meal-story "interview" with Mark Kildow

On Easter, I went to my uncle's restaurant called Warehouse, which is typically an Italian restaurant. Pretty much all of the people on my dad's side of the family is there besides one of my uncles, who does not believe much in holidays. On Easter, the restaurant has a special buffet. There was a salad bar, salmon, ham, turkey, vegetables and many other things. My Uncle's restaurant is always very crowded, especially on Easter, so we usually go to a private room to celebrate. Whenever my family gets together, most of the adults usually talk about business, while my grandmother and uncle's wife always seem to talk about shopping. (I can relate to this because my mother, aunt, and grandmother always look at adds during the holidays and talk about shopping.) I try to entertain my little sister while I'm there. Afterwards, I go to celebrate Easter with my mom's side of the family. (I can also relate to this because on holidays, my family and I spends the first half of the day with my mother's side and the second half of the day with my father's side).

I feel like these exercises helped me to think about writing in other tones and other voices instead of just mine personally.

Academic to Casual

What happened? I don't believe this. Why didn't I make it? I got all A's, and on top of that I was third or fourth in the class. I studied everyday and on Saturday's I even went to special classes to prepare for the entrance exam to the college prep high school. I couldn't stop asking myself "Why didn't I make it?" My momma says the Bishop's Fund but that seams inconsistent with a dollar tuition. I believe I didn't make it because of cultural bias in standardized tests.

Villanueva's Essay

One day, we were at a party. There was a bloody knife hanging from the man’s hanging arm and my mother and father were by the hand, running. I was maybe about three years old. I remember it being in Brooklyn. Forty years later, the picture still remains in my head.

Another memory I had was sitting behind a pegboard desk, centered in a living room with no furniture. It was in 41 Bartlett Street, Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Nearby was Mrs. Ashell and my father walking in carrying linoleum. I thought to myself, “Why this memory?”

I was then four years old. I remember walking alone from Bartlett to John Lee’s hand laundry. From Bartlett to Myrtle Avenue, I was the shortest person walking along the streets, which were frightening to me at the time. I was the only person waiting for lights to turn green. I have no memory of anyone ever asking me where my mother was or if I was okay.

In this picture above, the teacher is telling a story to his class. The teacher could have been telling a story about something he had experienced or he could have just got that statement from some other book or writing. The students are reading "it was a dark and stormy night" but not each student could be interpreting it the same way.


The girl in the above photo is writing in some type of notebook. She could either be writing something personal or something professional. She could be writing a diary entry that no one is supposed to see or read. She could be working on a writing for her profession, for example, if she was a poet or journalist for her city's paper. She could be working on a poem or article that she is expecting to share with a a lot of people.

My name is Alexis Carrion and I am a freshman at Ohio University.