Read the following story, and then answer the question that follows.

Question

Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000) was an American poet, author, and teacher. In this short story, a family contemplates losing their house.


Home

by Gwendolyn Brooks


[1] What had been wanted was this always, this always to last, the talking softly on this porch, with the snake plant in the jardinière(1) in the southwest corner, and the obstinate(2) slip from Aunt Eppie’s magnificent Michigan fern at the left side of the friendly door. Mama, Maud Martha, and Helen rocked slowly in their rocking chairs, and looked at the late afternoon light on the lawn and at the emphatic(3) iron of the fence and at the poplar tree(4). These things might soon be theirs no longer. Those shafts and pools of light, the tree, the graceful iron, might soon be viewed passively by different eyes.


Papa was to have gone that noon, during his lunch hour, to the office of the Home Owners’ Loan. If he had not succeeded in getting another extension, they would be leaving this house in which they had lived for more than fourteen years. There was little hope. The Home Owners’ Loan was hard. They sat, making their plans.


“We’ll be moving into a nice flat somewhere,” said Mama. “Somewhere on South Park, or Michigan, or in Washington Park Court.” Those flats, as the girls and Mama knew well, were burdens on wages twice the size of Papa’s. This was not mentioned now.


“They’re much prettier than this old house,” said Helen. “I have friends I’d just as soon not bring here. And I have other friends that wouldn’t come down this far for anything, unless they were in a taxi.”


[5] Yesterday, Maud Martha would have attacked her. Tomorrow she might. Today she said nothing. She merely gazed at a little hopping robin in the tree, her tree, and tried to keep the fronts of her eyes dry.


“Well, I do know,” said Mama, turning her hands over and over, “that I’ve been getting tireder and tireder of doing that firing. From October to April, there’s firing to be done.”


“But lately we’ve been helping, Harry and I,” said Maud Martha. “And sometimes in March and April and in October, and even in November, we could build a little fire in the fireplace. Sometimes the weather was just right for that.”


She knew, from the way they looked at her, that this had been a mistake. They did not want to cry.

But she felt that the little line of white, sometimes ridged with smoked purple, and all that cream-shot saffron(5) would never drift across any western sky except that in back of this house. The rain would drum with as sweet a dullness nowhere but here. The birds on South Park were mechanical birds, no better than the poor caught canaries in those “rich” women’s sun parlors.


[10] “It’s just going to kill Papa!” burst out Maud Martha. “He loves this house! He lives for this house!”


He lives for us,” said Helen. “It’s us he loves. He wouldn’t want the house, except for us.”


“And he’ll have us,” added Mama, “wherever.”


“You know,” Helen sighed, “if you want to know the truth, this is a relief. If this hadn’t come up, we would have gone on, just dragged on, hanging out here forever.”


“It might,” allowed Mama, “be an act of God. God may just have reached down and picked up the reins.”


[15] “Yes,” Maud Martha cracked in, “that’s what you always say — that God knows best.”


Her mother looked at her quickly, decided the statement was not suspect, looked away.


Helen saw Papa coming. “There’s Papa,” said Helen.


They could not tell a thing from the way Papa was walking. It was that same dear little staccato(6) walk, one shoulder down, then the other, then repeat, and repeat. They watched his progress. He passed the Kennedys’, he passed the vacant(7) lot, he passed Mrs. Blakemore’s. They wanted to hurl themselves over the fence, into the street, and shake the truth out of his collar. He opened his gate — the gate — and still his stride and face told them nothing.


“Hello,” he said.


[20] Mama got up and followed him through the front door. The girls knew better than to go in too.


Presently Mama’s head emerged. Her eyes were lamps turned on.


“It’s all right,” she exclaimed. “He got it. It’s all over. Everything is all right.”


The door slammed shut. Mama’s footsteps hurried away.


“I think,” said Helen, rocking rapidly, “I think I’ll give a party. I haven’t given a party since I was 11. I’d like some of my friends to just casually see that we’re homeowners.”


Footnotes:

1. French for “planter”

2. Obstinate (adjective) stubbornly refusing to change

3. Emphatic (adjective) attracting special attention

4. A type of quick-growing tree

5. An orange to orange-yellow

6. Short, quick, and separate

7. Vacant (adjective) not filled, used, or lived in





Question:

Create a Google Document and write a new ending following these directions- Imagine how the story would be different if it were told from the point of view of the character, Papa. Your narrative should be written in first person point of view. Using the information from the passage, rewrite the ending of the story starting from when Papa walks home (Paragraph 17). Make sure that you provide dialogue from the characters (Papa, Mama, Maud Martha, or Helen), and use sensory details and language to capture the action of the story. Stay true to the author’s voice and style. You should have a minimum of 300 words. Be mindful of conventions, so that they do not interfere with meaning.

Answer 1

Home (Alternate Ending from Papa’s Perspective)

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the ground as I ambled down the block, my heart heavy with uncertainty. Each step felt both familiar and foreign, and the rhythm of my staccato walk marked the passage of a lifetime in this neighborhood. I could see the poplar tree from our front gate, its leaves whispering with secrets I wasn't yet ready to hear. Home. It had become a sanctuary woven with laughter, dreams, and quiet moments shared on our porch.

As I approached our house, my thoughts twisted back to the Home Owners’ Loan office. The weight of the decision loomed like storm clouds over my head. Did I dare hope? Or would this day seal my family's fate? I opened the gate with a heavy sigh, taking a moment to absorb the moment. My beloved home stood stoically, each brick telling the story of years gone by, of promises made and dreams nurtured.

“Hello,” I greeted my family, my voice steadier than I felt. I could sense their eyes on me, searching for reassurance. The porch, where they often sat rocking in their chairs, reminded me of the joy we shared within these walls.

Mama's face erupted into a bright smile, her eyes dancing with the light of hope. She darted toward me, her hands clasped in excitement. “Did you get it?”

I paused, absorbing the moment. I knew the weight of my next words could either crush or uplift. “I did,” I said, trying to let relief seep into my tone. “It’s all right. We’re staying.”

In an instant, her joy ignited the air around us. “It’s all over! Everything is all right!” Her laughter echoed, bright as the sun filtering through the leaves.

From the porch, I caught sight of Maud Martha. Her earlier worries seemed to melt away, replaced by a tentative smile. “Really, Papa? You mean we’re not leaving?”

“Yes, little one,” I replied, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “We’re staying right here where we belong.”

Helen chimed in, rocking back and forth, “I think I’ll give a party! It’s time our friends saw we’re homeowners!”

As I watched my daughters transform with joy, I felt the love radiating from my family. It washed over me like a warm summer breeze, and for the first time in weeks, I breathed deeply, savoring the familiar scent of home. I knew this house, these moments, and the bonds we formed within these walls were what truly mattered. No matter what lay ahead, we would face it together, grounded in love, in this home we fought to keep.

And with that thought, I stepped inside, ready to embrace whatever came next, with my family beside me and the hope of tomorrow shining brightly.