Phyllis Andrews
Stories (3/0)
The Little Red Hen
The Little Red Hen’s Road to Self Motivation. During my childhood I read the Little Red Hen over and over again. They literally made me study that story throughout my entire elementary school experience. During that time it seems everywhere I looked that little red hen was there, she was at book fairs, and pretend storybook character contests, and her picture was everywhere on the school wall. The story was very popular in the playground scene. We were always told that the moral of the story was about teamwork and helping other people, and that was the best way to be otherwise you would end up with nothing. Teamwork was the best way to work. I’m not in no way disagreeing that teamwork is important and offers a valuable method of accomplishing goals. Of course I know that there are strengths in numbers, and there are somethings that require teamwork. But in this story that little red hen got none. She went around to each animal giving them all a chance to help her, plant the seeds, harvest the wheat, make the dough, and bake the bread. Each animal turned her down anytime she asked for help. She received an array of not I’s. The other animals were lazy and would not help her, so she ended up doing all the work herself but when it was time to eat the bread all of the animals wanted a piece of bread. That little red hen was then given the opportunity to scold them, how dare all these animals expect a piece of bread that they didn’t work hard for, they didn’t deserve it. On one hand it was drilled in us the importance of teamwork from the school, and then at home our parents was telling us we have to work hard for anything that we wanted. The other animals wanted the bread but didn’t want to work hard for it. That sounded like a problem for the other animals and their parents to work on. She didn’t get the teamwork she asked for but still accomplished her goals, that is why I just wanted to focus on her. If I were to determine what this story was about I would say it’s a story of independence and self-motivation. That little I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T red hen received a sea of no’s but she continued on with the work she needed to do so she could have something to eat. Many people receive one no and decide to give up on themselves, but not this little red hen. She was able to keep herself motivated. She may have asked for the other animals help, but she discovered that she didn’t really need it to reach her goal. She used the first no as a motivator and reached her potential, and each no just only kept her more determined. She didn’t want a handout, she wanted to prove to herself what she could without anyone’s help. She was willing to work, and work hard for anything that she wanted. I think by not sharing the bread at the end she was teaching the animals to do the same thing. If I were to change the ending I would do it as so
By Phyllis Andrews 3 years ago in Motivation
The Last Resort
Last Resort The earth is dying. We have not been able to grow our own food for the past ten years, and we have nearly consumed everything left on earth. I’m not sure we can make it another ten years. Something has to start growing or there will no point in fighting off death anymore. Those thoughts repeated in Elizabeth’s head, she was starting to hear death knocking at the door for her and her two daughters. She had been insanely repeating the behavior of opening and closing the pantry door, each time counting the number of canned goods, and each time expecting a different number. But only eight cans remained and no amount of counting was going to change that. Even if she didn’t eat, she would only be buying her daughters a week, nine days at the most. That only meant that they would just die at a slower rate. She couldn’t bear to have them go through a harsh death like that, she would rather put an end to them herself than let them die in that kind of way. She was already splitting her own rations in order to give her daughters more, but now she had nothing left to give. She was fatigued and had frequent piercing pains in her side, she was starving herself, and her body couldn’t take any more of it without shutting down. She had to face the fact that they were all going to die soon if they stayed in this house. She looked around their little wooden home, with its holes and cracks in the walls, it’s leaky roof, and broken windows. She placed her hands on the walls, that act was enough to make the paint chip and fall off, but she wanted to give it thanks. “Well Velma you have given us a good five years, but we have to leave you.” When they found the house, the first thought in Elizabeth’s mind was that it looked like a Velma, the house was sturdy enough and seemed determined to protect them, plus the name made her laugh, They had gotten lucky enough to find this home, it was secluded enough for them to be at a safe distance from other people, but it was close enough to a water source. It supplied them with years of protection, now she had no option but to take her daughters away from that very protection. She took out the three backpacks that she kept at the bottom of the pantry, she hoped they had enough supplies to last them on their week journey to an unknown place called the Community. The radio had been announcing that it was only place left where food existed, and from the coordinates the voice repeated, it would take them four days to get there, if nothing went wrong. All she could think as she packed up her family was, please don’t let anything go wrong. She