I first read the House on Mango Street in my 7th grade English class. Back then, I didn’t find detailed heritage books interesting. There was a lot of Spanish in it and the main character had a funny name, that was all I knew. This year, I reread it. Mostly, because it has some interesting language. Partly because my friend was reading it, and she has good taste. Anyway, this friend was showing me the books she planned on reading this month, and in them was a small novel. It looked like 200 or so pages. When she pulled it from the shelf, I immediately got flash backs of my English teacher reading aloud the life of Esperanza Cordero over a glitchy zoom call. The weird thing about class novels is no matter how uninteresting it is at the time; you don’t forget it. You may not remember any events of it, but you can recall reading the great Gatsby in 9th grade.
What surprised me was my reaction to the book. I didn’t think I would be enthusiastic to see it again after 2-3 years. The memory of hardly staying awake during its reading came back to me and I thought: Why am I happy to see it again? Part of me was very reluctant to read it, but another part of me just wanted something to read. So, I read it, and it was good. The house on mango street follows the life of Esperanza, whose family just moved into a new neighborhood. It’s a poor area mostly sustaining of Mexican immigrants. From a first person POV, Esperanza vividly tells the story of living on mango street as well as her experiences as a 12-year-old Mexican American girl.
Honestly, I read the book for the writing style, which is so raw, vulnerable, and deltaic. But what hooked me was the theme of childhood. And I’m not connected to my own inner child or whatever, I just deal with age. However, the life of Esperanza opened doors to this thinking. The trials of childhood are too significant for us to leave and never look at again. Why? Because we need to learn about ourselves. Reminiscing about your childhood could provide answers to a struggle. I didn’t know that I preferred going to the playground over the movies because I wasn’t allowed to go to the playground. My mom worked a double shift, and she didn’t have enough energy to take me. But at the movies, she had time to rest her eyes, and I was entranced in finding nemo. I realized I only went to the movies because I felt like I had to. At 17 years old, I was still carrying around the disappointment of having to sit through finding nemo instead of swinging on the swing set. This is why going back to those distant, unpleasant memories feeds our current selves. So, we can grow into our true selves with no mental restraints.
Childhood books always stick with me. I was just talking about roller girl yesterday. It’s always so nice to remember those things you didn’t understand and think about them now and what they actually mean.
These memories and emotions that we unconsciously tie to objects and stories always fascinate me so much, especially when other people tell me about them. I love knowing why these things matter so much to my friends.
The section about memories and growing up really made me think. I appreciate how you can turn a simple moment like rereading a book you read in the 7th grade into a reflection on your inner child. This reminded me about a book I read in 2nd grade but I can’t remember the name of it so hopefully it’ll come around.
I miss all the books I read from when I was a child. I remember so many stories but I can’t remember any of the names 🙁