Editorial Reviews. soundofheaven.info Review. Jeannette Walls's father always called her "Mountain The Glass Castle: A Memoir - Kindle edition by Jeannette Walls. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. soundofheaven.info?book=XDOWNLOAD BOOK The Glass Castle: A Memoir. The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls (excerpt) - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online for free. Jeannette Walls grew up with.
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The Glass Castle. A Memoir. Jeannette Walls. SCRIBNER. New York London Toronto Sydney. Acknowledgments. I'd like to thank my brother, Brian, for standing. It is not a diet book but Healthy Weight Loss – Without Dieting. Following the In this effective Healthiest Way of E The Glass Castle A Memoir Jeannette Walls. soundofheaven.info The glass castle: a memoir The glass ca Family Dynamics In Jeannette Wall's Memoir The Glass Castle.
Visibility Others can see my Clipboard. I hid. Then Dad got into an argument with the doctor. She waved enthusiastically when she saw me. Mommy, help me! Everyone always turned and stared at Dad. Glamour Youll root for the Walls family.
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When we got to the hospital, nurses put me on a stretcher. They talked in loud, worried whispers while they cut off what was left of my fancy pink dress with a pair of shiny scissors. Then they picked me up, laid me at on a big metal bed piled with ice cubes, and spread some of the ice over my body. A doctor with silver hair and black-rimmed glasses led my mother out of the room. As they left, I heard him telling her that it was very serious. The nurses remained behind, hovering over me.
I could tell I was causing a big fuss, and I stayed quiet. One of them squeezed my hand and told me I was going to be okay. I know, I said, but if Im not, thats okay, too. The nurse squeezed my hand again and bit her lower lip. The room was small and white, with bright lights and metal cabinets. I stared for a while at the rows of tiny dots in the ceiling panels. Ice cubes covered my stomach and ribs and pressed up against my cheeks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small, grimy hand reach up a few inches from my face and grab a handful of cubes.
I heard a loud crunching sound and looked down. It was Brian, eating the ice. The doctors said I was lucky to be alive. They took patches of skin from my upper thigh and put them over the most badly burned parts of my stomach, ribs, and chest.
They said it was called a skin graft. When they were nished, they wrapped my entire right side in bandages. Look, Im a half-mummy, I said to one of the nurses. She smiled and put my right arm in a sling and attached it to the headboard so I couldnt move it. The nurses and doctors kept asking me questions: How did you get burned?
Have your parents ever hurt you? Why do you have all these bruises and cuts? My parents never hurt me, I said. I got the cuts and bruises playing outside and the burns from cooking hot dogs. They asked what I was doing cooking hot dogs by myself at the age of three. It was easy, I said. You just put the hot dogs in the water and boil them. It wasnt. T he G lass C astle 11 like there was some complicated recipe that you had to be old enough to follow.
The pan was too heavy for me to lift when it was full of water, so Id put a chair next to the sink, climb up and ll a glass, then stand on a chair by the stove and pour the water into the pan. I did that over and over again until the pan held enough water. Then Id turn on the stove, and when the water was boiling, Id drop in the hot dogs. Mom says Im mature for my age, I told them, and she lets me cook for myself a lot.
Two nurses looked at each other, and one of them wrote something down on a clipboard. I asked what was wrong.
Nothing, they said, nothing. Every couple of days, the nurses changed the bandages. They would put the used bandage off to the side, wadded and covered with smears of blood and yellow stuff and little pieces of burned skin. Then theyd apply another bandage, a big gauzy cloth, to the burns.
At night I would run my left hand over the rough, scabby surface of the skin that wasnt covered by the bandage. Sometimes Id peel off scabs. The nurses had told me not to, but I couldnt resist pulling on them real slow to see how big a scab I could get loose. Once I had a couple of them free, Id pretend they were talking to each other in cheeping voices. The hospital was clean and shiny.
Everything was whitethe walls and sheets and nurses uniformsor silverthe beds and trays and medical instruments.
Everyone spoke in polite, calm voices. It was so hushed you could hear the nurses rubber-soled shoes squeaking all the way down the hall. I wasnt used to quiet and order, and I liked it. I also liked it that I had my own room, since in the trailer I shared one with my brother and my sister. My hospital room even had its very own television set up on the wall. We didnt have a TV at home, so I watched it a lot. Red Buttons and Lucille Ball were my favorites.
