Reaction Paper

 Undoubtedly a classic piece of literature, A Perfect Day for Bananafish, by JD Salinger deals with a man named Seymour, who suffers from what seems to be Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, his wife Muriel, the wife’s mother, and a little girl whom Seymour meets at the beach. While Seymour attempts to temporarily escape from the guilt and confusion that is his life, he begins to converse and connect with a five year old girl, which many believe is controversial for the fact that Seymour does at points get very close to the young girl.  What many seem to disregard once he begins speaking of the “Bananafish” is that the fish is a perfect image of his inner state of being and what the war has done to him psychologically.  Though there are major themes that appear in this piece, the major theme which occurs throughout Seymour’s life, and eventual death, is the overbearing negative effect war has on the human mind.

                As stated before, there could be many themes which pertain to the story, but Salinger best represents the theme of the overbearing negative effect of war for several different reasons. The author best demonstrates this theme while Seymour describes the lifestyle, habits, and ways of death of a Bananafish to the little girl. He states how Bananafishes live in caves and are able to roam free until they have eaten so many bananas that they become so fat and are unable to escape the cave and eventually die.  This ties into Seymour’s life because while in war, he had witnessed so many murders and that he couldn’t escape the guilt and terror he felt inside of him, which resulted in him killing himself. This theme helps support the story because it shows that your actions could pay a dangerous toll on your body and mind, which is demonstrated within the life of both Seymour and the Bananafish.

                Salinger has been effective in demonstrating this theme because like the Bananafish, Seymour seems to be a character than no one, besides a juvenile mind could actually relate to. The author uses techniques such as the separation between Seymour and his wife, Muriel’s, mother.  According to the mother, Seymour is not a good match for her what so ever and even spoke with Muriel about possibly leaving him.  Another example is the unlikely relations of certain characters, most importantly, the girl and Seymour. With him being surrounded by adults, it was a shock to find Seymour talking mainly to such a young girl, making the reader see what affect war could have on the social patterns of people. Salinger also gives the reader a good sense of empathy with the main characters, which are Seymour, Muriel, and the little girl. All characters could be related to because they all have a sense of humanity associated with them. For example, when on the phone with her mother, Muriel shows impatience when talking with her mother, by saying things like, “Mother," [the girl interrupted], "I just told you. He drove very nicely. Under fifty the whole way, as a matter of fact." (Salinger, page 1) showing how she doesn’t always listen to parental guidance, something which many young adults don’t do.  

Journal 4b. (part 1)

It all started... when I was born. I took a look in the eyes of my mother and father and saw only one thing, evil. They laughed menacingly as they barged ino my room and ate my last cookie and kicked my Pikachu repeatedly, as I layed there, crying like the baby they thought I was. I couldn't take it anymore, tonight was the night I could get my revenge for all of the things they've done to me. I took my battered Pikachu, the remains of the cookie I was longing for, and ran out to the 600,000th precinct, where I reported them for animal abuse and grand theft. The police said nothing, I asked them to arrest my parents but all they could do was laugh at me and call me a little girl so I said, "you know what, I'm taking this into my own hands!" and ran to the local bargain store and brought twenty pairs of socks, rolled them into a big ball, and shoved them into one large size twenty-two tube sock and as soon as I got home, I beat my parents with that one fateful sock, yelling, "consider this Pikachu's revenge!"

Journal 3a.

While walking throughout the impoverished town of Old York, my eyes slowly distanced themselves from the sight of old abandoned buildings and rotten tree trunks and found their way to a wrinkled piece of paper.
"For sale: baby shoes, never worn"
The old flier read, showing obvious signs of not only weather induced damages, but tear makrs scattered primarily around the words, "baby" and "never"

Journal 3b.

Six word memoir:
Why bother when nobody else does?

College Essay Final Draft

Let's face it, without a bit of adversity, the world wouldn't function properly. When I first picked up a Spalding brand basketball, roughly at the age of seven, I only had the intention of spending quality time with my father on that one Saturday afternoon, that's it. The first couple of times my dad took me out the the park, I would literally shoot the ball three times before running around kicking rocks or just sitting down staring at a gate, not caring about anything to do with the sport. It's kind of funny, while playing one day, my dad remarked on how it seemed that I was more of an artist of a player, because of what he said that I was focusing on, which wasn't shooting and pulling cross-overs, but the shapes of the clouds and the sound of the ball hitting the dark gray pavement. The words that he said didn't hurt me, the way he said it tore me up inside. That moment changed my life completely.
Once I was twelve, I finally stopped staring off into space and started jumping into it. Straight after school I'd drop my book bag on the entrance of my bedroom, along with my black North Face coat and run downstairs to practice in the park across the street from my buliding. I'd pick up my new basketball and dribble from my house to the park before finally running up and doing a quick lay up as if I were Kobe Bryant during the NBA playoffs. Dawning under the always gray skies in the fall, I'd take a couple of jumpers and like anyone, I'd make some and I'd miss some and that was that, plus, it's not like I was playing with anyone anyways. I always wondered why I was the only white kid who played in Dry Dock, and after a month, I found out why.

About a month or so later, with a new Spalding basketball in toe, I gathered enough courage to ask a couple of kids who I've seen play here before. Hey, I knew I wasn't goign to do so well since I had'nt been playing for very long, but what could go wrong? Well I was about to find out the hard way. I walked up to the guys with a calm exterior appearance and politely asked if i could join their game. After I had asked that simple question, they looked at me as if i had join made a yo' mama joke and had offended them, which confused me. A short pause had occurred before they muttered the words, "get outta here, white boy." I took two steps back and tried to analyze what in the world just happened when another kid muttered another insult, "we don't need you ruining our game". After the kids said what they said to me, I honestly felt like quitting the sport in all because if they didn't accept me, who would?
After my run in with those guys, I tried my luck again, except this time, I was a bit more confident. While playing the day before, I noticed how some of the kids around the park that I've watched were watching me play, and since I was hitting most of my shots, I figured they'd definitely let me play. So I walked up to them, once again with my ball in toe, and said, "yo guys, wanna run a full?". Yeah, my response was a bit different, but hey, at that point, I'd do anything to fit in. I waited eagerly and heart one of the bigger kids blurt out, "sure whitey, lets see what you got." Man, I was so glad to feel the blistering joy that came with being accepted. I ran to the court, put my ball down by the benches next to the black gate surrounding the public pool, and jumped onto the court with the rest of the basketball players. I distinctly remember watching the guys constantly miss short range jump shots and over dribbling like crazy, meanwhile little ol' me was sitting by the free throw line, unguarded, just waiting for the ball to come my way. By the time that I had realized that I was still playing and not standing on the court for no reason, the ball had slowly came my way off of a missed jump shot by one of the other team's players. I figured that it was my moment to shine, so I took the ball back to the free throw line and took a mid ranged jumper, praying that it'd go in.
My prayers went unanswered as I watched the ball rotate in and out of the hoop and bounce out of bounds. As soon as the ball came off the rim, my team started yelling at me, even though they had missed a pretty nice amount of shots themselves. One thing I heard out of all the chatter distinctly was one kid, the kid who allowed me to play in the first place, said to one of his friends, "who let this bum play?" Needless to say, I felt unwanted yet again. It was at this point that I realized that I need to practice even harder to prove everyone wrong; that moment shaped who I am today, both as a player, and a person.