This I Believe
I believe in worrying. Growing up, my mother was a worrier, always dogging me as I went out the door, asking a million questions within a few seconds span. Every time I asked her to stop all she would reply was, “I just worry.”
I resented her for it, especially in my teenage years. I took her worry to be a sign she didn't trust me, which hurt deeply. She had taught her daughter to be independent: to think for myself, to never mindlessly follow the crowd, and her constant worry seemed to fly in the face of that. I look up to my mother, as she has worked so hard to do right by her children, a housewife with enough drive, compassion, and backbone to be an army general. My senior year of high school, around age eighteen, I had had enough. My mother and I, who were once so close, were fighting on a daily basis. I was going off to a college more than a hundred miles from home, entering a new step in my life that I felt more than prepared for. For weeks, any mention of my leaving brought my mother to the edge of worried hysterics, which manifested itself in some interesting ways. Near the end of senior year, I found her crying over garbage bags that were tied off and ready to be set out. I’d cleaned my room and had failed to separate the recyclables from the garbage.
“How can I let you go to school?” she asked, “If you can’t organize your own garbage!”
Things were going down hill quickly. My mother and I, despite the rough time we were having, managed to keep it together until I left for school. The first year at college, I made sure to call my mom every few days, talking to her between classes, and over the months we developed a new understanding. I made friends and told my mom about our adventures, about our professors and classes and the questionable food served for lunch that day. But it wasn't until one of my friends started dating an older boy that I understood my mom. My very close friend was going out with this boy, a boy who did not seems very nice, and I felt a tension in my chest. I asked her to please be careful, to keep her phone on, to let us know where she ended up, to call if she needed a ride, no questions asked. She was laughing as I spoke, shaking her head, and accused me of trying to be her mother.
“No,” I told her, “I just worry.” I was stunned, the meaning finally clicking into place. All I wanted was one of my best friends to be safe, because I cared about her, about her well-being and about her not being disappointed. All my mom was trying to tell me was that she cared about me, loved me, and the depth of her worry was the way she showed that. I have discovered that my mom passed down more than her hair color and her independent spirit, she also passed on her tendency to worry for the people she loves. My relationship with my mom is stronger than ever, because now, when she tells me to be careful, even though I am twenty years old, or when she fires off enough questions to make an interrogator proud, I understand. I believe in worry, because to worry means that you love someone so much and so deeply that you would ask as many questions as it took for them to think of everything, to be prepared, to be safe, and most importantly, to feel the love in the worry.
I resented her for it, especially in my teenage years. I took her worry to be a sign she didn't trust me, which hurt deeply. She had taught her daughter to be independent: to think for myself, to never mindlessly follow the crowd, and her constant worry seemed to fly in the face of that. I look up to my mother, as she has worked so hard to do right by her children, a housewife with enough drive, compassion, and backbone to be an army general. My senior year of high school, around age eighteen, I had had enough. My mother and I, who were once so close, were fighting on a daily basis. I was going off to a college more than a hundred miles from home, entering a new step in my life that I felt more than prepared for. For weeks, any mention of my leaving brought my mother to the edge of worried hysterics, which manifested itself in some interesting ways. Near the end of senior year, I found her crying over garbage bags that were tied off and ready to be set out. I’d cleaned my room and had failed to separate the recyclables from the garbage.
“How can I let you go to school?” she asked, “If you can’t organize your own garbage!”
Things were going down hill quickly. My mother and I, despite the rough time we were having, managed to keep it together until I left for school. The first year at college, I made sure to call my mom every few days, talking to her between classes, and over the months we developed a new understanding. I made friends and told my mom about our adventures, about our professors and classes and the questionable food served for lunch that day. But it wasn't until one of my friends started dating an older boy that I understood my mom. My very close friend was going out with this boy, a boy who did not seems very nice, and I felt a tension in my chest. I asked her to please be careful, to keep her phone on, to let us know where she ended up, to call if she needed a ride, no questions asked. She was laughing as I spoke, shaking her head, and accused me of trying to be her mother.
