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Everything we dream will become successful if we don’t give truth ourself and continue.

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My favorite was the multimedia project it was the best because it just relaxing presentation, I get to create my own, I can design it my own but if it’s in person class it will be more joyful because we all can share our slides. I have choose Immigrants as Muslim I really love doing projects like this. I hope it get more in future. In my opinion I think we should make essays less not because I don’t like it or anything is just project like this make us creative, essays make us bored sometimes but sometimes its really enjoy when we have to do research that’s the best.

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American Dream to me but I believe all immigrants dream is to have successful life and show world that we as immigrants still exist. We might not smart enough like other but we are people. One day our

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I choose this song as windows because their life is really challenging no matter what happen they always stands together and never give up no matter what happen they still stand to smile and keep fighting for they land. For so many year they never give up even there’s thousands of people hurt and dies. My challenging life wasn’t that harder than them. Really make me upset is on eid May 13, 2021 after 1 month of fasting that day is our enjoyment and happiness day but seeing our brother and sister there make us sad, make us just feel useless we can’t help them all we can do is send them prayer and little money for emergencies. We get up in morning enjoy our day but them get up in mornings cleaning dead.
#Free Palestine 🇵🇸

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ATOUNA EL TOUFOULE VERSI ASLINYA LIRIK & TERJEMAHAN #Music

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I choose this series as mirrors because there is a lot this that can relate in American dreams. Example in this store mansion about religion no matter what religion we are, we stand together but now day a lot racism still happens not only religion, even skin color. All I can say the American Dream not reached where it supposed to be.

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All American Video - Surviving The Times | Stream Free

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I choose this story is because I'm Asian 😂, I think every Asian student will choose this. while reading this story I'm for sure this story is mirrors because my parents always want their kids to study hard no matter what it takes them as long as we be someone important is good enough for them. I understand why my parents want their kids to be someone important because they can’t they get horrible life when they young so they don’t want it happen again to their kids.

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This story really make me read over and over again. I choose this as a mirrors because I have a lot experience that same as the stor, no matter if you’re poor or rich not all the things we want we get it, sometimes in life we have to double thinking that is why the coins have in both side. 😇

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I choose this novel story as mirrors, for me this story have and windows. Some part of story I really can relate but some part I learned. Example of mirrors is when this little girl have have to let go and there is where I relate it to myself. For example of window is I didn’t know that she have snuggle even when she speaks English, I thought only people don’t know how to speak English clearly like me have struggle. 👌

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I choose this little poem as mirrors because in this poem there is a quote that I can relate to it "They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong." In my religion as Muslim we do that when company comes for the girl always stay in kitchen or room we call it respect. our parent don’t want their daughters to get bad talk from other. 🤔

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This story is windows for me is because there is people out there goes hard time in life. There is no people that don’t have hard time in life no matter it’s little or it’s big deal. I learn in this story is never give up on yourself no matter how long it take if I keep trying I'll get there. ❤️

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Tommy Vollman knew he couldn't do it. Soon, the area scouts would figure it out, too. Maybe they already had. Anxiety clawed at him, feelings that had progressively worsened over the course of the last month or so. To deal with them, Tommy recited names. But not just any names. When he felt anxious, Tommy Vollman recited the names of baseball players. He whispered them quietly when he was alone, and when he wasn't, he'd just let those names tumble through his mind, silently, accompanied by their pictures-the ones that were on the baseball cards he sorted as a kid. Tommy Vollman never recited the names of stars. He only chose players from his common stacks; they worked better. He had to think about them, really get in there. Anybody could recall someone like Reggie Jackson or George Brett, but players like Claudell Washington and Ivan DeJesus took work. These were people, Tommy figured-players like Washington and DeJesus-who knew better than most what it was like to get right up to the precipice and stare deep into the pool of one's own dreams but then only ever be able to dip in to the waist. Tommy Vollman figured somebody like Claudell Washington never quite got fully submerged, never really dunked down in that pool and thought, Damn, man, this is it. This is everything.

And that was Tommy Vollman's worst fear-to be nearly there but not quite.

Of course, back then Tommy thought going all-in was everything. Anything less than everything was really nothing; that's what he thought back then.

