card containing her thoughts and love. Other times, I have
received a package of chicken soup with a handmade card and a soup ladle.
On visits to Boebe's house, I often received foot rubs as she told me
stories of her years growing up in Brooklyn. I never once checked the
price tags of these gifts. Boebe's gifts were always just what I had
wanted. And even the fragile collector's item dollhouse Boebe sent one
Chanukah, though expensive, meant most because of the love that came with
it. To this day the dollhouse stands prominently in the playroom of my
childhood, while the bears, tea sets, and fancy dresses of my youth have
all been packed away into crates to be brought up to the attic when I am
through.
Through the foods they fed me, the
backgrounds of my two grandmothers were also often exhibited. On visits to
Grammy's house, the refrigerator was always stocked with things Grammy
thought all children must like. Apple juice, graham crackers, sugary
cereals which coated your tongue in white froth, crackers, and cheese
overflowed the bounds of Grammy's butler's pantry. She was always aiming
to please us. Somehow she never noticed that I hated apple juice and
crackers and cookies were not my favorite. While on visits at Boebe's
apartment, we were served watermelon and hard boiled eggs, some of my
favorites at the time, on the dinner table. Chicken soup warmed our
tummies on cold days. And Boebe never failed to remember a pack of bubble
gum for me and crunchy candy bars for my sister. Somehow, their feeding
patterns reflected a bigger picture of my two grandmothers' personalities.
At Boebe's apartment I was often greeted with
a warm hug. Then, sitting on the sofa, she would beckon me to come sit
down. For long, lazy summer hours, Boebe gave me foot rubs, until I
awakened with the sun on my back. A kiss at the door was always forced at
Grammy's house. I simply could not bring my lips to touch Grammy's paper
thin cheek which reminded me of the fat Mom pulled off the turkey at
Thanksgiving. Proper and foreboding like many wives of the elite class,
Grammy hugged us infrequently, the love replaced by things bought in a
shopping mall -- a new bicycle, a new dress, a new game to play with my
friends. As the years passed, and Grammy appeared less loving and warm
alongside Boebe's hugs and foot rubs, I began to hate the obligatory kiss
at the door. Through their means of physical affection towards me, I saw
that side of my Boebe and Grammy which showed their true colors. I will
always remember Boebe for her love and Grammy for her endless supply of
gifts.
Two women, two worlds apart share the
same job as grandmothers. The life of a wealthy, aristocrat rendered
Grammy untouchable. A never-ending supply of gifts often followed our
visits to make up for that which she could not give. On the other side of
the country, Boebe lived the life of a poor widow in the Brooklyn
neighborhoods of New York. A sister of four, a mother of two, and now a
grandmother of two more only meant more people to love. And even after
they are gone, I will remember the differences of the two people who tried
to love me the most.
Questions:
1. Has Nicole written a "block" or a "shuttle"
comparison? How has she kept control of her organization?
Gowri has written a fascinating
comparison -- her computer and her family shrine -- that opens up a way of
looking at the intersection of two cultures.
Gowri
Vijayakumar
Twilight was
beginning to fall outside. In the study there were only two things
fighting the darkness, a dusty desk light next to the computer and a
flickering flame that my mother had lit next to our shrine before leaving
for work. Only two sounds broke the stillness of the evening, the
incessant tapping of the keyboard beneath my fingers typing emails to my
friends, and my grandmother's voice chanting slowly and insistently words
that have been chanted for four thousand years.
I wonder, sometimes, why my parents
chose to put our computer and our religious shrine in the same room. It
was probably a random decision, just like the one to put the recyclable
paper in the room with the fish tank. Yet, without realizing it, they
placed together two symbols of two very different times, places, and ways
of making sense of the world.
Our
shrine is like that of many Hindus: a small wooden chest of drawers,
crammed with brass and silver idols, pictures, and wooden carvings of
different deities, surrounded by incense holders and lamps. Our computer,
no less than a yard away, is big and impressive, with all the newest and
best technology, a fast modem, and at least three Internet browsers. It
sits on its own desk, surrounded by a printer, speakers, disks, books,
CDs, paper clips, and countless copies of the same printout.
For me, the two objects represent
change and tradition, the old and the new, and two different cultures that
have had an impact on my life, the Indian and the American. The shrine is
the epitome of family tradition. Some of the idols belonged to my great
grandparents, and even if the others didn't, idols similar to them have
existed for centuries. Everything was made in India and brought around the
world in suitcases. The prayers said in front of the shrine have been
passed down through the generations for longer than I can even imagine. My
computer, on the other hand, is everything new and technological. We are
able to get information on it only minutes old. Every day there are new
Internet companies and resources that change the way we communicate, shop,
and learn. The Internet changes every day, but the traditions associated
with our shrine are unchanging, grounded in the past with experience and
wisdom.
The two objects also represent
different ways of life. For me, religion has always been quiet and
tranquil. Meditating and praying are activities that help me slow down and
find beauty in things around me. Taking a deep breath in front of the
shrine and feeling surrender to God gives me a tremendous feeling of
peace. The computer, on the other hand, is the easiest way to get things
done quickly. I use it so that I won't get a hand cramp from writing a
note, or so that I can complete more of the constant tasks that I have to
fulfill. It is a fast-paced tool for a fast-paced world.
But the similarities between the two
are also noticeable. For me, both the computer and the shrine are places
where I can relax. Often, when life becomes too stressful and
overwhelming, I pray. The shrine reminds me that I am not in control after
all, that God is with me and that He does things for a purpose, and this
helps me to accept the hard times that I face. The computer also helps me
to relax, although in a different way. It puts me in control of
everything, from the picture on the desktop to the image I project when I
talk to people in a chat room. Sometimes, when I am under pressure, I use
the computer to get my feelings out in emails, conversations, and writing.
