Dear Mr. Wilkinson,
I recently read your book, Oblivion's Altar, and was very moved by its powerful message. In history at school, I studied the settlement of the Americas by white pioneers and the effects their concept of 'Manifest Destiny' had on the Native Americans who already lived there. Before reading your book, the material seemed dry and dull, and although I knew it was a tragedy, relating to their struggles was nearly impossible for me. When Oblivion's Altar was recommended to me, I agreed to read it, but I expected to put it down quietly like several other books about history that I deemed 'boring.' I was wrong; contrary to my original judgment, I found that I simply could not stop reading.
The life of Chief Ridge opened my eyes to the cruelty of the white men that pushed the Cherokee farther and farther West, pushing them onto the trail of tears. Through his story, I was able to experience for myself the grief he felt while watching helplessly as his people suffered, and blamed him for not being able to stop the pioneers. I felt the inexplicable sadness that he felt, when he realized that the culture he knew no longer held any meaning in the steadily changing world. The incredible sacrifice he made when he gave up his son, so that he could learn about the culture of the white man, made me realize just how tragic and serious the situation was. The faith he had in Andrew Jackson's treaties and promises was genuine, and it made me angry to learn that the president did not sympathize with their plight; instead he exposed the Native Americans to the cold realities of westward expansion, displacing families, forcing women and children to pack their things and move, and dishonoring the Cherokee warriors. Andrew Jackson and Chief Ridge were pragmatic, but Ridge was forced to bring the terrible news to his people and urge them to move, instead of facing certain death if they stayed. His attempts to make peace with Jackson and his followers were dismissed, because they regarded Ridge as an uneducated savage.
Before reading your book, I only knew the pioneers' side of the story, a tale that involved courageous settlers who expanded the great country that we have today. Now, I realize that the settlement of the West was more than just glory and gold; thousands of people suffered for the Americans' gain, and today, the Native Americans are hardly remembered for the bravery they showed when faced with losing all that they had ever known. The detail in your book allowed me to realize that Chief Ridge was viewed as a traitor by his people for wanting to submit to the white men who oppressed them, rather than watch his family and friends die, and to experience for myself everything that happened during Ridge's lifetime. Ridge was a hero and a man who gave his life for everything he believed in. I will never view that time period in the same way after reading Oblivion’s Altar. Thank you for providing me and many other readers to come with this incredible insight into history.
Sincerely,
Brodde Lamb
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The Cat: Final Draft
It was a cold and rainy day and the cat sat on the edge of the steps, switching its tail back and forth slowly. The old rocking chairs on the porch stood, sentinels behind him, creaking back and forth slowly in the gentle breeze. The cat opened his yellow eyes wide and stretched, slowly, venturing forth into the light drizzle. He meandered along the front walkway and leapt lightly up onto the low brick wall that surrounded the yard. He watched the road, as if waiting for someone, and from time to time he patrolled up and down the length of the wall.
Finally, the headlights of a car appeared, twin swords cutting the mist. The cat watched as it pulled into the driveway. He jumped down and ran across the rough gravel to the door, meowing loudly as the man and woman walked towards the front steps. The man reached down to pet the cat with one hand, while opening the door with the other. She walked inside, leaving wet footsteps glistening on the ground. "Whose cat is this?" he asked her, and then laughed surprisedly, when the cat ran through the door and skidded across the slippery floor. Turning on the light, he followed, shutting the door behind them.
"Oh, you let him in the house? Jim, you know we can't keep him." she said, putting the mail down on the counter and bending down to check for a collar. "We don't have time to take care of him with the schedule at the hospital, and he's probably just lost!" Jim scratched his head. "He doesn't have a tag and I've always liked cats," he said stubbornly.
She pushed past him lightly, and walked into the living room where the cat was purring softly, asleep on one of the armchairs. "We should take him to the pound and see if someone is there to pick him up." she said. "Hey, kitty," she whispered. The cat opened one large yellow eye crabbily and then shut it again. He began to purr more persistently, and she stood up, not certain what to do.
Jim was watching from the doorway. "See?" he said. "He wants to stay!" He gestured at the cat, which was now sprawled out on the armchair, head on paws and back legs dangling over the edge of the seat. “Well, there’s nothing we can do today,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. Secretly, she didn't want to put him out any more than Jim did. “But I hope he knows that we have nothing to feed him!” Jim smiled, sitting down in the seat next to the cat and turning on the television.