But, Tommy often considered, Claudell Washington and Ivan DeJesus made it to the majors. Maybe they did know what it was like to go all-in. Still, it had to be something to be good enough to make it to the show but not quite good enough to be a star-to be the best but not quite the best of the best or even one of the greats among the really, really, really good.

See, Tommy Vollman had a serious problem: He couldn't fully admit to himself that he wasn't ever going to be a major leaguer. Admitting that felt the same as giving up, the same as quitting. If he wasn't going to make the show, why should he even continue to bother? And worse, what had the past ten years been all about? What were the late nights, the cages after games, the film sessions, scout work, all the extra training? What were they but a waste of time, effort, and money? He still played, day-in, day-out, but it was all getting to be a bit much. It wasn't the work that was the problem; Tommy Vollman loved everything about baseball. The problem was that possibly not making it to the majors and continuing to do what he did was incongruent, unsustainable. He was living a life of halfwayness, and it was eating him alive. The names worked now, but he wondered for how long?

Sometimes, he thought maybe it didn't have to be everything or nothing. Maybe things could just be what they were. Maybe, if he wasn't drafted, he could sign one of the Independent League contracts he'd already been offered. Maybe he'd work his way up, become one of those people who had a story: undrafted, independent ball, almost walked away, rookie ball or single A on to double, then triple A, then to the show. It'd be a magnificent story. Or, maybe he could just walk away. Maybe, there was really no shame in that, after all. He was good, really good. He just wasn't good enough. It would have been quite something for him to recognize that his chance hadn't actually come and gone; his chance just hadn't been what he thought.

Walking away from baseball scared Tommy Vollman to death. If he walked away, how could he be certain, really certain, that he might not have made it after all? How could he really be sure that the independent club contract wouldn't lead to single A then on to double, triple A, then to the show?

Any of that, though, would be predicated upon him being able to consistently-day-in, day-out-hit a curveball, which he hadn't been able to do, consistently. And because of that, he knew he'd never be a major leaguer, which broke his heart wide open.

Tommy Vollman glanced around. There were 60, 70, maybe a hundred people-maybe more-scattered through the stands. His hands were easy, at home on the dirty, grey leather grip of the bat that rested on his shoulder. Everything smelled like pine tar and clay, and the air was thicker than it should have been. The breeze, which had through the first and second innings blown graciously out to left-center, was gone. All of them-the fans, the area scouts, the kids, coaches and players-were locked in irons.

Tommy Vollman stared out at the hill, out at the pitcher, a burly right-hander that everybody called Big Horse. Horse, whose real name Tommy wasn't even sure he knew, looked about ten feet tall atop the mound and had thrown well through six. His pitch count, Tommy figured, was no more than 70.

He was methodical, Horse was, and Tommy desperately wanted to smash that rhythm. Tommy knew Big Horse had three, maybe four solid pitches including a curve that could slice a block of cheddar-12-6-clean.

It was the top of the seventh with one on, one out. The score was knotted tight at three and had been since the bottom of the third.

Tommy took a few practice swings as Granger-the tall, long-haired third baseman-stared at a called strike on a pitch that painted the outside corner. A soft, birdlike chatter tumbled out of the stands, stands now nearly completely devoured by the shadows that crept up the first-base line and angled for the right-field corner.

It was hot and humid as hell, and the sweat that gathered on his neck and forehead caused Tommy Vollman think about the ocean. Granger was down 0-2, and Tommy thought fastball, but he knew Granger would be looking for something off-speed, which was why Granger'd been buried in the number-nine hole and was hitting only a buck ninety-three through almost two dozen games. Big Horse loved to throw his off-speed numbers, but up 0-2 to the bottom of the order, there was no way in hell he'd throw anything but a fastball.

Straight heat, Tommy said to himself, as if his thoughts could permeate Granger's helmet and push him out of his slump. Tommy knew, though, that if he'd have been at bat instead of Granger, he'd have been able to get on top of that heater and drive it to the gap. A double, if it sat just right, would knock in Russell-who could flat out fly-from first.

