IT'S MINOR chapter two (standard:drama, 447 words) [2/2] show all parts
Author: Sjaan Thomas	Added: Mar 12 2005	Views/Reads: 2435/2	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
My Grandmother lost her first husband in the bombing of Nijmegan during the Second World War.

IT'S MINOR CHAPTER TWO 

My Grandmother lost her first husband in the bombing of Nijmegan during
the Second World War. My grandmother tells me of the days when she used 
to try and runaway from the nuns. She used to run away so much they 
roomed her on the second floor with no window and a nun at the door, 
standing guard. My grandmother did the famous bathroom ditch and jumped 
to the cement ground hitting her chin on her legs and at the same time 
dropping her come. She had thought she lost her teeth because of the 
sound the comb made on the cement. Upon find it was just a comb she 
hightailed it for the woods.  Someone had told her it was easy to catch 
a ride on the rails so that's what she set out for. The train was going 
slow enough to catch so she started running as fast as she could to hop 
on. As she came up on a boxcar a bunch of hands reached out to help her 
up. They pulled her into the car, and she looked up, relived from the 
run, and slowly looked around her. She was surrounded by German 
soldiers with guns and all. 

My father was an artist. His paintings line these walls, for my eyes to
fall upon in my desperate hours. In these painting he has left endless 
layers upon which are transmitted his essence in comparison to the rest 
of nature. He was on the verge of his two thousandth painting when he 
passed along. My mother became immortalized in his work as Gala has 
been in the work of Dali. 

I think of the city a lot, any city, I think of the people who fill the
streets and dwellings, mostly I think of the look on their faces. It is 
a look of sadness and the defeat of the spirit. I've seen it in the 
mirror too often not to recognize it for what it is. Sometimes I try 
and imagine the faces of the people who fill the huts of a small tribe, 
where everyone knows and cares of its members. Where everyone works and 
acts for the good of tribe. Then I think how the Native Americans had 
their language and there culture beat out of them at the hands of the 
‘civilized'. Then I think of my mother who was native and her time in 
the convent and the horrors that were dealt by the hands of the nuns. 
Think of the mothers, fathers and children who were told they may no 
longer live the only way they know how to and tell me that's minor. 


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