The Things We Carry Memoir Prompt (20 points in the Projects category)

Learning Intention: Students will apply Tim O’Brien’s writing strategies from chapter 1 in their own memoir
writing. Our memoir writing will be helpful in preparing you to write your personal statements next year.
Success Criteria: Use concrete, specific, unique, intangible and tangible objects to reveal an inner conflict
that a person in your life is facing.

Prompt: What do the people you love carry? How do these items reveal their inner hopes and conflicts?
Directions: Type a one-page memoir on the everyday objects that someone you love carries with them. Like in Tim
O’Brien’s first chapter, write about the concrete, specific, unique objects that this person carries with them on a daily
basis, as well as the intangible emotions, ideas, and memories this person carries. For each tangible/intangible, describe
it in detail using physical descriptions, memories associated with these objects, and explanations for why these
objects are important. See O’Brien’s first chapter for ideas or my example on the next page.
Requirements:
1) For each object you describe, use the sentence starter:
a) He/she/Insert-name-here carried _____________________________________.
2) Include at least 3 tangible objects using multiple adjectives describing that object’s physical characteristics.
Remember: these tangible objects should still be describing something intangible, like Jimmy’s love for
Martha (below).
a) Example: …Lieutenant Jimmy Cross received a good-luck charm from Martha. It was a simple pebble, an
ounce at most. Smooth to the touch, it was a milky white color with flecks of orange and violet, oval-
shaped, like a miniature egg…[this quote shows how Martha sees their relationship as friendly and
platonic, as seen in giving Jimmy a “good-luck charm” rather than something more intimate and loving.
On the other hand, the amount of description of this object reveals the time Jimmy has spent examining
this object, which shows that he wants to be with Martha and thinks about her constantly].
3) Include at least 3 intangible objects. For each intangible object, explain what that intangibleness looks like in
that person’s life.
i) Example: They carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die. Grief, terror, love, longing—
these were intangibles, but the intangibles had their own mass and specific gravity, they had tangible
weight.
ii) Example: They carried the common secret of cowardice barely restrained, the instinct to run or freeze
or hide, and in many respects this was the heaviest burden of all, for it could never be put down…
4) Revolve your objects around a central conflict that your person is dealing with, like O’Brien revolves his
chapter around Jimmy Cross, his unrequited love for Martha, and his need to be a good leader for his troop.
5) You don’t have to add a photo, but if you’d like to do so, feel free.
 My Grandpa

John Danko carried his black Bolsey camera. He bought it right after he was drafted in ‘52. He took it
with him to Korea, and when he came back, he took it with him everywhere else he went - quietly documenting
his life and the lives of the people he cared about. That is, until it broke about a year ago.
He carried his yellow-gold wedding band on his left
ring finger. For forty-nine years, he’d been married to Dolores
Jean Bacha, who forty-nine years ago became Dolores Jean
Danko. Jeanie was a strong woman--opinionated, beautiful,
unapologetically herself--everything that he was not and
never would be.
He carried his black and silver clarinet. He liked the
clear, pure sound it made. He liked the sureness of the metal
keys under his fingers. You pressed the key down, positioned
your lips around the reed just right, took a deep breath, and
the sound would ring true. It wasn’t like the violin where you
had to create the notes on the string or the sax where you
had to swing the rhythm. The clarinet’s simplicity appealed to him.
He carried his quietness. Words never sounded right coming out of his mouth. They always sounded
stifled and hesitant, even with his family. Maybe that’s why he chose a career as a draftsman. He didn’t have to
talk; instead, his drawings spoke for him. Everything a person needed to know about the building was on that
crisp roll of paper. The little symbols and lines said everything.
He carried his guilt. He never could relate to his two daughters. He loved them, but the three of them
weren’t close. He couldn’t talk to them, and they didn’t understand him like Jeanie did. He couldn’t really talk to
Jeanie either, but she simply understood him without him putting his thoughts into words.
He carried his worry. A few days after his 72nd birthday, his doctor told him he had Congestive Heart
Failure. His legs had swelled and after a couple days of a tense, hard, pain in his thighs, he went to the doctor.
The doctor said the left valve in his heart wasn’t closing all the way. It was slowly giving up, which made sense.
He felt like he was giving up some days. He was so tired lately. At night, he’d stare up at the white, swirling
paint on the ceiling and feel, somehow, unafraid of death. The nothingness. The peace. How the muscles
would relax and his mind would let go of everything-memory, guilt, worry, the fear of saying something wrong.
It would be nice, he’d think as he closed his eyes. He’d take deep breaths and listen to his heart beating, the
steady rhythm lulling him off to sleep.
Just before he’d drift off, he’d always snap back awake, grabbing hold of the guilt, fear, and worry,
feeling horrified by his lack of caring. He’d think about Jeanie. What would she do without him if he died? She
didn’t pay the bills. The driveway wasn’t all paved yet. Who would cut the grass and the bushes in the
summer? Who would shovel the sidewalk in the winter or rake the leaves in the fall? She looked to him for
everything, it seemed, for all these years.
But tonight, a new thought entered his mind: a truth that relaxed all his muscles and almost made him
sad. She’d learn, he thought. She’d get by. She’d always get by.

*I was thirteen years old when my grandpa died of a heart attack in the middle of the night on Halloween in 2003. He’d managed to
pave the rest of the driveway, set up his will, and make sure his wife would never want for anything for the rest of her life, but he never
got to say goodbye to his daughters or grandchildren. We never saw his death coming when we probably should have.
 David Brown’s Memoir

My Uncle

My uncle, John Maseillo, carried his notepad. He received from his mother back in middle school. His

mother has now passed away. It reminds him of his childhood. It reminds him of youth. Most importantly, it

reminds himself of her. This notepad fits in his shirt pocket and he always keeps it with him. Wherever he goes,

he carries it with him.

My uncle, John Masiello, carried his fountain pen. He also received it from his mother back in middle

school, but what is significant is that it is his inventive spark. Whenever he had an idea, he would jot it down on

his notepad. Then at the end of each day, he would go through the many scribbles, drawings, and messy

diagrams and pick out the best ideas. He now owns a multimillion dollar company and supplies thousands of

jobs to people in his community.

He carried his golden ring with him. It represents the love and commitment between his wife and him.

My aunt, Laurie Masiello, married John about 30 years ago and are still married today. Laurie is a smart,

independent woman who loves John’s ingenuity. Their love is as robust as the ring that holds it.

He carried his quietness. He always sat back and learned. He wouldn’t like to talk unless he was a

hundred percent sure. This calmed, collected demeanor led for him to be a success. Again, he built his own

company.

He carried his honesty and integrity. He was a straight shooter. Whenever he spoked, you knew it was

the truth and that a lie could never condense off his tongue. The man would be the final and ultimate judgement.

He carried his intelligence. Whenever you had a dilemma, he would come up with the perfect without

thinking. I’ve always admired him for that. He had the insight and ambition to start his own company. Also, the

leadership to keep it running.

With all this lineage and legacy at his hands, his only need was to pass it down to the next generation.

Sadly, there was not much luck in that department. Will his legacy be passed on? Will he story be told? Or will

he be forgotten like sand in the ever-blowing wind.