Tommy Vollman shifted his feet and imagined he was up there instead of Amous Granger. He thought about how Big Horse would check Russell at first to try to keep him somewhat close, never really considering a move that way, then how he'd take the sign and probably shake off something down and away in favor of full heat on the inside corner. Then, Tommy thought about how Big Horse would rock back and serve the pitch from that spot right behind his ear. Tommy imagined how the ball would look as it came flying in, how all that force and effort backed by Big Horse's massive leg kick would screw the seams up on each other as if somebody had secretly painted two dozen red stripes on an otherwise snow-white baseball. Tommy thought about his own feet and a nice smooth ninety; his stride so easy and free, much different than that of Big Horse. He imagined how his front shoulder would stay connected to that invisible fulcrum that extended upward, off the inside of the plate, and how his eyes would get a centimeter-and-a-half bigger as his bat cut at and then connected with the ball just below the equatorial divide where the stamp sat and how he'd force his wrists to stay patient even though they'd get greedy and try to snap too quick and tug at the bat handle. Tommy Vollman imagined all of this as Granger struck out, a decade behind a 95 mile-an-hour fastball that Big Horse hurled low and inside.

It was a hell of a pitch, and Granger probably couldn't have hit it even if he'd have known it was coming.

As Tommy strolled up to the plate, he knew Horse would only serve off-speed junk his way. Tommy wouldn't see that heater that blew Granger away, not in a million years. About all Tommy Vollman could hope for was a hanger, a mistake by Big Horse that he could jump on. But Tommy knew that Big Horse would know that, too, so he'd do his damnedest not to make a mistake; he'd work like hell to make sure that Tommy Vollman wouldn't-couldn't-make him pay.

And so as Tommy approached the dish, he tried not to think about the guys in the stands with clipboards and stopwatches, the ones operating the JUG guns and watching the game from the inside-out. He tried not to think about the area scouts, the ones who looked haggard and road worn, the ones whose faces had melted into the sunglasses they wore, whose minds were forever occupied, calculating and figuring the next two years and the five after that. He tried not to think about any of those guys, the ones who could almost certainly tell in a single at-bat whether a 17 year-old was worth another look or if an 18 year-old was worth a pick and a few thousand bucks a month. They were the ones who'd ultimately make the decision for Tommy, and he was trying like hell to be okay with that.

Tommy Vollman called time and wiped away what remained of the bottom of the batter's box, as Big Horse paced behind the mound. Russell would run, Tommy figured, on the first or second pitch; Horse couldn't afford to mess around with him anymore, not with two out and the game tied up.

Tommy dug in, and Big Horse took the sign, nodded, reared, and fired. Tommy, who was taking all the way, stood stone-still as a spiraling slider cut low and too far inside.

The home plate umpire barely made a sound as the count jumped to 1-0.

Tommy gathered his signs from third and climbed back in the box. The area guys were there; he couldn't help but think about them. They'd been coming around more and more these past few weeks. Tommy had gathered a bit of noise, and that worried him, which worried him even more.

The sun, so prideful and relentless an hour earlier, had drifted aimlessly toward the horizon and suspended itself just above the scoreboard in right-center.

Tommy took Horse's second offering low and away to bounce ahead 2-0. Both pitches kicked poorly, and it was easy for Tommy to lay off of them. Horse would have to come hard now, Tommy thought. 3-0 was a hole even Big Horse couldn't afford.

He'd already signed with Atlanta, Horse had, but he still wanted strong outings every time. Horse was wired like that. He always wanted more. He wanted as much as he could possibly take. I suppose Tommy was probably jealous of him, though he'd never have admitted it. But it wasn't Big Horse's double-A assignment, his draft number, his contract, or any of that stuff that made Tommy Vollman jealous. Tommy Vollman was jealous of something he couldn't-and to some extent still can't-quite qualify. Tommy Vollman was jealous of that fact that Big Horse simply believed everything he wanted was there for his taking. And Tommy Vollman was really jealous of the fact that Big Horse always took what he wanted and didn't think twice about it. Tommy would have killed for what Horse had-the contract and the assignment-but he wasn't jealous of it. No, that wasn't it at all. Tommy Vollman was jealous of that special something that Big Horse didn't even know he had, that special something that allowed Horse to just take everything and anything whenever he wanted it. Tommy Vollman longed for that special something. And to some extent, he still does.