The next afternoon when Jim got home, the cat was waiting on the wall for him again. That morning, Jim had gently scooped the cat up from his warm chair, and put him on the front porch, after repeated complaints from his wife. He had been hoping to see the little cat again, though he forced himself to be prepared for the worst. He opened the car door, and then the trunk. He slung the bag over his arm and picked up the purring cat, which had begun to rub against his leg. He walked through the door and set the cat down on the floor, opening the bag and pulling out a collar that fit in the palm of his hand. Jim sat down on the floor and put the collar on the cat. He then pulled out several cans of food, which he stacked in a cabinet.
Later, she opened the door to find the two sitting on the couch watching the television. The cat jumped down and began to rub against her leg. “He’s got a collar now,” said Jim smugly, grinning at her from his seat. She smiled, bending down and scratching the cat behind the ears. Somehow she knew that the cat would be staying.
Finally, the headlights of a car appeared, twin swords cutting the mist. The cat watched as it pulled into the driveway. He jumped down and ran across the rough gravel to the door, meowing loudly as the man and woman walked towards the front steps. The man reached down to pet the cat with one hand, while opening the door with the other. She walked inside, leaving wet footsteps glistening on the ground. "Whose cat is this?" he asked her, and then laughed surprisedly, when the cat ran through the door and skidded across the slippery floor. Turning on the light, he followed, shutting the door behind them.
"Oh, you let him in the house? Jim, you know we can't keep him." she said, putting the mail down on the counter and bending down to check for a collar. "We don't have time to take care of him with the schedule at the hospital, and he's probably just lost!" Jim scratched his head. "He doesn't have a tag and I've always liked cats," he said stubbornly.
She pushed past him lightly, and walked into the living room where the cat was purring softly, asleep on one of the armchairs. "We should take him to the pound and see if someone is there to pick him up." she said. "Hey, kitty," she whispered. The cat opened one large yellow eye crabbily and then shut it again. He began to purr more persistently, and she stood up, not certain what to do.
Jim was watching from the doorway. "See?" he said. "He wants to stay!" He gestured at the cat, which was now sprawled out on the armchair, head on paws and back legs dangling over the edge of the seat. “Well, there’s nothing we can do today,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. Secretly, she didn't want to put him out any more than Jim did. “But I hope he knows that we have nothing to feed him!” Jim smiled, sitting down in the seat next to the cat and turning on the television.
The next afternoon when Jim got home, the cat was waiting on the wall for him again. That morning, Jim had gently scooped the cat up from his warm chair, and put him on the front porch, after repeated complaints from his wife. He had been hoping to see the little cat again, though he forced himself to be prepared for the worst. He opened the car door, and then the trunk. He slung the bag over his arm and picked up the purring cat, which had begun to rub against his leg. He walked through the door and set the cat down on the floor, opening the bag and pulling out a collar that fit in the palm of his hand. Jim sat down on the floor and put the collar on the cat. He then pulled out several cans of food, which he stacked in a cabinet.
Later, she opened the door to find the two sitting on the couch watching the television. The cat jumped down and began to rub against her leg. “He’s got a collar now,” said Jim smugly, grinning at her from his seat. She smiled, bending down and scratching the cat behind the ears. Somehow she knew that the cat would be staying.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Race (Draft II)
I stood there in front of the block, so nervous I was shaking a little. I searched the crowds in the stand for my mother’s familiar face and finally saw her waving both arms above her head at me excitedly. I was envious of her, because all she had to do was watch. I heard the starter blow his whistle somewhere in the distance, and I quickly pulled my goggles down over my eyes, and climbed onto the block. I fidgeted, looking around at my competitors to see if they were feeling as sick as I was.
I had been two seconds off of that national cut this morning, and the girl that won in prelims was at least a second and a half in front of me. She looked confident standing there beside me, ready to win again. The beep sent us flying off the blocks in unison, and I could hear the roar of the crowd before my fingers pierced the cold blue water. I kicked as hard as I could, breaking the surface, and ramming my arms around into the water ahead of me. I had entered my element. The first and second laps felt good, and as I swung myself off of the wall onto my third, I felt powerful and in control. I could see that I was ahead and pulled with all of my strength. The girl fought beside me, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins pushed me forward. In the last lap, I could feel my arms burning, but I pulled through, racing her.
Suddenly, I choked on water. I had misjudged the distance from the water to my chin. I couldn’t breathe, and was trying to cough it out. With every stroke, I saw her coming towards me, and I struggled to stay ahead. Finally, diving deep for the wall, I somehow managed to finish first, half-strangled though I was. Coughing out the excess water that had filled my lungs, I pulled off my goggles and reached over to shake hands with my opponents. I dared to steal a glance at the scoreboard, and all of the bubbling happiness that had filled me the moment before leaked slowly out of me. I had missed my national cut by eight hundredths of a second, with a time of 1:00:64.