took out the eight canned goods, three cans of meat, three cans of corn, and two cans of fruit cocktail, and divided them between the backpacks. The rest was what she figured they could carry from the house, a flashlight, a compass, empty bottles to fill with water, three small blankets, the reminder of her first aid kit, one extra piece clothing for each of them, and just in her own backpack she placed a gun with nine bullets in the clip. The three remaining bullets were wrapped in a cloth and placed in the oldest daughter’s backpack. Each bullet had one of their initials carved in it, and they were placed in a bag labeled, “the last resort,” before placing them in the cloth. She finished packing and now had to explain to her daughters what was happening. She called for Eve and Edith to join her by the front door. She handed them their backpacks and instructed them to follow her outside. She walked them to the end of the driveway giving them distance from the house she was about to separate them from. She struggled to find the words that they would understand, she desperately wanted them to hold on to their innocence, but she knew innocence had no place for what they were about to do. The pressure built up and the words just eventually got blurted out, “were going to die if we stay here.” Eve being the oldest immediately grabbed her sister’s hand, she knew Edith might to start crying. Edith at the age of four may have been too young to understand everything that was happening in the world, but she understood what it meant to die, and knew it was not good. Eve being five years older felt she needed to speak for the both of them. “Why can’t we stay here anymore, we’ve been safe here.” Eve said it as a question but she really meant it as a statement. Eve wanted to stay. Elizabeth didn’t have the words that would give Eve comfort in leaving, but she had something that could better explain things than any words she could ever say. Elizabeth took the chain from around her neck that held a heart shaped locket at the end of it, she opened it and placed it in Eve’s empty hand. She hoped Eve got the answer she needed from the locket. Eve looked at the locket and gazed upon a picture of a little girl sitting on a swing that was hanging from a large tree. Eve had never seen a tree before, the earth started dying shortly after she was born and it quickly became barren before she had grown old enough to form any memories of it. She had never knew before this moment that such a thing could exist. Elizabeth didn’t want to burden them with stories of what the earth used to be, it would be too cruel of a thing to do to them. But now Eve needed that knowledge in order to understand why she had to survive. “It’s a tree Eve, it’s something beautiful and strong that grew on earth, I believe it still can.” Eve never wanted to stop looking at the collage of greens on top. They were like green clouds that had fallen from the sky and was gently planted on top of the branches that were stretching out to catch them. The wide brown trunk reminded her of their home, it was providing the leaves a safe place to stay. Eve was holding her tears back for the sake of Edith, but after she found out what a tree was, she couldn’t stop that single tear drop from falling onto the heart shaped locket. It was now hers to keep. Elizabeth wiped away the remaining tears that were running down Eve’s cheeks. She embraced her with a hug, pulling her in until she had Eve as close to her chest as she could get her. She whispered in Eve’s ear “the earth will come back to us, we just have to survive long enough for the miracle to happen” The locket showed Eve what she had to fight for, and those words just gave her another piece of assurance. Eve waited until her mother released her from the hug, and then she grabbed Edith’s backpack and helped her slide her arms through the straps. Eve looked at her mother, and reached out her hand inviting her to come with them. “We’re ready to leave now mom, and we’re going to survive.” Eve wanted nothing more than to be able to touch a tree. That was going to be her miracle. Elizabeth had never been so proud of her daughters, they had grown up in this short moment. She looked at Eve standing up straight and strong, exuding confidence and fortitude, Elizabeth was now wearing the heart shaped locket around her neck. Elizabeth grabbed Eve’s hand and placed the other one on Edith’s cheek, “my daughters are ready to go.” She knew now that they were capable of taking care of themselves. Edith had listened to all of their words and had not cried once, and Eve had found the hope she needed to help them survive on the journey they were about to take. Elizabeth handed Eve the compass, “we have to head East.” Eve pointed in the direction they needed to go and together they were holding hands as they took their first steps towards the unknown. They had walked for three hours when Edith demanded to get a horseback ride from her older sister. Eve was happy to give her that moment of joy, things were okay now, but even she didn’t know how long that would last, they may have very few chances at joy so they would use every opportunity. Elizabeth offered to carry Eve’s backpack so it wouldn’t interfere. Elizabeth waited until the girls were having too much fun to notice her. She reached into the compartment that she placed the wrapped up cloth in. She threw out the two bullets that had her daughter’s initial on them, and quickly wrapped the cloth back and placed it in her own backpack. They didn’t need a last resort anymore, but she still needed hers.