Big Horse's third offering was a cutter that Tommy took for a called strike. Russell, who jumped the pitch, stole second standing up. Tommy didn't cover with a swing. I suppose he missed the sign.

Tommy Vollman knew that was the pitch, the one he should have put in the gap. A cutter was as good as it was going to get from Horse. Tommy wondered, with Russell on the move, if he'd missed a sign. He wouldn't see that pitch again unless Horse fucked up, and Horse didn't really ever fuck up.

Tommy stood outside the box and twisted the bat in his hands. It's handle felt so thin, so fragile. Everything from here on out would be junk.

He glanced into the bleachers again and wondered how many of them were even up there. He wondered what they thought-the area guys with their dark sunglasses and solid-color caps, collared shirts, and notebooks. He wondered what they'd write, what they'd pass forward after they watched him wave helplessly at the next couple of benders Horse would almost certainly deal.

Tommy Vollman was pretty sure he was going to be sick.

He stood in the box and let his bat sew lazy, looped stitches in the thick air just above his head. He thought about the names-Ron LeFlore, U.L. Washington, Duane Kuiper-but he wouldn't let himself actually say them. He couldn't-not even silently, to himself-not there, not in the batter's box.

Tommy brought his bat still as Horse reared and fired. Just as he feared, Tommy felt himself wave at a rolling breaking ball. His front shoulder flapped open-a torn sail-useless and totally impatient.

Tommy stepped out of the box, the count knotted at 2-2. He tapped the brim of his helmet with the barrel of his bat, and adjusted his gloves and jersey.

Horse walked behind the mound and gazed out to left. He removed his cap, wiped his forehead, and then, with one hand on the bill and one on the back, he carefully put the bright red Rouse Club hat back on his head. He kept his glove tucked tight in his armpit, the ball buried deep in the leather's loose basket weave.

Tommy watched as Big Horse exhaled, climbed back on the hill, and dug in against the rubber.

Tommy Vollman wanted to think about Big Horse and what he was about to deal. He wanted to think about anything but the stream of names clattering through his mind. These names were awkward and uneasy, the vowels hard, consonants too crowded: Bob Brenley, Ron Oester, Mickey Klutts, Mike Pagliarulo. Tommy Vollman wanted to focus, to dial in on Horse's 12-6 arm motion, to see the quick snap of his thick wrist and the tight spin of the ball as it parted his long fingers and bent toward the plate. He wanted to really concentrate on those things. And he tried; he really, really did. But it was no use. He could almost hear the restless pens scratching notes over hard, clipboard foundations.

Excellent speed, great glove. Switch hitter, better left. Good hands. Kills fastball in all counts, high, low, in and out. Okay for the change. Good split versus lefties and righties. Bat speed a touch slow, but great control to the opposite field. Hips and hands, mostly. Gets killed by the curve. Pass.

Tommy Vollman knew that's what they'd write; he knew that's what they were writing even as he stood there trying not to recite the names he'd managed not to forget. If the area scouts didn't write those things today, they'd write them soon. And if, per chance, they didn't write those things soon, they'd write them eventually.

But before he really had a chance to really wonder what it was he could or should have done, Horse's pitch bent and buckled right through the corner of the strike zone. Nobody, he thought, really had anywhere to hide anything, and nothing of any importance could be ignored (at least effectively) forever.

And so Tommy Vollman strolled back to the dugout, pulled off his helmet, and nodded as Dontrell Lewis handed him his glove and hat and told him not to worry about it, to just shake it off. Then, he jogged out to center, unable to look up at the area scouts who surely scribbled their notes, shuffled the papers with his name to the backs of their piles, then readjusted their metal binders or three-rings or whatever it was that held everything together.
Tommy Vollman is a writer, musician, and painter. He has written a number of things, published a bit, recorded a few records, and toured a lot. In 2016, Tommy's short story, "Jimmy" was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. In 2017, his story "Boots" was nominated for the "Best of the Net" Sundress anthology. He has stories set to publish in upcoming issues of The Southwest Review and IO Lit. Recently, he's had stories appear in Two Cities Review, Palaver, Pithead Chapel, Gris-Gris, and Per Contra. Tommy has some black-ink tattoos on both of his arms, and he really likes A. Moonlight Graham, Kurt Vonnegut, Two Cow Garage, Tillie Olsen, Willy Vlautin, and Albert Camus. He's working on a novel entitled Tyne Darling. Tommy released a record, These Ghosts, in November of 2016 and has a follow-up slated for early-2019. He currently teaches English at Milwaukee Area Technical College and prefers to write with pens poached from hotel room cleaning carts.