I almost ran to the warm down pool, letting my frustration go behind my reflective goggles. I sprinted angrily lap after lap, finally slowing down after I had worn out most of my disappointment. I didn’t want to see my coach—I already knew what he would say. Putting on my bravest face, I pushed myself out of the water, grabbed my towel and made my way up the stairs to the balcony area. My mother was there waiting in the hall for me. She was so excited, but I could only watch and nod. She knew I was on the verge of another wash of tears, so she said kindly:
“You did your best. Leave the last race in the pool, just like Jordan said. You still have the two hundred IM, so don’t let your disappointment ruin the race for you.”
Dumb Jordan, I thought. She had nothing to worry about. Leave it to her, a swimmer in a D1 school, to tell me to leave the last race in the pool. I knew that the cut had only become a goal for me in the past couple of days, but I couldn’t let it go. Turning on my heel, I moved down the stairs towards my coach, because I knew I had to talk to him.
“Can I do a time trial for the 100 fly, Doc?” were the first words to leave my lips.
It would make me feel so much better if I knew I could have another shot.
“Of course. You can have several if you need them, and you swam that last race well!” he said.
I was surprised at the compliment, but suddenly I felt as if a million pounds had been lifted. I went to warm up for my 200 and actually felt like smiling again.
Getting out of the water after the 200 IM was such a nice feeling. I had placed well and I was feeling encouraged. I dried off, without warming down (a signature move for me) because I was so tired. I waved to my mom, who leaned over the balcony, smiling hugely and congratulated me.
“I’m going to go back to the hotel, because Storrs needs to go to bed. I’ll see you when you get back with the team!”
I confirmed that I would come say goodnight and jogged over to where Doc was standing.
“Good swim,” he acknowledged, with a serious look on his face. “Do you still want to swim that time trial?”
I looked at him in utter confusion.
“Tonight? I was thinking more like tomorrow or Sunday, Doc.”
“Well, we have an opening tonight, if you’re interested, but I’ll need an answer now so that I can register you.”
“Ok,” I agreed.
Secretly, I knew there was no way I could do it. I had swum the 100 fly 3 times already today, once at prelims and finals, and once in the 400 Medley relay. Plus, I had only just finished the 200 IM.
“Good, you have 30 minutes before you swim, so go warm up!”
I fumbled around in my bag, feeling guilty that I was going to keep my tired and hungry team on the pool deck for half an hour extra, just because I wanted to try to get a national time.
After warming myself up, I put on my blue warm ups and huddled in my folding chair with my Ipod. Doc’s wife, Shelley walked up to me and asked if I would like to call my mom and tell her I was about to swim again. I declined, because I knew that having her up in the stands would only add to the pressure I felt. Hugging my knees, I tried to feel excited, but I couldn’t see past my stress.
One of my teammates came and sat with me, trying to pump me up before my race. I was so grateful for her distraction, but then Doc asked me to come to the other side of the pool and sit down while I waited. I curled up against the wall with my back imprinted against the uneven boards of the cooling vent. I kept asking my coaches if there was any chance that I could make the cut, and finally Doc kneeled down right beside me and said,
“Whatever you put your mind to doing, you will do.”
I didn’t believe him at that moment, because my arms felt stiff and sore, like I had just been hit repeatedly with a stick. Before I knew it, the boys’ relays were finished and I was walking over towards the blocks with Doc.
“Nobody else is swimming 100 fly, so you’re on your own here,” he said. “Good Luck!!”
He smiled and walked to the other side of the pool deck. Two of my older team mates walked with me to my lane, with their arms around my shoulders. I wished the butterflies in my stomach would shut up, so that I could feel better before I swam.
“OK, Brodde! You can do this! Let’s go!” said Brenna, as I rubbed my hands on the block.
I took off my jacket and tried to smile at them. They stood right behind me until the starter blew his whistle for the ready signal. I heard the announcer somewhere in the distance calling out the names and events to be swum by the time trial swimmers, but what I was really focused on was my team. They had lined up along the side of the pool, and on the bulwark, just for me. They yelled encouragement as I stepped on the block and the warm bubbly feeling that I had felt earlier filled me once again. I knew I could do this with them standing there. It would hurt, badly, but I had to do it. I gritted my teeth, and a smile spread across my face again. Then, I heard the announcer tell us to take our marks. I took a deep breath, and grabbed the block as tightly as I could, feeling weak at the knees and in my arms.
