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Expression écrite
Write “A New Kind of Warrior” from
the mother’s point of view, using the first person narrative : she
could see her boy come back,
lazy and dejected. She thought of his
childhood and wondered why. (250 mots)
le texte:
A
New Kind of Warrior
-When I got back to the reservation, my
family wasn’t surprised to see me. They’d been expecting me back
since the day I left for Seattle. There’s an old Indian poet who
said that Indians can reside in the city, but they can never live
there. That’s as *close to truth as any of us get. Mostly I watched
television. For weeks I flipped through channels, searched for
answers in the game shows and soap operas. My mother would circle the
want ads in red and hand the paper to me.
“What are you going to do with the
rest of your life?” she asked,
“Don’t know, ”I said, and
normally, for almost any other Indian in the country, that would have
been a perfectly fine answer.
But I was special, a former college
student, a smart kid. I was one of those Indians who was supposed to
make it, to rise above the rest of the reservation like *a fucking
eagle or something, I was the new kind of warrior.
For a few months, I didn’t even look
at the ads my mother circled. I just left the newspaper where she had
set it down. After a while though, I got tired of television and
started to play basketball again. I’d been a good player in high
school, nearly great, and almost played at the college I *attended
for a couple of years. But I’d been too *out of shape from drinking
and sadness to ever be good again. Still, I liked the way the ball
felt in my hands and the way my feet felt inside my shoes.
At first I just *shot baskets by
myself. It was selfish, and I also wanted to learn the game against
anybody else. Since I’d been good before and embarrassed tribal
members, I knew they would take revenge on me. Forget about the
cowboys versus Indians business. The most intense competition on any
reservation was Indians versus Indians.
A. Sherman, The Lone Ranger and Tonto
Fistfight in Heaven, 1994
Expression écrite
Write “A New Kind of Warrior” from
the mother’s point of view, using the first person narrative : she
could see her boy come back,
lazy and dejected. She thought of his
childhood and wondered why. (250 mots)
le texte:
A
New Kind of Warrior
-When I got back to the reservation, my
family wasn’t surprised to see me. They’d been expecting me back
since the day I left for Seattle. There’s an old Indian poet who
said that Indians can reside in the city, but they can never live
there. That’s as *close to truth as any of us get. Mostly I watched
television. For weeks I flipped through channels, searched for
answers in the game shows and soap operas. My mother would circle the
want ads in red and hand the paper to me.
“What are you going to do with the
rest of your life?” she asked,
“Don’t know, ”I said, and
normally, for almost any other Indian in the country, that would have
been a perfectly fine answer.
But I was special, a former college
student, a smart kid. I was one of those Indians who was supposed to
make it, to rise above the rest of the reservation like *a fucking
eagle or something, I was the new kind of warrior.
For a few months, I didn’t even look
at the ads my mother circled. I just left the newspaper where she had
set it down. After a while though, I got tired of television and
started to play basketball again. I’d been a good player in high
school, nearly great, and almost played at the college I *attended
for a couple of years. But I’d been too *out of shape from drinking
and sadness to ever be good again. Still, I liked the way the ball
felt in my hands and the way my feet felt inside my shoes.
At first I just *shot baskets by
myself. It was selfish, and I also wanted to learn the game against
anybody else. Since I’d been good before and embarrassed tribal
members, I knew they would take revenge on me. Forget about the
cowboys versus Indians business. The most intense competition on any
reservation was Indians versus Indians.
A. Sherman, The Lone Ranger and Tonto
Fistfight in Heaven, 1994
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since the day she left for Seattle. There’s an old Indian poet who
said that Indians can reside in the city, but they can never live
there. That’s as close to the truth as any of us get. Mostly she watched
television. For weeks she flipped through channels, searched for
answers in the game shows and soap operas. I would circle the
want ads in red and hand the paper to her.
“What are you going to do with the
rest of your life?” I asked.
“Don’t know, ”She said, and
normally, for almost any other Indian in the country, that would have
been a perfectly fine answer.
But she was special, a former college
student, a smart kid. She was one of those Indians who was supposed to
make it, to rise above the rest of the reservation like *a fucking
eagle or something,She was the the new kind of warrior.
For a few months,She didn't even look
at the ads I've circled. She just left the newspaper where I had
set it down. After a while though, She got tired of television and
started to play basketball again. She'd been a good player in high
school, nearly great, and almost played at the college She attended
for a couple of years. But she was too *out of shape from drinking
and sadness to ever be good again. Still, She liked the way the ball
felt in her hands and the way her feet felt inside her shoes.
At first she just *shot baskets by
herself. It was selfish, and she also wanted to learn the game against
anybody else. Since She'd been good before and embarrassed tribal
members, She knew they would take revenge on her.Forget about the
cowboys versus Indians business. The most intense competition on any
reservation was Indians versus Indians.
A. Sherman, The Lone Ranger and Tonto
Fistfight in Heaven, 1994