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Tommy Vollman knew he couldn't do it. Soon, the area scouts would figure it out, too. Maybe they already had. Anxiety clawed at him, feelings that had progressively worsened over the course of the last month or so. To deal with them, Tommy recited names. But not just any names.

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I choose this story as mirrors because I can see myself in Dee place and because I'm the first daughter in family. It's really sweet story to read together. And I have read this story once but I think that time I can’t really understand the story but now I really enjoy. 😊

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" Everyday Use" is a short story by Alice Walker. It was first published in 1973 and is part of Walker's short story collection In Love and Trouble. It has since become widely studied and frequently anthologized.

The short story is told in first person by "Mama", an African-American woman living in the Deep South with one of her two daughters. The story follows the difference between Mrs. Johnson and her shy younger daughter Maggie, who both still adhere to traditional black culture in the rural South, and her educated, successful daughter Dee, or "Wangero" as she prefers to be called, who takes a different route to reclaiming her cultural identity.

The story opens with Mama waiting in the yard while thinking about the differences between her daughters Dee and Maggie. Some time ago, there was a house fire with Dee seemingly happy and excited about the fire because she disliked the house. The narrator then talks about the daughter's lives after the house fire, while painting a picture that Dee has a better life than Maggie.

With the help of Mama and the community's fundraising efforts, Dee leaves her home to receive an education. Meanwhile, Mama never went to school past second grade and Maggie has a very limited reading ability. Dee's education is vastly different than the other characters; thus, Mama starts to feel that starkness and comments, "like dimwits, we seemed about to understand". Furthermore, Mama discusses greater differences between physical appearances. Comparing her own manly physique, Maggie's timid disposition, and Dee's overall well groomed and stylish looks.

While Mama is waiting in the yard, Dee arrives with a man whom Mama refers to as Hakim-a-barber. Dee is shown wearing traditional garb and greets Maggie and Mama with an African greeting. As Dee takes photos of Mama and Maggie in front of the house, they are taken a back with her new demeanor. The greetings from Dee and Hakim-a-barber are stiff and unfamiliar to Mama and Maggie. Dee informs her mother that she has now changed her name to Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo in order to protest the oppression and cultural whitewashing Black Americans faced. Mama questions this, telling Dee she was named after her Aunt Dicie, who in turn was named after Grandma Dee, and that the name went on through the generations. Dee gives Mama the option of not using her new name, but Mama compromises and agrees to use it. Mama concludes that Hakim-a-barber must be related to a family of Muslims down the road. In response, Hakim-a-barber says he accepts some of the doctrines of his farming family but is not interested in the family business.

Mama does not know whether Hakim-a-barber and Dee are married, nor does she ask. Hakim-a-barber has a restricted diet to follow, but Dee digs into the food Mama made. She begins asking for things around the house, like the top of a butter churn, and eventually, she asks for two quilts as well. This quilt in particular is one that Mama had promised to Maggie, and Dee's persistence frustrates Mama which develops into an argument between Mama and Dee. Dee argues that by using the quilt as a normal item, in "everyday use", the quilt will be ruined, and the cultural importance will be lost. Mama would rather the item be used practically by her family and be ruined than have it sit on a shelf or be hung on a wall as a piece of art, and as Dee readies to leave, she tells Mama that Mama doesn't understand her own heritage. She adds that Mama should try and improve and that there is a new path for Black Americans to follow. Maggie and Mama sit in the yard after watching them drive off, until bedtime.

Dee: She is an educated African-American woman and the eldest daughter of Mama. She seeks to embrace her cultural identity through changing her name from Dee to Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo (an African name), marrying a Muslim man, and acquiring artifacts from Mama's house to put on display, an approach that puts her at odds with Mama and Maggie. She is physically beautiful and is described as having a great sense of style.

