Summary of Lynda Barry

               Lynda Barry had an unhappy home life as a child. Her parents frequently fought, and the house was often crowded with visiting relatives. She and her brother slept on the couch when their room was occupied. They spent these nights watching television with the sound off. When she was seven years old, a particularly bad night drove her out of the house. Gripped by an unexplained panic, she made her way to her school in the pre-dawn darkness. The chaotic atmosphere of her home allowed her to slip away completely unnoticed. Her fears were eased when she was found by Mr. Gunderson, the school’s friendly janitor. He walked with her to her classroom. Oh the way, she was surprised to encounter members of the faculty preparing to begin their day at work. Every one of them greeted her with warmth and acceptance. Mr. Gunderson left her with her teacher, Mrs. LeSane, who welcomed her into her classroom. Mrs. LeSane invited Lynda to go to the back of the room and paint. Troubled students were often invited to make art for Mrs. LeSane, who would post them on a special board. Barry recognizes in retrospect that this opportunity to be creative provided a vital emotional outlet for her. School was a sanctuary, a place where she received the love and support she desperately needed. By using this personal anecdote, Barry states that the cutting of arts programs from the public school roster can hurt children in situations like hers. She makes an impassioned plea to her audience to understand and help these children.

1st Assignment

               I achieved enlightenment at a church dance. Nothing involving fathers, sons, and holy ghosts, mind you. I’m not exactly a woman of faith and I really had no business being there. I could have counted the times I’d been in a church on one hand. The event was informally known as ‘Mormon Prom’, a name which brought to mind endless hours of warm punch and hands-off dancing. I was invited to go with my dear sweet Mormon friend. She made a bad choice; I must have been the only girl who showed up with uncovered arms.

               I was a mess. And not just within these circumstances. Picture a sad teenager, steadily cutting all ties with the material world. I had been glaring at the floor since fifth grade and could very charitably be described as ‘brooding and artistic’. You know this kid. Everybody knows this kid. My dress didn’t fit and my makeup was running before we even arrived. Tragic.

               Mormon Prom, on the other hand, was picture perfect. The ceiling was crowded with balloons and the floor was crowded with girls in big cupcake dresses. We said a prayer and did a line dance. There was a DJ with a carefully selected catalogue of appropriate pop songs. Church officials watched with eagle eyes from the sidelines. Within ten minutes the temperature was above ninety degrees and the whole venue was starting to smell like Mormon sweat. My salvation arrived just as I was getting ready to call it a loss and crawl back to my cave for the night.

               This guy had been making the rounds all night, formally introducing himself to everybody who looked lonely. He was six feet tall and weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. He had a blue shirt and a screaming red tie and an out of control halo of curly mousy hair. Faced with the polar opposite of myself, I broke down and did something I had hoped I’d never have to do. I had a conversation.

               The stairwell at the back entrance of the hall was breezy and almost pleasant. He brought me a drink. His name was Sonny. He was like me: a gatecrasher, a non-Mormon at Mormon prom, here with a friend. We had things in common. We got along. We danced and kissed and had fun. For a human disaster like myself, this was completely terrifying. This dork was threatening to upset my whole take on life. The lesson here is obvious: I stepped out of my antisocial comfort zone and was rewarded. I made an effort to socialize with a friendly stranger and wound up in a relationship that lasted for a year.

               To say that Mormon Prom somehow fixed my life is, of course, ridiculous. My grades never recovered, and I’m still a bit of a weirdo. But I think that I did learn something that many people like me never do. People can seem completely alien and terrifying to a kid with few social graces, but we’re really all the same. And if you never force yourself past the boundaries you’ve made, you never grow or learn.