Party with... Boo Radley!
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"Miss Jean Louise. Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passing."
In celebration of the 50th anniversary of the To Kill a Mockingbird film, I thought now would be a perfect time to look back at one of my favorite required readings from middle school. Sure, Atticus Finch is my obvious choice, but I still find dissecting him to be rather intimidating. He is one of the heroic characters ever thought up and the father we all wished we had, reminding us that most people are real nice when you finally see them. (Quite the romantic he was, Mr. Finch!)
Not to make Boo Radley feel second rate, hee is an integral metaphor. I vividly remember learning the meaning of the word limelight in reference to him when Sheriff Tate says to hide Boo's heroic act by way of preserving him from what we know call the "fame monster." He is, in many ways, innocence incarnate, which is perhaps why he appears alien in an unjust world.
GKC says: “For children are innocent and love justice, while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy.”
In celebration of the 50th anniversary of the To Kill a Mockingbird film, I thought now would be a perfect time to look back at one of my favorite required readings from middle school. Sure, Atticus Finch is my obvious choice, but I still find dissecting him to be rather intimidating. He is one of the heroic characters ever thought up and the father we all wished we had, reminding us that most people are real nice when you finally see them. (Quite the romantic he was, Mr. Finch!)
Not to make Boo Radley feel second rate, hee is an integral metaphor. I vividly remember learning the meaning of the word limelight in reference to him when Sheriff Tate says to hide Boo's heroic act by way of preserving him from what we know call the "fame monster." He is, in many ways, innocence incarnate, which is perhaps why he appears alien in an unjust world.
GKC says: “For children are innocent and love justice, while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy.”
Boo doesn't talk; he observes. Boo intervenes to help or to bless. Truth be told, I think my initial assessment of Boo was a little stalker-ish, but as a character from a by-gone era, he can be tolerated and cajoled and examined under a kinder light. That is the beauty of fiction; it gives all of us far-sighted realists a mirror at the proper distance. As with Jem and Scout, maybe our perception of Boo changes with our understanding of the world.
Anyway, this is the third invitation I've laid at his doorstep, but he still hasn't come over for cookies. I'm thinking this might be an unconventional "party" but I like the prospect of strange.
Party with Arthur "Boo" Radley
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| photos of boo and house |
I've thought long and hard about this, seeing as the rather famous recluse has rejected my invitation for a Skype date and won't answer the tin cup telephone I have tossed through his downstairs window.
I don't know much about Boo, but I do know that he isn't much for words. I've only known him truly through a few stories passed down and there appears to only be one known photograph of him (you'd think the wealth of Google and the imagination of millions of creative people would have generated some kind of new portrait, but nooo... so young Robert Duvall remains the iconic face of Boo).
I have an idea, perhaps a flawed one but I try it anyway. Under the veil of night (and after several cups of coffee), I sneak out of my door that creaks so loud, I wonder if the whole neighborhood with wake up. I make it onto his porch and slick poster sized pictures to his windows. In the morning, I lay a basket in front of his door and dash back to my house, giggling all the way in my robe and bunny slippers.
When I am safely inside my house again, I pick up my end of the tin can phone and yell:
"Hey Boo!"
I peak through the window and watch the ever-so-slight movement of my neighbor in his cage. One might pass by and think that the derelict, two story house is vacant, many do in fact, but if you hold your breath and train your eyes on nothing but window left of the door, you will see, as I have learned to see, the delicate flapping of this mockingbird.
I feel him stir. I imagine him peek through the curtains as he always does, and this is what he sees this morning:
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| photos clockwise: Poipu, Smith Cove, Anse Source D’argent, Maldives |
Whenever I get cooped up for too long, all I crave is the white sandy beaches of my youth. Also, I'm pretty sure Boo's never been to the beach. Or anywhere really. Since he's not one to get out much or travel, I brought the beach to Boo.
A beach picnic in fact!
In the basket is an array of goodies to share with me:
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| photos: sunnies, sub sandwich, sweet tea, beach towel, key lime pie |
Of course, I've kept half of everything and will consume it with him in spirit. I can imagine our conversation and the look of (what I hope is) glee on his face as he sits on his towel and puts on his sunglasses and enjoys the sandwich and fruit salad. I hope he sips his sweet tea and imagines the cold of the pristine ocean waters. I hope he eats his pie and thinks to himself that key lime never tasted so sweet. ("I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope...", kinda slipped into a Shawshank moment there)
I've eaten my half of the picnic and done my share of wondering. The doubts creep in: Have I gone too far? Maybe he's allergic to lime? Or sugar, that's a real allergy right? What if he has been to the beach and hated it once? Does he hate me? Did he ever actually like me? Did I brush my teeth this morning?
I fall into a deep sleep sometime in the middle of Law and Order reruns that remind me why Boo probably shut himself inside in the first place. I've also consumed a good portion of my Cherry Garcia ice cream. Hence, the nightmares.
I wake up the next morning in a start. I've heard something or someone downstairs but there is no one. My crazy dog would have sounded the alarm but she is fast asleep and wagging her tail in some happy dream.
On a whim, I glance outside at the dying tree, my Jane Eyre tree. Something catches my eye; a piece of red ribbon, flapping in the morning breeze. I step outside to investigate and realize a miracle; my door doesn't squeak.
Boo has been here, but better yet, I'm not crazy; he does like me.
Tied to the tree, I find a collection of trinkets, held together by a fraying piece of velvet ribbon.
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| photos: kodak brownie, yellow m&m's, vase |
It seems like a bunch of junk really: a broken camera, a bag of yellow m&m's, and a shard of turquoise pottery. But Boo is deliberate, he's trying to tell me something.
I had fun, he says. At the beach picnic, I had fun. Thank you.
"You're welcome," I say into the wind. It doesn't matter that my words drift out into an empty street. Boo is listening and watching.
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Read chapter 28-29 aloud with my 9th graders today. "Hey, Boo." They love it.
ReplyDeleteYou can be cynical about today's teens all you want, but my students are eating this book up -- they just love it :)