Mama: She is described as a "large, big-boned woman with rough, man-working hands." She enjoys her lifestyle (especially milking cows) and did not receive an education past second grade. She seems to look down upon Dee's way of living, but says nothing about it in order to respect her and stay civil.

Maggie : Mama describes her as dull and much more brittle and quiet compared to her older sister. She is Mama's youngest daughter, who has burn scars and marks from the burning down of their prior home and she is very nervous and self-conscious because of it. She leads a simple and traditional life with her mother in the South while her elder sister, Dee, is away at school. She has very limited reading ability, unlike her sister Dee.

Hakim-a-barber: Dee's partner who is referred to as "Asalamalakim", a Muslim greeting, throughout the story because he is Muslim. Eventually, he tells Mama to call him "Hakim-a-barber" due to Mama being unable to pronounce his real name. According to Helga Hoel, "The mother in the story, Mrs. Johnson, at first thinks this is his name, that he introduces himself, and some confusion arises until he tells her that she can call him Hakim a Barber."

One of the primary themes that the story revolves around is the idea of a person's relationship with their heritage. In the story, Dee's mother remained close to immediate family traditions, while Dee herself chose to search more deeply into her African roots. Dee has a different mindset; she does not have the same ideals as Mama and Maggie, particularly in regard to cultural preservation and the best way to go about it. Dee (Wangero) only wants the family heirlooms to display in her home for their "artistic value", whereas Maggie and her mother cherish these items because they "remind them of their loved ones." In Mama's mind, Maggie learning to make her own quilt and putting it to everyday use is preserving the culture, which is how Mama believes the quilt should be used. Even if the quilts "end up in rags," more quilts can simply be made because Maggie was taught how to make them. On the other hand, Dee believes the proper way to preserve her culture is to display the quilt in her home and preserve the quilt itself rather than continuing to live out their culture as Mama and Maggie do. Another theme in this short story is the divisive power of education throughout the story. In the story education is not really talked about and is completely separated from the entire family(Sparknotes).

The story is told in first-person as it unfolds through the eyes and opinions of Mama. As Maggie and Mama wait for Dee to arrive for a visit, Mama's mind wanders with various thoughts and memories of Dee, giving the audience an impartial view of Dee as being self-centered and uncaring. Due to the fact that readers are getting only one viewpoint, it is uncertain if Dee truly does exhibit these characteristics or if it is only Mama's opinion of the eldest daughter that is being forced upon us. It is thought by some that Mama does not judge her children, Dee and Maggie, accurately due to Mama's own insecurities. This is evidenced during Mama's daydream of Dee and herself on an imaginary popular talk show under the context of children who have "made it". Mama notes being overweight and rough around the edges and eludes to the fact that Dee is ashamed of Mama's appearance. As Mama continues to narrate the story, the audience continues to get a sense of Dee's snobbish personality, along with moments of doubt as readers see glimpses of Mama's own shortcomings. As the story concludes, the audience is left with the vision of Mama and Maggie remaining alone on the front lawn basking in the simplicity of each other and the straightforward life that has been built.

Interpretations

In the essay "'Everyday Use' and the Black Power Movement" by Barbara T. Christian, the story is discussed in reference to slavery and the black power movement. The characters in the story focus a lot on African culture and heritage. Traditional African clothing is described throughout the story, and this is a symbol of the family's heritage. The mentioning of changing names relates back to slavery as well; the characters were trying to forget about their slave names, and think of more traditional names to remember their culture and assert their African roots." Christian brings to light the difference in attitudes and perspectives about a shared culture. Christian points out that to Maggie and her mother, honoring their culture meant honoring the personal past of their family, by carrying on their names or putting the quilt to use, while to Dee, that meant honoring aesthetic and ancient traditions, such as traditional African names or hanging the quilt to be seen but not utilized. It is this very realization that leads to their mother choosing to give Maggie the quilts.

