Living In Two Worlds By Marcus Mabry On Campus April

Living In Two Worlds By Marcus Mabrynewsweek On Campus April 1988a

“Living in Two Worlds†by Marcus Mabry Newsweek on Campus April 1988 A round, green cardboard sign hangs from a string proclaiming, “We built a proud new feeling,†the slogan of a local supermarket. It is a souvenir from one of my brother’s last jobs. In addition to being a bagger, he’s worked at a fast-food restaurant, a gas station, a garage and a textile factory. Now, in the icy clutches of the Northeastern winter, he is unemployed. He will soon be a father.

He is 19 years old. In mid-December I was at Stanford, among the palm trees and weighty chores of academe. And all I wanted to do was get out. I joined the rest of the undergrads in a chorus of excitement, singing the praises of Christmas break. No classes, no midterms, no finals . . . and no freshmen! (I’m a resident assistant.) Awesome!

I was looking forward to escaping. I never gave a thought to what I was escaping to. Once I got home to New Jersey, reality returned. My dreaded freshmen had been replaced by unemployed relatives; badgering professors had been replaced by hard-working single mothers, and cold classrooms by dilapidated bedrooms and kitchens. The room in which the “proud new feeling†sign hung contained belongings of myself, my mom and my brother.

But for these two weeks it was mine. They slept downstairs on couches. Most students who travel between the universes of poverty and affluence during breaks experience similar conditions, as well as the guilt, the helplessness and, sometimes, the embarrassment associated with them. Our friends are willing to listen, but most of them are unable to imagine the pain of the impoverished lives that we see every six months. Each time I return home I feel further away from the realities of poverty and more ashamed that they are allowed to persist.

What frightens me most is not that the American socioeconomic system permits poverty to continue, but that by participating in that system I share some of the blame. Last year I lived in an on-campus apartment, with a (relatively) modern bathroom, kitchen and two bedrooms. Using summer earnings, I added some expensive prints, a potted palm and other plants, making the place look like the more-than-humble abode of a New York City Yuppie. I gave dinner parties, even a soirée franà§aise. For my roommate, a doctor’s son, this kind of life was nothing extraordinary.

But my mom was struggling to provide a life for herself and my brother. In addition to working 24-hour-a-day cases as a practical nurse, she was trying to ensure that my brother would graduate from high school and have a decent life. She knew that she had to compete for his attention with drugs and other potentially dangerous things that can look attractive to a young man when he sees no better future. Living in my grandmother’s house this Christmas break restored all the forgotten, and the never acknowledged, guilt. I had gone to boarding school on a full scholarship since ninth grade, so being away from poverty was not new.

But my own growing affluence has increased my distance. My friends say that I should not feel guilty: what could I do substantially for my family at this age, they ask. Even though I know that education is the right thing to do, I can’t help but feel, sometimes, that I have it too good. There is no reason that I deserve security and warmth, while my brother has to cope with potential unemployment and prejudice. I, too, encounter prejudice, but it is softened by my status as a student in an affluent and intellectual community.

More than my sense of guilt, my sense of helplessness increases each time I return home. As my success leads me further away for longer periods of time, poverty becomes harder to conceptualize and feels that much more oppressive when I visit with it. The first night of break, I lay in our bedroom, on a couch that let out into a bed that took up the whole room, except for a space heater. It was a little hard to sleep because the springs from the couch stuck through at inconvenient spots. But it would have been impossible to sleep anyway because of the groans coming from my grandmother’s room next door.

Only in her early 60s, she suffers from many chronic diseases and couldn’t help but moan, then pray aloud, then moan, then pray aloud. “Living in Two Worlds†2 Not very festive: This wrenching of my heart was interrupted by the 3 a.m. entry of a relative who had been allowed to stay at the house despite rowdy behavior and threats toward the family in the past. As he came into the house, he slammed the door, and his heavy steps shook the second floor as he stomped into my grandmother’s room to take his place, at the foot of her bed. There he slept, without blankets on a bare mattress. This was the first night.

Later in the vacation, a Christmas turkey and a Christmas ham were stolen from my aunt’s refrigerator on Christmas Eve. We think the thief was a relative. My mom and I decided not to exchange gifts that year because it just didn’t seem festive. A few days after New Year’s I returned to California. The Northeast was soon hit by a blizzard.

They were there, and I was here. That was the way it had to be, for now. I haven’t forgotten; the ache of knowing their suffering is always there. It has to be kept deep down, or I can’t find the logic in studying and partying while people, my people, are being killed by poverty. Ironically, success drives me away from those I most want to help by getting an education.

Somewhere in the midst of all that misery, my family has built, within me, “a proud feeling.†As I travel between the two worlds it becomes harder to remember just how proud I should be — not just because of where I have come from and where I am going, but because of where they are. The fact that they survive in the world in which they live is something to be very proud of, indeed. It inspires within me a sense of tenacity and accomplishment that I hope every college graduate will someday possess.

Paper For Above instruction

The excerpt “Living in Two Worlds” by Marcus Mabry eloquently captures the complex emotional and psychological landscape experienced by individuals navigating two contrasting socioeconomic realities: the world of affluence associated with higher education and the stark, often harsh realities of poverty faced by their families. This personal narrative not only explores the physical and social divide but also delves into feelings of guilt, helplessness, and pride that emerge from such bi-cultural experiences. Reflecting on a time when I attempted to escape one world for another, I recognize parallels with Mabry’s account, especially regarding our emotional responses and the underlying sense of regret or fulfillment that accompanies such attempts.

In my own life, I have experienced a conscious effort to transition from a constrained environment marked by limited resources to a more privileged setting. For example, I grew up in a small town where economic hardships were prevalent. My family struggled with financial stability, providing just enough for essential needs. My desire to pursue higher education and the opportunities it promised became a form of escape from the limitations of my environment. When I was accepted into a prestigious university far from home, I felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The prospect of immersing myself in a new world of academic privilege represented both a chance for personal growth and a temporary relief from my previous struggles.

During this period, I experienced a whirlwind of emotions. There was a sense of hope, fueled by the vision of becoming the first in my family to attend college and access opportunities that had previously seemed unreachable. However, this optimism was intertwined with feelings of guilt, particularly in feeling that I had abandoned my roots and the people I cared about. Visiting home during breaks often magnified these emotions, as I saw firsthand the struggles my family continued to face—financial worries, outdated living conditions, and a palpable sense of stagnation. Such visits evoked feelings of helplessness, as I grappled with the reality that my success seemed to detach me further from their daily realities.

Reflecting on the success of my escape, I acknowledge that it was both an achievement and a burden. While I was able to access education and improve my prospects, I also felt that I failed to fully alleviate the hardships faced by my family. This sense of partial failure often led to regret, especially when I recognized that my achievements did little to directly change their circumstances. Furthermore, the emotional toll of this dual existence—straddling two vastly different worlds—created profound internal conflict. It became clear that my attempt to escape was time-bound and incomplete, underscoring the complex nature of social mobility and familial loyalty.

Despite these challenges, the experience fostered resilience and a deeper understanding of social inequalities. It motivated me to engage in community service and advocacy, aiming to bridge the gap between different socioeconomic realities. Each visit home reinforced my awareness that systemic change is necessary, and individual efforts, while impactful, are insufficient to eradicate entrenched poverty. I learned that success often entails navigating the emotional landscape of guilt and helplessness, acknowledging my privileges while remaining committed to social justice. Thus, my attempt to escape one world for another, though fraught with complications, ultimately contributed to my growth as an empathetic and socially conscious individual.

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