Family Theme Analysis

My most endearing trait, and being as modest as I am I had to ask my brother Jimmie for this, is that I have the heart of a champion, am steady as a rock and can be counted on to do what is required. Jimmie also said that I am the smartest kid he has ever met but my all-encompassing and pervasive humility prevents me from putting that on this list.

My first pet peeve is when people don’t pronounce my name right. […] My second pet peeve is that the Gary Iron-Head Dogs, the best baseball team in the world, have been cursed and will never win the Negro Leagues championship.

My dream is to read every book in the Gary Public Library and to be a teacher who has the reputation for being tough but fair. Just like Mrs. Needham.

I loved how I had raised my arm like I was carrying a magical sword and all the little thugs got quiet. They parted for me and Clarice like the Red Sea did for Moses! But most of all I loved knowing that when something was happening to someone, I could do more than wring my hands, I could strike back!

I loved those feelings at the same time I hated them.

Fighting is wrong and very unladylike, but worse than that, by gut-punching the biggest bully at Lincoln Woods School I had humiliated Jimmie. And even though I’d stopped him from being hurt and maybe even murdered, I now saw a very scary side of myself.

Brain number two was starting to take over.

All I could hope was that Jimmie would understand that I was trying to rescue him.

I’m not sure what’s more surprising about the first notes of any song Jimmie sings—what it does to me, or the changes it brings in Jimmie.

I have to close my eyes, just like he does. I can’t tolerate anything that would interfere with hearing his voice.

[…]

And it seems like Jimmie makes himself larger and larger as he sings. If I opened my eyes I’d see he’d grown so much that he was filling every square inch of the park. No room would be able to hold him, chairs and rugs would get crowded up against the walls.

His voice always stayed light and high-pitched and soft, but it was strong in a way that let on that there were stories behind each word.

The man said in a hoarse voice, “My Darling Daughter Detha, don’t you recognithe your Deareth Delightful Daddy?"

I looked again.

The man’s voice was rough and hacky, like Father’s after a long night of coughing, but Father never had such a bad lisp.

He was too small to be my father. He was bony and scraggly-looking.

[…]

Jimmie ran onto the porch.

The poor hobo reached out his hand and mumbled, “My Genuine Gentle, Jumpin’ Giant, Jimmie!”

Jimmie’s face hardened. “My Fine, Friendly Father Figure?”

Mother touched my cheek. “No, Deza, it’s not that but it’s good nonetheless!”

She said, “Ta-da!” I read Mrs. Ernest Nelson, Flint, Michigan in very good penmanship.

Mrs. Carsdale had given us the letter for a new job in Flint! This was good news!

Not really, but when you’re feeling bad you can’t be picky about what kind of things can lift you up.

“Oh, Mother, you got it! So now we can move to Flint and find Father?”

Mother said, “Why on earth would a sensible Indiana girl want to move to Flint, Michigan?”

“If Flint’s where we’ll find Father I’ll go. The quicker we find him, the quicker we can get back to Gary.”

The woman who answered the door was strikingly beautiful and long-limbed and dressed in a flowing robe that looked like an orange cloud had left the skies and was floating around her legs.

She smiled and hugged Jimmie. “Little Jimmie! I know you from the park! I love your voice, poppa!”

[…]

The woman told the numbers man, “I’m only doing this because it’s Little Jimmie’s family. You already dumped that Carter woman and her brat in the basement and that’s that. This ain’t no hotel or no orphanage either.”

Marvelous Marvin said, “Woman, please.”

She pointed at me. “I’d best not catch you snooping round my sister’s room neither.”

Mother said to Miss Carter, “Julia, isn’t this terribly unsafe?”

“Shoot, girl, Yeah, it’s all unsafe. You gonna have to be extra careful when you get to camp, that’s unsafe too, if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just like anything else, there’s just enough bad folks in camp to make it so you got to keep your guard up at all times. It’s especially hard on women, and even worse for little girls.”

She looked at me and a shiver went through my heart. “You just gotta keep your wits about you and don’t let no one in on your business. Keep it to yourself why you’re on the road alone.”

Mother’s 1-1-1 lines jumped out.

“Always let folks think your husband or your brother is with you, always tell ’em that he’s gonna be back later tonight. There’s strength in numbers.”

He’d written, “Good for you!” and put a giant C+ with three exclamation points.

I turned the paper back over. Maybe I saw it wrong.

I looked again but it was the same.

One sign that I had toughened up was that instead of crying I thought of a little joke that Jimmie said he did whenever he didn’t like his grade.

“I turn the paper over, then, the same way people bang on a machine when it ain’t acting right, I smack my hand on the paper. Maybe if I bang it hard enough my grade will jump up a mark!”

It was nonsense, but I slapped my hand on Mr. Smith’s essay.

I turned the paper back over and smiled.

I’d have to tell Jimmie that it still wasn’t working.

The curtain split in the middle and a man in a beautiful blue suit with a pair of two-tone blue shoes and a matching blue hat stood with his head bowed. His face was completely covered by the brim of the blue hat. […]

I froze. Maybe this man was going to introduce Jimmie.

The drum banged. The people cheered louder. The drum banged one more time and the music stopped.

The man kept his head down and raised the microphone to his mouth. […]

Then a clear, strong voice sang, “More or less resigned to crying over Angela…” The band jumped in, the crowd screamed louder and I found out for a fact that I am not a swooner, because if there was anything in the world that could make you swoon, it was […] the voice of the Genuine, Gentle Jumpin’ Giant, Jimmie Malone!

Before I could say anything, Father cleared his throat and started reading the signs only he could see:

“He had heard that hope has wings
But never believed such lofty things.
It took time to set him straight,
To learn hope was an open gate.
Try as he might, he didn’t see
That hope lived in his family.
He had learned that hope has wings…”

Father pulled his bony hand down and grabbed mine and Mother’s in both of his and finished,

“And now he’ll live by these joyous things.”

The car was silent as me and Mother stared at the sly smile on Father’s face.

He weakly waved his arms and half-shouted, “Burma-Shave!”

For the first time in a million years, Mother, Father, and me exploded in laugher. Together.