The beep sounded and I was off again, flying like an arrow through the air. The water electrified me as I surged through it, my feet splashing furiously behind me. I could see them waving me forward, and could hear their yells, urging me on. Putting my head down, I reached my arms out farther, knowing that I had only my determination to race. The third lap hurt so badly, I thought I couldn’t finish, but one last glance at my team as I swung myself around on the wall to go to my final lap convinced me. I kicked harder than I ever had, and powered through to hit the wall. This time, I had to know immediately whether or not I had done it. But, I didn’t have to look at the scoreboard this time; my team was cheering so loudly, the building shook. Laughing, I hauled myself out of the water.
I had gone 1:00:00, good enough to make the national team by more than a half second. I was bombarded with hugs and slaps on the back from my teammates. Their happiness for me was so genuine; it was such a lift for me. The response from my coach, however, was something I hadn’t expected. I knew he was so proud of the team for helping me pull through, and proud of me for achieving my goal. Was it just my imagination, or had his eyes had momentarily filled up with tears? One blink, however, and he was back to normal.
“Congratulations," he said, flashing a brief smile. “We’re going to have a hard time convincing the officials that you actually got that time!”
I gave him a hug, not caring whether he minded that I was wet or not. I dove into the warm-down pool, and laughed hysterically into the water, where I knew nobody could hear me, so ecstatic about what I had just achieved.
Shelley let me call my mom, and the surprise in her voice made me so happy. I couldn’t wait to celebrate with her and my sister, and tell my dad when I got home to Charlottesville. On the bus ride back home, two days later, all I could think was, I have the best teammates in the world. I knew that without them, I could never have achieved what I did. I had gotten my cut, and as we drove through the night towards home, I closed my eyes and slept soundly.
I had been two seconds off of that national cut this morning, and the girl that won in prelims was at least a second and a half in front of me. She looked confident standing there beside me, ready to win again. The beep sent us flying off the blocks in unison, and I could hear the roar of the crowd before my fingers pierced the cold blue water. I kicked as hard as I could, breaking the surface, and ramming my arms around into the water ahead of me. I had entered my element. The first and second laps felt good, and as I swung myself off of the wall onto my third, I felt powerful and in control. I could see that I was ahead and pulled with all of my strength. The girl fought beside me, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins pushed me forward. In the last lap, I could feel my arms burning, but I pulled through, racing her.
Suddenly, I choked on water. I had misjudged the distance from the water to my chin. I couldn’t breathe, and was trying to cough it out. With every stroke, I saw her coming towards me, and I struggled to stay ahead. Finally, diving deep for the wall, I somehow managed to finish first, half-strangled though I was. Coughing out the excess water that had filled my lungs, I pulled off my goggles and reached over to shake hands with my opponents. I dared to steal a glance at the scoreboard, and all of the bubbling happiness that had filled me the moment before leaked slowly out of me. I had missed my national cut by eight hundredths of a second, with a time of 1:00:64.
I almost ran to the warm down pool, letting my frustration go behind my reflective goggles. I sprinted angrily lap after lap, finally slowing down after I had worn out most of my disappointment. I didn’t want to see my coach—I already knew what he would say. Putting on my bravest face, I pushed myself out of the water, grabbed my towel and made my way up the stairs to the balcony area. My mother was there waiting in the hall for me. She was so excited, but I could only watch and nod. She knew I was on the verge of another wash of tears, so she said kindly:
“You did your best. Leave the last race in the pool, just like Jordan said. You still have the two hundred IM, so don’t let your disappointment ruin the race for you.”
Dumb Jordan, I thought. She had nothing to worry about. Leave it to her, a swimmer in a D1 school, to tell me to leave the last race in the pool. I knew that the cut had only become a goal for me in the past couple of days, but I couldn’t let it go. Turning on my heel, I moved down the stairs towards my coach, because I knew I had to talk to him.
“Can I do a time trial for the 100 fly, Doc?” were the first words to leave my lips.
It would make me feel so much better if I knew I could have another shot.
“Of course. You can have several if you need them, and you swam that last race well!” he said.
I was surprised at the compliment, but suddenly I felt as if a million pounds had been lifted. I went to warm up for my 200 and actually felt like smiling again.
Getting out of the water after the 200 IM was such a nice feeling. I had placed well and I was feeling encouraged. I dried off, without warming down (a signature move for me) because I was so tired. I waved to my mom, who leaned over the balcony, smiling hugely and congratulated me.
“I’m going to go back to the hotel, because Storrs needs to go to bed. I’ll see you when you get back with the team!”
