Making Connections #2 p96

The small piece of literature, Araby, is a very distinctively literature of a young person’s innocence and their experience. As I read this story I remember about a particular experience in my life where I had the same moments of attitudes towards a particular experience. This experience was when I was around 12 years old. I lived in this pink apartment building in the middle of a lot of drama, gangs, and bad reputation around the neighborhood. My father was a much overshadowed guy who did not let me go out and play unless I was going with one of my friends and that was not really often. We lived in the corner apartment of this building and we had a huge balcony that arrange from one side of the street to the other. Since I hardly left my house other than for school, store, or any family distractions, I would always be peeking out of the balcony and when someone would turn up to see me I would hide. I had no reason to hide, but my innocence would make me hide for no apparent reason. When my father finally gave me permission to go out and visit my friend down the street I left very happy, it was my birthday and my father forgot. When I came back many people I would pass by will tell me happy birthday and yet when I reached the door to my apartments I saw my father talking to his friend. I stared at him, waiting for him to tell me happy birthday and yet he never did. He just told me, “Who gave you those balloons?” I answer that my friends did and with careless motion he said oh okay and went on talking to his friend. I turned and walked up the stairs to my apartment door; I opened it and rushed to my room. I looked at myself in the mirror and with a very deep repression I was upset and my eyes were burning with anger and yet my vanity was stronger than my pain. I just stood plain ahead and never let a tear out of that moment. I then realize that I was not acting out of the selfless motives I thought I was because I never consider asking my father or letting him know what was wrong with me. I simply sucked it up and ignored any kind of motion with him the entire day. I believe my dad did remember it was my birthday, because he had finally let me out by myself. He wanted me to enjoy the day, and yet he never gave me a happy birthday hug. I eventually grew older and see the rage was useless, because my father had given me a birthday gift which I did not see at that moment. That morning he woke up and gave me a kiss and a hug, left me money and told me to go eat something with my friends when I was out of school. This was his birthday gift and I was so naive to get inner rage for my father forgetting it was my birthday.