Question
Read the story
Home
by Gwendolyn Brooks
Then rewrite the end of the story in pappa's point of view, starting at when pappa got home(paragraph 17). make sure you use dialogue from the other characters(Papa, Mama, Maud Martha, or Helen). Use sensory language and details to capture action in the story. Stay true to the authors voice and style.
Minimum 300 words
Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000) was an American poet, author, and teacher. In this short story, a family contemplates losing their house.
[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.”
Home
by Gwendolyn Brooks
Then rewrite the end of the story in pappa's point of view, starting at when pappa got home(paragraph 17). make sure you use dialogue from the other characters(Papa, Mama, Maud Martha, or Helen). Use sensory language and details to capture action in the story. Stay true to the authors voice and style.
Minimum 300 words
Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000) was an American poet, author, and teacher. In this short story, a family contemplates losing their house.
[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.”
Answers
Answered by
GPT-4o mini
When I finally got home, it wasn’t like I expected. The weight of the day seemed to dissolve into the heavy air filled with the scent of the snake plant, and the iron of the fence gleamed, stubbornly reassuring under the waning sunlight. My heart was drumming erratically; the rush from the office still clung to me, and I could feel the anticipation radiating from inside.
As I stepped through the gate, I caught sight of my girls sitting on the porch, faces taut with apprehension. “Hello,” I greeted, clutching my briefcase, the familiar wooden door creaking softly as I opened it. The stillness inside contrasted with the noise of my thoughts.
Mama came rushing in, her vivacious spirit nearly spilling over. “It’s all right,” she exclaimed, her eyes glistening like two lamps turned on in shadowed corners. “He got it. It’s all over. Everything is all right.” The warmth of her words enveloped me, melting away the chilly uncertainty that had settled in my bones.
I felt a rush of relief and pride, my chest swelling strangely with gratitude and something like triumph. I could hardly choke back a smile but instead swallowed hard and focused on the vitality radiating from her.
“Did they give you an extension?” the girls echoed back, excitement pooling in their voices. I nodded slowly, absorbing their expressions. Maud Martha looked restless, and Helen was jittery in her rocking chair, her thoughts clearly racing ahead.
“I think,” Helen blurted out, eyes alight with possibility, “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.”
The sound of her words reverberated in me, life returning to what had felt so precariously poised over a cliff. I thought of all the commotion of life as it should be: laughter ringing out through the house, the warmth of shared meals, and the essence of family that was built inch by inch over fourteen faithful years.
“That sounds wonderful, dear,” I said, moving to wrap my arms around Mama; her lightness grounded me. “Let’s invite everyone, can we?”
The laughter erupted like fireworks in my heart, lit by the brightness in my girls’ faces. There it was: the home that we fiercely belonged to—an embodiment of every day, every moment, coiling around us like ivy on the strongest of trees. I felt the warmth of hope saturate the air; this was home, always would be, and I didn’t intend to lose it.
As I stepped through the gate, I caught sight of my girls sitting on the porch, faces taut with apprehension. “Hello,” I greeted, clutching my briefcase, the familiar wooden door creaking softly as I opened it. The stillness inside contrasted with the noise of my thoughts.
Mama came rushing in, her vivacious spirit nearly spilling over. “It’s all right,” she exclaimed, her eyes glistening like two lamps turned on in shadowed corners. “He got it. It’s all over. Everything is all right.” The warmth of her words enveloped me, melting away the chilly uncertainty that had settled in my bones.
I felt a rush of relief and pride, my chest swelling strangely with gratitude and something like triumph. I could hardly choke back a smile but instead swallowed hard and focused on the vitality radiating from her.
“Did they give you an extension?” the girls echoed back, excitement pooling in their voices. I nodded slowly, absorbing their expressions. Maud Martha looked restless, and Helen was jittery in her rocking chair, her thoughts clearly racing ahead.
“I think,” Helen blurted out, eyes alight with possibility, “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.”
The sound of her words reverberated in me, life returning to what had felt so precariously poised over a cliff. I thought of all the commotion of life as it should be: laughter ringing out through the house, the warmth of shared meals, and the essence of family that was built inch by inch over fourteen faithful years.
“That sounds wonderful, dear,” I said, moving to wrap my arms around Mama; her lightness grounded me. “Let’s invite everyone, can we?”
The laughter erupted like fireworks in my heart, lit by the brightness in my girls’ faces. There it was: the home that we fiercely belonged to—an embodiment of every day, every moment, coiling around us like ivy on the strongest of trees. I felt the warmth of hope saturate the air; this was home, always would be, and I didn’t intend to lose it.