By Phyllis Andrews 3 years ago in Humans
Fitting In
Upon looking up the word or phrase fitting in, I learned that fitting in means to be socially compatible with other members of a group and similarly to find room or have sufficient space for someone or something. It seems by that definition everyone else had a box that they could check, whether it was yes I’m socially compatible or yes there is room for me. But there was a moment I felt that everyone had that box but me. I even felt as though I couldn’t even turn to my race, my skin color for a box that allowed me to fit in by that definition. I mean how simple would have been just to use my race and say there it is, I’m compatible, but yet I couldn’t even do that. It was drilled in me that black doesn’t crack, it was supposed to be beautiful, confident and resilient. Even that definition didn’t allow me a box I could check. I’m already failing the black girl magic test and all I have done so far it just walk into the room. I entered every room and immediately get an overwhelming sensation that I don’t belong, that this place was not meant for me. I felt as if I had stumbled on it by accident and had gotten lucky enough that someone let me through the door. No one could be looking at me, but I just knew they were staring and saying amongst themselves “why is she here, does she not know that the world wasn’t designed for her?” Where is my fairy godmother in that moment to wave a wand and sprinkle some magic dust on me to make a Cinderella moment happen. My godmother is no where to be found, so it ‘s just me and my thoughts, and a feeling of a thousand blind eyes judging me, and they don’t like what they see. It’s just me walking into the room with my things rubbing together creating friction and doubt, my breasts bouncing as if they are trying to escape from the bondage of my bra, and people pay a fortune to make these things bigger, they must enjoy back pain. To add to all of that is the stomping sounds that the weight of my feet make. I might as well as me the elephant in the room, I’m something that you don’t want to look at but you cant help but notice. I’m unpleasantly loud and for God’s sakes who wants an elephant in their room. There is no place for an elephant but aside and out of the way when it comes to human social interactions, and elephant would not be popular in that context. One moment can define you, and mine came like most did in high school, where fitting in is a fairy tale. I was a cheerleader in high school, not a popular one, but one none the less. If you ever thought that there was no such thing as an unpopular cheerleader, well here I am to debunk that myth. I put those two words together like an oxymoron, unpopular and cheerleader contradictory in every way, proven by every teenage and high school movie ever made. Cheerleaders were always many things, mean, cruel, selfish, harsh, vindictive, but never unpopular. I was the only black cheerleader between both the varsity and junior varsity squad. So who was I going to relate to, and who was going to relate to me. I stood at 5’6”, 150 lbs, size 10 shoes, size XL uniform, and daughter of a janitor and cafeteria worker, none of which I ever felt excluded me from anything. But in this squad I was the tallest, the thickest, the blackest, and the poorest member on the squad. I didn’t look like them, I didn’t have the same life experiences as them, and my hair was definitely not like them. I can think of many significant moments from being on that squad that made me feel out of place, moment where it seemed like the timeline had gotten discombobulated and somehow the Phyllis that was me became the cheerleader that another Phyllis somewhere else was supposed to be. Maybe I was never supposed to be here, and there were many moments that made me believe that was a fact, but none as significantly defining as the uncomfortable issue of my hair. I know its just hair, and its not a vital organ like a heart or your lungs, but if there is a challenge placed on your hair it becomes very vital then. Even Rapunzel had a harder time being saved from the tower without her hair, and even men go through extreme measures, physically and financially when they start losing their hair, so don’t be so quick to dismiss the importance of hair, especially when you as a black girl hear nine white girls say “we can’t do that in our routine because of Phyllis’ hair.” What was that? Was that empathy? Were they expressing understanding of my hair being different and therefore had different limitations from their own hair. Did they even know enough about my hair to being using empathy. I mean this was 1999, if black hair was ever popular, it was surely not popular then. Did they know that I didn’t have to wash my hair every day, that I had to grease my scalp, that getting my scalp scratched was a connecting tradition. My thighs didn’t fit in, my shoe size didn’t fit, my weight didn’t fit in, and now my hair didn’t either. Maybe they meant to be empathetic but the words were said in a way that conveyed privilege and frustration. Apparently they wanted to do a part in the dance routine where we would take our hair out of the high top ponytail it was in and bend over flipping our hair and then we would stand up and toss our hair over our shoulders in a sassy and sexy way. My hair would do none of those movements, so here I was signaled out, being reminded again that I was different and probably should not have been on the squad in the first place. Thinking about it now it seems silly and mundane, we probably would have looked more stupid than sexy doing that in the routine, but at that time it was a pivotal moment for a bunch of girls to project their sexuality. Hindsight always wins, if they knew what they know now they would have thanked my hair for preventing them from doing something silly, and if I felt the way about my hair as I do now I would have unapologetically laughed in their faces about how upset they were feeling about a ridiculous routine. I have grown in confidence about my hair and my size, and in some ways I do have to give society part of the credit because society has grown in defining beauty by more than one standard.
By Phyllis Andrews 3 years ago in Pride