On the other hand, in the essay "'Everyday Use' as a Portrait of the Artist" by Mary Helen Washington, the story is looked at from a more artistic and cultural perspective. The essay describes Dee as an artist who "returns home...in order to collect the material," which indicates that Dee comes home for a deeper understanding of her African culture. Although she changes her name from Dee to a more Native African name and wears African clothing, she lacks real knowledge of her culture. Because of this, Mama chooses Maggie over Dee to take the quilts, because Maggie shows more appreciation and knowledge of their culture and as she said in the story was involved in the making of those quilts whereas Dee had no part in.

In the essay "Stylish vs. Sacred in "Everyday Use" written by Houston A. Baker and Charlotte Pierce-Baker Dee or Wangero is called a "goddess". After highlighting a few passages from the story, it is mentioned that Dee/ Wangero has joined the black nationalists of the 1960s and 1970s and she shows it by changing both her name and her style. The essay doesn't see Dee/ Wangero as an activist of that cause but as someone being "manipulated by the style-makers" as illustrated by the scene in which she described the quilt, for which she passionately fought for later in the story, as "old-fashioned and out of style". Dee's new name "Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo" is misspelt, showing the reader that she doesn't know much about African culture.

One symbol found in this short story is the quilt. The quilt itself is a very sentimental piece that holds great meaning and history behind it. It includes clothes that Dee's great grandmother used to wear as well as pieces of uniforms that Dee's great grandfather wore during the Civil War. However, it also symbolizes value in Negro-American experience. The quilt additionally adds to the idea of creative activities women came up with to pass down history from generation to generation as a part of their heritage. Dee seems to take the most pride in making these quilts, she views it as her way of giving back to society. Hakim-a-barber and Wangero represented the black power movement by their styles, greets, and outfits.

Another symbol found in "Everyday Use" is the yard. The yard plays an important role in the story and is described as "an extended living room". Mama and Maggie have both tidied up the yard in preparation of Dee's visit, and sit out in the yard for hours, even after Dee's departure. The yard seems to be a place to think for Mama, where she can imagine herself being someone more conventionally attractive than she actually is, but also remember just how much she has done for her family.

In the African-American community, women have engaged in the tradition of quilting since they were brought to America as slaves. Quilting requires sewing pieces of cloth together to create a coverlet that functions as both a piece of art and a household item. African-American women, often regarded as voiceless 'mule(s) of the world', inherited such creative legacies from maternal ancestors and their quilts have come to represent black heritage. The voices of African-American women have been stitched into their quilts, providing an account of their cultural past. As Sam Whitsitt observes, the quilt reflects the experiences of African-American women: the quilt is a symbol reflective of 'herstory, history, and tradition'. The self-expression involved in quilt-making allowed women to take control of their lives through the only medium society permitted them to use. The communal nature of quilting strengthened the bonds of sisterhood and helped to move marginalized women from enslavement to empowerment. Quilting allowed these women to assert control over the colonial practice of slavery as enforced by white hegemony. Historically, products such as cotton and indigo dye were acquired as a result of black oppression. By sewing cotton into their quilts, African-American slaves formed a bond with nature, which replaced the hegemonic relationship enforced by slavery.

Black slaves often attended communal Quilting Bees, which offered these oppressed women the opportunity to create social bonds unsupervised. Thus, quilting became a symbol of sisterly solidarity for African-American slaves. Additionally, quilting functioned as a response to cultural and political change, allowing opportunity for political debate. Black women used quilting as a source of activism: their quilts often depicted anti-slavery slogans. However, quilting also came to represent the hegemony of patriarchal society. Women were often forced to learn to quilt, which became a substitute for the more 'masculine' activity of reading and writing.

Jennifer Martin explains in her article "The Quilt Threads Together Sisterhood, Empowerment, and Nature in Alice Walker's The Color Purple and Everyday Use", "When women participate in the tradition of quilting this trinity of strength provides a positive channel for them to mend together the pieces of their lives and to move from fragmentation to fusion... Martin emphasize the quilt provides a bond between the sisters and females because in the African American community often times women are oppressed.Quilting is not an end-point where women achieve elusive wholeness, but a way to meld together parts of their lives and achieve power from the joining of all the components that make them unique." This also explains why Mama and Maggie are so fond of their heritage and continuing to live it out, unlike Dee. They see it as a way to feel connected to one another, as well as to their ancestors, and as a way to mend their pasts and move on from them. By showing their culture and living it still, they are able to show how despite everything that may have happened to them they never lost who they really were. Quilting symbolizes this movement for them and this feeling of wholeness.

