“Building Bridges” by Andrea Pinkney

It is normal for parents or grandparents to have a difficult time letting go of their children. The short story “Building Bridges” by Andrea Pinkney shows this through the relationship of Bebe and her grandmother, Mama Lil. Bebe dreams of being an engineer, but Mama Lil refuses to let her work on a renovation project on the Brooklyn Bridge. Bebe knows the project is an amazing opportunity and it would help secure her future career, but Mama Lil puts foot down. Andrea Pinkney shows us through the relationship of Mama Lil and Bebe that you have to sacrifice things for those you love.

In the beginning of the story, Mama Lil refuses to let Bebe do the bridge project.  When Bebe first approaches Mama Lil about the project, Mama Lil says, “… I ain’t never heard of no girls be doing that.” (p. 17).  This leads the reader to infer that Mama Lil is very old fashioned in the sense that she believes gender dictates your job possibilities.  She believes engineering, or “engine-ing” as she calls it, is not the work of a young women; young women shouldn’t be doing “grit-work” like that, she says. But that’s not all Mama Lil has to say about Bebe’s wishes to be a part of the renovation project. Mama Lil says, “… Colored women trying to cross the white man’s line is asking for trouble.”(p.21). From this the reader can infer that Mama Lil believes from her own experiences that race also dictates the type of job you can get. Mama Lil believes that Bebe - as a young black female - should be working at Rimley’s Beauty Salon, she even gets Bebe a job application.

Later in the story, Mama Lil admits why she really didn’t want Bebe to do the project. Mama Lil says to Bebe, “Your dreams are the kind that’ll take you away from here,” (p. 29). Mama Lil had refused to let Bebe participate in the renovation project because she knew that a career in engineering would carry Bebe away from her, and this project was Bebe’s stepping stone. Mama Lil had already lost Bebe’s parents to a fire, and she was afraid of losing Bebe too. “Her eyes were filled with sad acknowledgement,” (p. 30) thinks Bebe after she tells Mama Lil that she is doing the project, no matter what. Mama Lil finally starts to make herself admit that Bebe needs to live her own life. She begins to come to terms with the fact that Bebe has her own dreams, and deserves to accomplish them.

In the end of the story, Mama Lil finally lets Bebe participate in the project. The morning of the project, Bebe wakes up, goes into the kitchen and tells Mama Lil she needs the permission paper because she is going to the project whether she likes it or not. Mama Lil hands Bebe the unsigned permission slip. “I been up most the night, Bebe – thinking, praying, and trying my best to read that confounded permission paper….Will you help me read the permission paper, Bebe?” (p. 34). She says. Mama Lil can’t read or write very well so she is giving up her pride by asking Bebe for help. This shows how much Mama Lil cares about Bebe and how much she is willing to give up for her. Just as Bebe is leaving, Mama Lil says, “Bebe, that bridge is lucky to have you.” (p. 34). Mama Lil realizes that she should be proud of Bebe. Just because Bebe is going to have a real career, doesn’t mean Mama Lil is losing her permanently.

It is very common for parents or guardians to have a hard time saying goodbye to their kids. Through Mama Lil and Bebe’s relationship, Pinkney shows how difficult this period of time in a families’ life can be. She shows us that sometimes what you want isn’t what they need and you have to make sacrifices for your loved ones. Mama Lil wants Bebe to stay with her and work at Rimley’s but Mama Lil realizes Bebe is going places and she needs to follow her own dreams.  

My Name

My name is a pale pink. Simple, sophisticated. I could pass for pale pink. I feel more like a deep, royal blue. Loud while still being quiet. I come across sort of shy, the type of girl who does all her homework on Friday afternoon.

             I’m not.

             I’m loud, I’m gross, I’m a little bit crazy and I procrastinate until the very last second.

             In French it means petite. I’m anything but. When I was born, I was a whopping 10 lbs and 3 oz. Now, 12 years old, I’m 5"7', towering over all my friends. I get it from my mom’s side. Both my mom and my aunt are 5’10”. But grandfather brings home the gold with 6 feet and 6 inches. Not that my dad’s side doesn’t deserve any credit. Neither he nor his parents are very tall, but his brother – my uncle – is certainly up there.

             My parents chose my name for its sweet, soft sound. Like a ballerina barely touching the floor as she leaps across the stage. Charlotte. Beautiful in every language.

             It feels very 19^th century Europe. Ball gowns and powdered faces, rich young girls with big blond curls. Sweet little voices singing out ballads in all the romance languages. I’m a brunette, living in the 21^st century, who wears jeans and t-shirts and can’t sing for her life.

             But, despite everything I just said, I love my name and wouldn’t change it for the world. Just like everyone else, I’ve gone and made it my own.

Summer Reading Book Response

Warning! Spoilers!

Over the summer I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. Set in the early 20th century, the story focuses on a young girl living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The girl, Francie, lives in extreme poverty. Her father worked as a singing waiter in bars and her mother as a janitress. The story follows Francie and her younger brother Neely through their adolescence. Over the course of the novel, Francie changes quite a bit.

As a child, Francie had a huge imagination. She dreamt of faraway places, with children just like her living there. Not only did she dream about places faraway, but she dreamt about Manhattan, just across the river. She dreamt about going across the bridge everyday for work, and being a part of this new and exciting world. But when Francie's father dies from alcohol induced pneumonia, she has to delay high school and start working. She works as a newspaper clipper, reading newspapers all day. Having to take the train into Manhattan every morning, she realizes it's not all that's cracked up to be. When she imagined riding the train over the bridge she imagined "crossing it would make her feel like a gossamer-winged fairy flying through the air." But in reality, it felt no different. Francie says, "New York was disappointing. The buildings were higher and the crowds thicker; otherwise it was little different from Brooklyn." Francie then decided she had seen it all; that every where had a piece of Brooklyn in it so where ever she went there would be nothing new and she would be disappointed.

When Francie was young, she loved to write. But all of her writing was for school, so she wrote what her teachers wanted to read. She wrote beautiful stories, funny stories, heroic stories, happy stories, and, of course, she received all A's. By the eight grade she began to write stories of the things around her. She wrote stories of poverty, alcoholism, death, and sexual assault. Her teacher tells Francie that her stories are horrible and she should burn them. Francie goes home and does just that, but instead she burns all of the pieces she got an A on. Francie decides she will write the truth, not some version of the truth her teachers want to hear. This symbolizes her breaking away from the structure of school and becoming more independent, her learning how to put her needs and wants first. Francie never does go to high school. But she takes summer school classes at a local college and steals her brother's geometry textbook to study it. She essentially teaches herself high school and she manages to pass the regents tests and go on to college.

Through the book Francie changes and matures. As she gets older, Francie becomes jaded about new experiences. But in spite of her jaded attitude, Francie still goes away for college. Francie also learns how to become more independent and do what she wants to do.  Overall, Francie changes for the better.