4/26/2021 0 Comments Sticks By George Saunders
As parents and children succumb to their destinies in this dysfunctional family story, perhaps there is someonesome thing experiencing true character development: the pole.Shes crying, and Judd Nelsons like, Who cares To which Sheedy responds, I care.The idea that we inherit latent tendencies to be activated, in time, by age and jadedness, is terrifying.
But its even worse for fiction writers: does it count as character development if your characters are simply slouching towards a fate pre-determined by their parents. Super Bowl week the pole was dressed in a jersey and Rods helmet and Rod had to clear it with Dad if he wanted to take the helmet off. On the Fourth of July the pole was Uncle Sam, on Veterans Day a soldier, on Halloween a ghost. One Christmas Eve he shrieked at Kimmie for wasting an apple slice. He hovered over us as we poured ketchup saying: good enough good enough good enough. He draped some kind of fur over it on Groundhog Day and lugged out a floodlight to ensure a shadow. When an earthquake struck Chile he lay the pole on its side and spray painted a rift in the earth. ![]() Wed stop by and find odd talismans from his youth arranged around the base: army medals, theater tickets, old sweatshirts, tubes of Moms makeup. I was in high school, a period of my life Ive either tucked or attempted to tuck into an embarrassing Puberty file somewhere in my brain. What I do know is this: Ive read Sticks so many times, Ive accidentally memorized it. Im obsessed with the fathers obsession, the way the pole has become the only way he can communicate. He covered it with cotton swabs that winter for warmth and provided offspring by hammering in six crossed sticks around the yard. He ran lengths of string between the pole and the sticks, and taped to the string letters of apology, admissions of error, pleas for understanding, all written in a frantic hand on index cards. He painted a sign saying LOVE and hung it from the pole and another that said FORGIVE and then he died in the hall with the radio on and we sold the house to a young couple who yanked out the pole and the sticks and left them by the road on garbage day. Minus this line, which appears exactly in the center of the piece, pivoting us into the second and final paragraph: We left home, married, had children of our own, found the seeds of meanness blooming also within us. While the ending of Sticks certainly fits this criteria, I cant help but think that the same could be said of this line. Or, rather, how this line is what makes the ending feel that way. Heres this emotionally ill-equipped, control-freak of a father, his actions finally guided by emotion as his life comes to an end. It may not be the apology of his childrens dreams, but its self-aware and its something. And something counts, especially from a man whos been stuck in his ways for as long as any of his kids can remember. The pole, once Dads one concession to glee, is transformed into some sort of priest-less confessional.
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