As if this house could be dirty, the slaves keep the whole place sparkling. But there is no stopping her once she has begun so I had to help.
The water jars were quite low so I volunteered to take them to the fountain house to refill them. Grandmother refused and said the slaves could do it. But I have kept them all busy so the jars still remained unfilled
Grandmother ordered for all the cooking pots to be scrubbed as well, and for the floor to be swept. Then we went to father’s study. Grandmother says we are lucky to live in such a big house that father gets his own room for his scrolls and records, some families just have to make do with a chest in the hallway and the father takes out a small table when he needs to write something. Father’s study has several chests but he also has a shelf for his really important records, the ones that say how much produce our land created, if his tenants have paid their rent, if anything needs fixing and how much it will cost. Father owns a lot of land outside the city and people live on it, they farm it for him and pay him rent. He told grandmother his office did not need cleaning, the floor only needed a little sweep and he would get a slave to do it later. Then he made me stand in front of him and recite the alphabet, and asked me a few sums to test my numbers, and I got them all right! He says a woman needs to know these things so she can run a house properly, there is no point in a man having an illiterate wife as she will not know if the slaves are cheating her out of the market money, or are sneaking apples out of the storeroom. Then he gave me this scroll and said I need to practice my letters more as he had read one of my song compositions the other day and my hand was a bit wobbly
By: Skeeter Kaye Gibbons, the author of the novel Ellen Foster, believes that a quote from the Emerson's "Self Reliance" is connected with Ellen's struggle to survive and find her way in the world. The first line of this quote says, "Cast the bantling on the rocks" is related to Ellen herself. A bantling is an abandoned child. Ellen is a bantling even though she was not abandoned, she was deprived ...
Charis took off her shawl and gave it to another slave while grandmother pulled her over to the table in the shade. She sat with grandmother on one side and father on the other, and I ended up sitting on the other side of grandmother. Father called for something to eat and drink and we sat, drinking cooled wine and eating apple pieces and honey cakes.
I wish I was a Spartan, everyone knows Spartan women can inherit land, and they get to choose who they marry, and no one complains if they step outside the house without a shawl over their head.
Then we went to the evening meal hand in hand. Father has not gone out to any parties tonight, instead all four of us had our own little party in the dining room, with cooked chicken and fish and some bread, the left over honey cakes, and pears and apples.
I hate weaving! I spent the whole of the ninth day weaving away like a little bee working on her hive, and then grandmother pointed out all the flaws and mistakes and made me un-do it all! Luckily on the tenth day she was feeling very ill so stayed in her room and Charis helped me finish, she can spot my mistakes quickly and re-did those bits for me. By the afternoon grandmother felt better so she sat in the weaving room with us while Charis carded some wool and I retold some parts of the Odyssey, mainly the bits where Penelope features. Then she asked me what made Penelope a good wife, and told me and Charis that once we were married we would need to be as good as Penelope.
In Sparta women can own as much property as men, they say that huge areas of Spartan land are owned by their women! Here I can only possess enough money to buy food for a month, along with little things inherited from the women of the house, such as jewellery and distaffs.
One of the slaves heard it in the agora and told grandmother when he got home, and because I was in the weaving room with her I heard it as well. A woman in another part of the city gave birth to a baby boy, but the top of his head was missing! He was not crying but was breathing, and then died an hour later. The woman’s husband has had to speak to priests at the various temples to ask how such a monstrosity should be treated, if they should bury it in the family’s area of the keramaikos, or cremate it and leave the ashes there, or discard it over the border of Athens in case it brings a curse on the city. Everyone is now wondering what the family could have done for the gods to give them this child! No one has heard of it before, although a doctor said he had heard of a similar baby being born in Sparta many, many years ago.
My Dream Come True I have never felt that I had the responsibility and consciousness to support myself and another human being, but I have always wanted a child of my own. I would go home from middle school and play with my baby dolls, given that I was too old to play with the dolls and I should be into makeup and boys, I was just so interested. Often enough, my mother, who was a supporter of five ...
I cannot imagine how the poor mother must be feeling, the slave said that the rumours say she has locked herself in her room and is refusing to eat or drink or speak to anyone, she is full of shame at having given birth to such a child. It must be horrible, to carry a child for so many months, to spend all that time imaging what it will look like, wondering if it will be a boy or girl, making little clothes and blankets for it, and then it is born and you find it is deformed! It is like the story father told us about last year of a woman in Corinth that gave birth to a baby with three legs!