I confirmed that I would come say goodnight and jogged over to where Doc was standing.
“Good swim,” he acknowledged, with a serious look on his face. “Do you still want to swim that time trial?”
I looked at him in utter confusion.
“Tonight? I was thinking more like tomorrow or Sunday, Doc.”
“Well, we have an opening tonight, if you’re interested, but I’ll need an answer now so that I can register you.”
“Ok,” I agreed.
Secretly, I knew there was no way I could do it. I had swum the 100 fly 3 times already today, once at prelims and finals, and once in the 400 Medley relay. Plus, I had only just finished the 200 IM.
“Good, you have 30 minutes before you swim, so go warm up!”
I fumbled around in my bag, feeling guilty that I was going to keep my tired and hungry team on the pool deck for half an hour extra, just because I wanted to try to get a national time.
After warming myself up, I put on my blue warm ups and huddled in my folding chair with my Ipod. Doc’s wife, Shelley walked up to me and asked if I would like to call my mom and tell her I was about to swim again. I declined, because I knew that having her up in the stands would only add to the pressure I felt. Hugging my knees, I tried to feel excited, but I couldn’t see past my stress.
One of my teammates came and sat with me, trying to pump me up before my race. I was so grateful for her distraction, but then Doc asked me to come to the other side of the pool and sit down while I waited. I curled up against the wall with my back imprinted against the uneven boards of the cooling vent. I kept asking my coaches if there was any chance that I could make the cut, and finally Doc kneeled down right beside me and said,
“Whatever you put your mind to doing, you will do.”
I didn’t believe him at that moment, because my arms felt stiff and sore, like I had just been hit repeatedly with a stick. Before I knew it, the boys’ relays were finished and I was walking over towards the blocks with Doc.
“Nobody else is swimming 100 fly, so you’re on your own here,” he said. “Good Luck!!”
He smiled and walked to the other side of the pool deck. Two of my older team mates walked with me to my lane, with their arms around my shoulders. I wished the butterflies in my stomach would shut up, so that I could feel better before I swam.
“OK, Brodde! You can do this! Let’s go!” said Brenna, as I rubbed my hands on the block.
I took off my jacket and tried to smile at them. They stood right behind me until the starter blew his whistle for the ready signal. I heard the announcer somewhere in the distance calling out the names and events to be swum by the time trial swimmers, but what I was really focused on was my team. They had lined up along the side of the pool, and on the bulwark, just for me. They yelled encouragement as I stepped on the block and the warm bubbly feeling that I had felt earlier filled me once again. I knew I could do this with them standing there. It would hurt, badly, but I had to do it. I gritted my teeth, and a smile spread across my face again. Then, I heard the announcer tell us to take our marks. I took a deep breath, and grabbed the block as tightly as I could, feeling weak at the knees and in my arms.
The beep sounded and I was off again, flying like an arrow through the air. The water electrified me as I surged through it, my feet splashing furiously behind me. I could see them waving me forward, and could hear their yells, urging me on. Putting my head down, I reached my arms out farther, knowing that I had only my determination to race. The third lap hurt so badly, I thought I couldn’t finish, but one last glance at my team as I swung myself around on the wall to go to my final lap convinced me. I kicked harder than I ever had, and powered through to hit the wall. This time, I had to know immediately whether or not I had done it. But, I didn’t have to look at the scoreboard this time; my team was cheering so loudly, the building shook. Laughing, I hauled myself out of the water.
I had gone 1:00:00, good enough to make the national team by more than a half second. I was bombarded with hugs and slaps on the back from my teammates. Their happiness for me was so genuine; it was such a lift for me. The response from my coach, however, was something I hadn’t expected. I knew he was so proud of the team for helping me pull through, and proud of me for achieving my goal. Was it just my imagination, or had his eyes had momentarily filled up with tears? One blink, however, and he was back to normal.
“Congratulations," he said, flashing a brief smile. “We’re going to have a hard time convincing the officials that you actually got that time!”
I gave him a hug, not caring whether he minded that I was wet or not. I dove into the warm-down pool, and laughed hysterically into the water, where I knew nobody could hear me, so ecstatic about what I had just achieved.
Shelley let me call my mom, and the surprise in her voice made me so happy. I couldn’t wait to celebrate with her and my sister, and tell my dad when I got home to Charlottesville. On the bus ride back home, two days later, all I could think was, I have the best teammates in the world. I knew that without them, I could never have achieved what I did. I had gotten my cut, and as we drove through the night towards home, I closed my eyes and slept soundly.
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