Journal
Three
Approaching
a book such as Holding On, one that
is composed of short “histories” and biographies, the reader will quickly find
a rhythm to the book. By being
constricted of easy to handle sections, the reader feels a sense of
accomplishment as he moves on to the next biography. This book has a good over all flow to the
stories contained within it; this is quite evident in the piece about Geneva
Tisdale on pages 52 through 54, followed by Harold C. Cotton on 56 – 58. Both of these biographies have racial themes,
and in this case the subjects are from the same town. This book allows for a passive read, as it
permits the reader to easily follow and pause at the end of a section to reflect
and perhaps take notes.
As
I read the pages in Holding On, I felt
a connection to several of the biographies complied for our reading pleasure, a
connection to the people themselves, but also to the underlying themes of their
stories. Perhaps the one, which has
stuck out to me the most, has been that of Robert Shields and his obsessive
behavior. I have my own obsessive
tendencies, as do most people I feel, but not often do those tendencies create
the crippling effects and we see in Robert’s story and my own.
My
father passed away when I was thirteen years old, leaving only my mother and I
to support each other emotionally. Mind
you I was quite obsessive prior to my father’s death, but that July day in 2006
marked a turning point for myself and my ability to control my obsessive
urges. Growing up I vividly remember
fighting with my parents over what clothes to put on in the mornings and how my
food could not touch in the evenings. At first my parents tried to dress me as
the others in my class, jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers, the “normal” way to
look, but I complained and refused to leave the house in jeans, saying,
“they’re too constricting,” “they’re uncomfortable,” and so on. Finally in the third grade my father bought
me my first real pair of dress slacks, and so the complaining stopped.
I
realize now that my father understood, but my mother never quite got why I
refused to look like the other kids, it wasn’t that I wanted to be different,
but rather I couldn’t breathe in “normal” clothes. And so when my father passed leaving my
mother to finish raising an obsessive-compulsive teenager. My tendencies got worse as I grew older,
realizing that my father was the only one who knew how to control my behavior. At one point during my freshman year in high
school I had to get special permission to eat in a classroom rather than in the
lunchroom with the other students because of the disorder that was a high
school lunchroom. High school continued
to get worse, never quite fitting in, knowing that I couldn’t allow myself to
relax.
Only
after graduation and entering into collage was I able to finally get hold on
these feelings that had been plaguing me my entire life. Here at the collage level there is much more
mixing of ideas and people and so during a lecture my freshman year a young
lady sitting behind me inquired about my colur coordinated collection of pens
and markers in my briefcase. The
question let to a long talk after class where I realized she too was troubled
by the overwhelming feelings to be in control of one’s self and never fitting
in because of it.
My
tendencies have indeed improved, but I am far from normal, I have realized that
with a bit of will power and self-motivation one can overcome such life altering
feelings and emotions.
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