I feel quite ill when I think about it, what does it look like if you have the top of your head missing? At least the baby is now dead and so is not suffering. If it had not died then it would have been exposed, left outside to die. I count myself quite lucky that that did not happen to me or Charis as grandmother said that men who have had lots of daughters tend to leave their baby girls outside, and then the babies either die or are taken away by other people to be raised as slaves. But our family is quite wealthy so father did not feel the need to abandon any of us. I do not think any of our slaves were abandoned babies but then father bought them in the agora so they could have been. I do not want to ask them though, they are only slaves after all.
After several very dry weeks it is now raining heavily. Father stayed in today rather than go to the agora and the slaves had to run to the fountain for water earlier, and still all came back soaking wet. This sort of weather makes me very restless, while there is very little chance of me going out on a normal day, on this kind of day it is completely impossible. I shouted at Charis, slapped the slave, and then Grandmother slapped me and sent me to my room and told me to come back when I can act like a decent Athenian girl rather than a spoilt brat. So I shall stay in here forever and die of starvation and then that will show her! I hate being cooped up in this stupid house, seeing the same stupid slaves and my perfectly serene sister every single day! I should have been born a Spartan and then I could go outside whenever I wanted! I will keep this diary as I starve and then Grandmother will know how cruel she was to me and she will miss me, and cry over me, and wail “why wasn’t I kinder to my lovely Athenais?” at my funeral.
Do Mothers and Fathers typically seek to socialize children into conventional masculinity and femininity Whether you are born male or female will be of major consequence for all aspects of your life: for the expectations others in society will have of you, for your treatment by other people and for your own behavior. This is true no matter what society someone is born into, although the ...
I am so bored. Father packed up some things yesterday, made a quick sacrifice to the gods, and then he and his slave took the cart out to the country home. So we women are stuck here with only the slaves for company. Grandmother is planning on inviting some of her friends over tomorrow but I cannot find enthusiasm for it, a bunch of daft old women who will pinch me and Charis and then tell Grandmother to hurry up and have us married off before we are seduced and disgraced. They are all either very fat, or very bony, with wrinkly skin like an old leather bag, and they jab with bony fingers, and when they talk to you, you have to have to hold your breath because the smell that comes from their mouths is so bad. They stuff their faces with honey cakes and complain that children today are spoilt and they never had such easy lives when they were young. It is no wonder they have lived so long, if he had any sense then Hades wouldn’t want a bunch of moaning old bats in his domain.
My slave woke me up extra early this morning, just as the sun was rising over the hills. As I rubbed the sleep out of my tired eyes and grumbled, she explained that my mother had sent her. She said that my father was going to have a house party tonight and that all the important men that he worked with were going be there, so we had to make sure that the house was spotless before they arrived. As if this house could ever be a mess! The slaves are constantly cleaning it and are always making sure that it is gleaming without a speck of dust in sight! But there is no stopping my mother once she has decided to do something, so I had no choice but to accept and brace myself for the consequences. I quickly got dressed into the clothes my slave handed me and went downstairs to see my mother. I couldn’t find her in the lounge where she usually had breakfast, so I went outside to look for her. As I expected, she was sitting on the patio fanning herself. What I wasn’t expecting to see was the big pile of fruit sitting on the table next to her. She told me that we had a delivery from the farmer down the road and that I should dig in because I had began to look thin recently. I sighed at her as I popped a grape into my mouth.
Where do they get this stuff Some people say that you are a sum of all of your influences. For the most part, I agree with these people. I have had many influential people in my life. I believe my friends, people I have worked with, schoolmates and even television has helped mold me into who I am today, but I think the two most influential people in my life were my parents. My mother and my father ...
After washing down my breakfast with a swig of the wine my slave had brought for me earlier, I asked my mother what exactly she was planning to do today. She simply said that she was going to give the house a thorough clean because the slaves didn’t do it properly even though it’s their job. I argued with her about that because, like I said before, the house is always very tidy and how could it possibly be tidier than it this now? She looked like she wanted to slap me at this point so I remained quiet and let her speak her mind. My mother explained that these friends of my father’s were extremely important and that she had to make sure that the house was cleaner than it ever had been before. She told me that she didn’t want to bring shame on the family by bringing people into a filthy house. My mother got up from her chair and told me to follow her. As we walked through the kitchen she noticed that something had been spilt on the floor. She went totally ballistic. My slave, who was happening to walk past at that exact moment, was reduced to tears by the time my mother was finished with her. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl, for she quickly wiped her swollen eyes with the back of her hand and began to scrub the floor like nothing had happened at all.