They are also both places where I can
connect with other people. Around the shrine I feel a bond with God and
with my family, and a connection to all people. On the computer I feel a
bond with people all over the world who reach out to communicate with
others. They both also give me a chance to make sense of the world around
me. On the computer I can learn about anything in the outside world.
Through religion, I have thought more about my own identity and my place
in that world. The computer leads me to believe that the world is
fast-paced, a place where things are constantly changing, and that I need
to change with it if I want to achieve my goals. Religion reminds me of
the things that never change, such as faith, that I must hold on to if I
want to be sure of my goals, be persistent in reaching them, and be happy
with what I achieve. The Internet has shown me that the world is endlessly
diverse. There is a wealth of differing opinions, cultures, social
classes, and mindsets represented there. But I have been taught, through
religion, that there are common threads that hold all people together.
My religious shrine and my computer
symbolize many opposing perspectives. To me, one represents change and
innovation, the other tradition and steadfastness; one represents
diversity, the other unity; one represents efficiency and quickly getting
things done, the other peaceful and more slow-moving enjoyment of details;
one represents control and the ability to have an impact on things around
us, while the other represents things that we cannot change. But both play
similar roles in my life, bringing me both relaxation and communication,
and both have affected the way I see myself and others. Together, they
have helped me to be a mixture of two very different worlds.
Questions:
1. Has Gowri written a "block" or a "shuttle"
comparison? How has she kept control of her material?
Elizabeth discovers a point of
contrast between two broad classifications of Americans.
Elizabeth
Fraser
Every human quality
is counterbalanced by an opposing trait -- there are orderly people and
disheveled people, callous and sensitive, strict and permissive, rigid and
flexible, sedate and crazy, obstinate and malleable, apathetic and
passionate. However, the existence of these characteristics can be
determined in one defining human custom; whether a person wears a watch or
not.
When I saw the movie
Titanic, it was difficult to hear the dialogue over the audience's
sobbing. As I reached around to offer the woman sitting behind me a
tissue, I noticed that the remaining dry eyes in the room were fixated on
their watch enveloped wrists. If there is one attribute that watch wearers
don't possess, it's compassion. They simply do not have the time for it.
Sentimental sappy romance movies receive the same impatient toe tap as the
unscheduled between class chat about last night's "Friends" episode. No
time, "gotta run."
Have you ever
stopped a watch-wearer at random to "chit-the-chat?" If not, don't. It
will probably be the most unrewarding conversation of your entire life. If
the "time-keeper" did not wake up that morning knowing he would be
listening to the sound of your voice from 10:13 am to 10:17 am, chances
are that he is in no mood to talk to you now and wouldn't take the time to
"pencil you in" for later. Consequently, watch-wearers are often perceived
as insensitive. People who know the time, can't help but know a place that
they need to be.
The very scheduled
life of a watch-wearer could appear to be monotonous, yet there are
advantages to such a structured life. The organized aura of those who
sport-a-watch, is expressed in many areas of their lives. Their timeliness
contributes to the quality and punctuality of their work, helping them to
progress in their academic careers. This extends to professional
performance, if they are a veteran of the watch. The best investment an
investment banker can make is in a watch. The hands of a clock are the
same hands that climb to the top of the corporate world ladder.
The antithesis of this systematic and
acutely scheduled person, is a person who could never covet a Rolex; the
non-watch-wearer. These people can often be spotted from afar. They never
walk at a steady pace with their eyes fixed on a particular destination.
The panting runner -- clinging to the strap of his bag that repeatedly
falls off the shoulder, has one shoelace untied, disheveled hair falling
in front of his face, rushing for an occasion of importance that began
five minutes earlier -- will most likely be the watchless. Drastic
downfalls can occur when a clock isn't at hand. The beginnings to movies
are unseen, medical endeavors are unremembered, and the closing-hour of
stores is over looked.
Although this
seems like an unpleasant way to go about life, the activities that fall
between the rushing, might make it worthwhile. The person bending over a
garden to smell a flower, or taking the longer more scenic route home, or
stopping to help an old woman cross the street, will never be seen with a
watch. They may never be on Honor Roll, or voted Employee-of-the-Month,
but those who choose to be ignorant of time, know how to spend the
free-time their attitude provides. They appreciate the simple pleasures of
life; a funny joke, a cheesy movie, a conversation with a stranger at a
coffee house. Because they do not bear the constant knowledge that it is
time to be somewhere else, the non-watch-wearer never feels the pressure
to rush. Eventually they have to flee from their sweet moment, but the
stolen minutes enhanced their day.
It
would be easy to assume that those with naked wrists and the watch-wearers
of the world are antagonists, but we mustn't see the contrast as a
division. In reality, there is no better match to a person who keeps track
of time than someone who has no respect for time driven orderliness. The
two fit together like puzzle pieces. Without a watch-wearer in their life,
the bare wristed would never make it to appointments, work, class, or
anything of a time required nature. A friend of a watch-wearer who doesn't
consider time of significance, plays a pivotal role in their life by
calling them at ungodly hours of the morning and dragging them to parties
that don't require an R.S.V.P. Without this friend, a watch-wearer would
drown in his own routine and live in utter solitude and loneliness.
The characteristics of people who
decide to wear a watch versus those who neglect time are on opposite ends
of the personality spectrum. Thankfully, when their two worlds collide, it
can ensure that the rest of their journey is colored with both chaos and
serenity.
Questions:
1. One measure of an essay is whether or not
readers agree with it. Do you agree with Elizabeth's assessment of watch-
and non-watch-wearers? Why or why not?