“No,” I told her, “I just worry.” I was stunned, the meaning finally clicking into place. All I wanted was one of my best friends to be safe, because I cared about her, about her well-being and about her not being disappointed. All my mom was trying to tell me was that she cared about me, loved me, and the depth of her worry was the way she showed that. I have discovered that my mom passed down more than her hair color and her independent spirit, she also passed on her tendency to worry for the people she loves. My relationship with my mom is stronger than ever, because now, when she tells me to be careful, even though I am twenty years old, or when she fires off enough questions to make an interrogator proud, I understand. I believe in worry, because to worry means that you love someone so much and so deeply that you would ask as many questions as it took for them to think of everything, to be prepared, to be safe, and most importantly, to feel the love in the worry.
Design Plan for TIB Presentaion
Purpose/Context
- Assignment
- Work through understanding with my mom
- Hopefully aid others in understanding and accepting parental habits
Audience
- Female (mostly)
- 20-25
- No children, divided on having significant other
- Writing/Education majors
- No polarizing issues
- Lack of political heat
- Strong emotional connectability to my topic (Everyone has a mother or mother-like connection)
- Mixed experience with college education in parents/immediate family
Strategies
- Rhetorical appeals
o Answering the issue of trying to understand my mother/the mother-daughter relationship
- Tone
o Open, casual, upbeat
o I want the story to be slightly humorous while still giving the emotional connection of finding understanding.
- Accessibility
o I will embed the html directly into the site so that it can be played without the need for external programs
o Slideshow will be found directly under the essay text
- Design (font, colors, size, juxtaposition)
o Keep with the streamlined black-and-white theme on my other pages.
o Picture at the top as a header
o Text will be equal to other pages, somewhat small but easy to read
o Text will be mostly centered in the left hand column.
o Pictures will have the most color
- Arrangement
o Audio above text
o Text above pictures
- Pathos (emotion), Ethos (credibility)
Technological choices
- Use projector
- Play audio and slideshow through website page
- Re-record audio with sound cloud
o First recording was using Garage band and iTunes, but it won’t play on other computers
- Use slideshow format provided by Weebly
Presentation decisions
- Playing audio from website
- No music
- Have slideshow play through as the audio plays
- Lights off/front lights off
A plan for completion
- Go through essay to check for any grammar, spelling, consistency, or wording mistakes
- Re-record audio file
- Double check that it will open on HP computers
- Upload/scan/find pictures for picture stories
- Organize pictures to show timeline of story/progression
- Write bibliography as needed
- Try photos and audio together
- Edit timing
- Do run through again, fix any mistakes
- Final run through
A plan for testing
- Ask roommates to participate/borrow their computers to make sure everything works on theirs as well
- Assignment
- Work through understanding with my mom
- Hopefully aid others in understanding and accepting parental habits
Audience
- Female (mostly)
- 20-25
- No children, divided on having significant other
- Writing/Education majors
- No polarizing issues
- Lack of political heat
- Strong emotional connectability to my topic (Everyone has a mother or mother-like connection)
- Mixed experience with college education in parents/immediate family
Strategies
- Rhetorical appeals
o Answering the issue of trying to understand my mother/the mother-daughter relationship
- Tone
o Open, casual, upbeat
o I want the story to be slightly humorous while still giving the emotional connection of finding understanding.
- Accessibility
o I will embed the html directly into the site so that it can be played without the need for external programs
o Slideshow will be found directly under the essay text
- Design (font, colors, size, juxtaposition)
o Keep with the streamlined black-and-white theme on my other pages.
o Picture at the top as a header
o Text will be equal to other pages, somewhat small but easy to read
o Text will be mostly centered in the left hand column.
o Pictures will have the most color
- Arrangement
o Audio above text
o Text above pictures
- Pathos (emotion), Ethos (credibility)
Technological choices
- Use projector
- Play audio and slideshow through website page
- Re-record audio with sound cloud
o First recording was using Garage band and iTunes, but it won’t play on other computers
- Use slideshow format provided by Weebly
Presentation decisions
- Playing audio from website
- No music
- Have slideshow play through as the audio plays
- Lights off/front lights off
A plan for completion
- Go through essay to check for any grammar, spelling, consistency, or wording mistakes
- Re-record audio file
- Double check that it will open on HP computers
- Upload/scan/find pictures for picture stories
- Organize pictures to show timeline of story/progression
- Write bibliography as needed
- Try photos and audio together
- Edit timing
- Do run through again, fix any mistakes
- Final run through
A plan for testing
- Ask roommates to participate/borrow their computers to make sure everything works on theirs as well