She was probably counting herself lucky for not being beaten. My mother clicked her tongue, as if to say “shame on you,” before she left the room. As I was leaving I noticed that the water jars were looking pretty empty, so I called after my mother and offered to take them to the fountain to get refilled. She refused to let me do it and told me that it was a slave’s job, not mine. I turned to look at the teary-eyed slave on the floor next to me and she nodded silently, already knowing my question. I then left the kitchen and went into the hallway where my mother was examining the marble floor for any smudges or dust. As she stood up from her crouching position, she looked like she had just realized something. Her little speech went something like this: “Wait a second. Why should I bother myself about the tidiness of this house? It’s the slaves problem not mine. I order them around, not do their work for them! Daughter, next time remind me not to listen to your stupid ideas that come out of your mouth! Why do you make me work? Can’t you see I’m getting old and feeble? Don’t you love your mother?!” I seriously felt like murdering her just then but I was scared that the gods would punish me if I did! She called into the kitchen where the slave was still scrubbing the floor and told her to sweep the hallway after she had finished refilling the water jars.
I Make My Own Rules, An Autobiography by L. L. Cool J. I Make My Own Rules, was written by L. L. Cool J. He is better known as L. L. However, his birth name is James Todd Smith. L. L. was born on January 14, 1968 at Southside Hospital in Bayshore, New York. Today he is a thirty-year-old successful singer, writer, actor, and humanitarian. He lives with his wife, Simone and their three children, Na ...
As we were walking upstairs she suddenly remembered another chore for the slave to do. She told the slave to scrub all the pots and pans until they shined. My mother added that she would be down later to inspect the pots and pans, so she better do a good job of it! What kind of life does that poor girl have being pushed around like that? I would hate being told what to do and being beaten for not doing it properly! I would probably kill myself. Just as we were heading upstairs, two whispering slaves were coming down. They fell completely silent when they saw us. My mother inquired what they were whispering about and they both turned bright red. My mother soon lost her patience and barked at them to tell her what they were talking about. The girl with the stutter explained with difficulty that the woman that lived down the street had just given birth to a deformed baby. Not only was the baby deformed, but it was also a girl. My mother asked what had happened to the “thing” and she said that the parents left it in the mountains to die. I was very lucky that such a thing didn’t happen to me; my father is a very rich man and found no need to abandon me outside in the cold. I shivered thinking about the baby and wondered if it was still alive out there.
It made me sick to the stomach. What did the parents do to anger the gods? Well, they must have done something pretty bad for the gods to give them a baby such as that! After my mother was satisfied with what the slave had told her, we continued on our way. I followed her into the room where all the weaving things were and I groaned inside. Weaving was one of things I absolutely hated because I had no clue at all how to do it all! My weaving is full of mistakes and when my mother notices them, she makes me do it all over again. I have never finished even one weaving in all of my life which brings me great shame. We must have been sitting there for a pretty long time weaving away because our slaves brought us our lunch: dried fish with cheese and bread. I gobbled my meal down in a flash because for some reason, weaving makes me feel really hungry! Supper then soon followed: vegetables and more fish. I was beginning to get cramps in my legs for sitting down for so long but my mother refused to let me leave the room for father could return from the agora any minute now with his friends. We were just supposed to give a quick hello to them before disappearing again back to our “lovely” weaving room.
The institution of American slavery was fraught with many heart wrenching tails of inhuman treatment endured by those of African descent. In his autobiography Frederick Douglass details the daily horrors slaves faced. In Narrative of The Life of Frederick Douglass An American Slave he depicts the plight of slavery with such eloquence that only one having suffered through it could do. Douglass ...
An hour after receiving our supper, my father, with his friends, arrived home. My mother and I said our hellos to them very quickly before disappearing off to our room. My father’s house party went on for about two hours and I was beginning to long for my bed. I had enough of weaving for one day and was sitting next to the door, listening to their very boring conversation. I hate this life. I hate it whenever someone important comes to the house and I don’t get a chance to even talk to them properly. I would give anything to be a Spartan girl even if it was just for one day! They have more of a life than I do or ever will have! Spartan women can do whatever they want, they can even inherit land. They’re outside most of the time having fun, while I’m stuck inside practically all of my life because I need to be protected! It just isn’t fair at all! After my father’s friends had left, he called us downstairs and said a proper hello to us. We were all feeling a little tired so we decided to retreat to our beds for the night. And that’s a day of my boring life for you! Not very interesting is it. Well at least I’m not slave because that would just be plain horrible.