Quilting features in 'Everyday Use' as a symbol of black heritage. Mama Johnson's quilts symbolize cross-generational female bonding: they were sewn together by Grandma Dee, passed down to and then quilted by Mama and her sister, Big Dee. One quilt even features a piece of the uniform worn by their Great Grandpa Ezra during the Civil War. These quilts represent the creativity of the sisterhood that created them; however, Mama's daughters, Maggie and Dee, view them very differently. Dee visits her family, intending to collect the artifacts of her family's past; she wants to display them in her home with museum-like accuracy. As David Cowart notes, 'The visitor [Dee] rightly recognizes the quilts as part of a fragile heritage, but she fails to see the extent to which she herself has traduced that heritage.' The story's climax, which sees Mama give the quilts to Maggie, rather than Dee, is viewed as representative of the quilts' functionality. Dee views the quilts as worthy of museum display ("Maggie can't appreciate these quilts!...She'd probably be backward enough to put them to everyday use."), whilst Maggie treats them as household items ("I been saving 'em for long enough with nobody using 'em. I hope [ Maggie puts them to 'everyday use']!"). Both Mama and Maggie recognize that the quilt is meant for 'everyday use', as practiced by their ancestors.

In critical readings the largest trend regarding this story has been to criticize Dee and the way she goes about reasserting her personal culture. However, Matthew Mullins argues in his essay, Antagonized by the Text, Or, It Takes Two to Read Alice Walker's "Everyday Use", that this perspective isn't necessarily fair. He found in reading and teaching the text, Dee was universally a disliked character, saying that in an epiphany he found in his defense of Dee rather a pitying attitude and concluding that "it was impossible to see how anyone could truly 'like' Dee". This, however, he goes on to point out as not being a direct result of Dee's actions alone, but rather the framing of her actions in the story. He argues that the text itself is what antagonizes the reader to grow this dislike of Dee: "The first-person narrative voice, the fact that Mrs. Johnson [Mama] is both narrator and character, has an immediate and forceful effect upon our perception of Dee." Mullins backs this up by quoting another scholar, Wayne Booth, who said in his work The Rhetoric of Fiction, "No narrator [...] is simply convincing: he is convincingly decent or mean, brilliant or stupid, informed, intelligent, or muddled. [...] we usually find our emotional and intellectual reactions to him as a character affects our reactions to the events he relates." Mullins points out that if Dee herself, or even Maggie, were the narrators of the story, we would come away with a completely different perspective on probably all of the characters. "The text actively prevents us from identifying with Dee," and this perspective has shaped the scholarly resources on this text since it came out.

Joe Sarnowski, in his article Destroying to Save: Idealism and Pragmatism in Alice Walker's 'Everyday Use', also points out this discrepancy but taking it one step further, arguing that even though it would be naive to claim Dee doesn't have faults, she, "more than any other character in the story, identifies and pursues corrective measures against the oppression of African-American society and culture." Her fault, Sarnowski says, is in not realizing how idealism and pragmatism are "intertwined" and how "privileging one undermines both".

In "Quilt as a Metaphor in 'Everyday Use,'" by Elaine Showalter, Mama explains that because Maggie can recreate the quilts made by her mother and grandmother, that she is the one that understands the culture and will keep it alive.

Walker, Alice: "Everyday Use," The Story and Its Writer. Ed. Anna Charters. Compact 8th edn. Boston: Bedfor/St. Martin's, 2011. 852-858. Print.

Whitsitt, Sam: "In Spite of It All: A Reading of Alice Walker's 'Everyday Use,'" African American Review 34.3 (2000): 443. Web. October 24, 2011.

"Everyday Use: "sparknotes.com. sparknotes, n.d. Web. October 24, 2011.

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" Everyday Use" is a short story by Alice Walker. It was first published in 1973 and is part of Walker's short story collection In Love and Trouble. It has since become widely studied and frequently anthologized. The short story is told in first person by "Mama", an African-American woman living in the Deep South with one of her two daughters.