The nurses and doctors always asked how I was feeling and if I was hungry or needed anything. The nurses brought me delicious meals three times a day, with fruit cocktail or Jell-O for dessert, and changed the sheets even if they still looked clean. Sometimes I read to them, and they told me I was very smart and could read as well as a six-year-old. One day a nurse with wavy yellow hair and blue eye makeup was chewing on something.
I asked her what it was, and she told me it was. I had never heard of chewing gum, so she went out and got me a whole pack. I pulled out a stick, took off the white paper and the shiny silver foil under it, and studied the powdery, putty-colored gum. I put it in my mouth and was stunned by the sharp sweetness. Its really good! I said. Chew on it, but dont swallow it, the nurse said with a laugh.
She smiled real big and brought in other nurses so they could watch me chew my rst-ever piece of gum. When she brought me lunch, she told me I had to take out my chewing gum, but she said not to worry because I could have a new stick after eating. If I nished the pack, she would buy me another. That was the thing about the hospital. You never had to worry about running out of stuff like food or ice or even chewing gum.
I would have been happy staying in that hospital forever. When my family came to visit, their arguing and laughing and singing and shouting echoed through the quiet halls.
The nurses made shushing noises, and Mom and Dad and Lori and Brian lowered their voices for a few minutes, then they slowly grew loud again. Everyone always turned and stared at Dad. I couldnt gure out whether it was because he was so handsome or because he called people pardner and goomba and threw his head back when he laughed.
One day Dad leaned over my bed and asked if the nurses and doctors were treating me okay. If they were not, he said, he would kick some asses. I told Dad how nice and friendly everyone was. Well, of course they are, he said. They know youre Rex Wallss daughter.
When Mom wanted to know what it was the doctors and nurses were doing that was so nice, I told her about the chewing gum. Ugh, she said. She disapproved of chewing gum, she went on. It was a disgusting low-class habit, and the nurse should have consulted her before encouraging me in such vulgar behavior.
She said she was going to give that woman a piece of her mind, by golly. After all, Mom said,I am your mother, and I should have a say in how youre raised. Do you guys miss me? I asked my older sister, Lori, during one visit. Not really, she said. Too much has been happening. T he G lass C astle 13 Like what? Just the normal stuff. Lori may not miss you, honey bunch, but I sure do, Dad said.
You shouldnt be in this antiseptic joint. He sat down on my bed and started telling me the story about the time Lori got stung by a poisonous scorpion. Id heard it a dozen times, but I still liked the way Dad told it. Mom and Dad were out exploring in the desert when Lori, who was four, turned over a rock and the scorpion hiding under it stung her leg. She had gone into convulsions, and her body had become stiff and wet with sweat.
But Dad didnt trust hospitals, so he took her to a Navajo witch doctor who cut open the wound and put a dark brown paste on it and said some chants and pretty soon Lori was as good as new. Your mother should have taken you to that witch doctor the day you got burned, Dad said, not to these heads-up-theirasses med-school quacks. The next time they visited, Brians head was wrapped in a dirty white bandage with dried bloodstains.
Mom said he had fallen off the back of the couch and cracked his head open on the oor, but she and Dad had decided not to take him to the hospital. There was blood everywhere, Mom said, but one kid in the hospital at a time is enough. Besides, Dad said, Brians head is so hard, I think the oor took more damage than he did.
Brian thought that was hilarious and just laughed and laughed. Mom told me she had entered my name in a rafe at a fair, and Id won a helicopter ride. I was thrilled. I had never been in a helicopter or a plane. When do I get to go on the ride? I asked. Oh, we already did that, Mom said.
It was fun. Then Dad got into an argument with the doctor. It started because Dad thought I shouldnt be wearing bandages. Burns need to breathe, he told the doctor. The doctor said bandages were necessary to prevent infection.
Dad stared at the doctor. To hell with infection, he said. He told the doctor that I was going to be scarred for life because of him, but, by God, I wasnt the only one who was going to walk out of there scarred. Before anything could happen, a guard in a uniform appeared and told Mom and Dad and Lori and Brian that they would have to leave. Afterward, a nurse asked me if I was okay. Of course, I said. I told her I didnt care if I had some silly old scar.
That was good, she said, because from the look of it, I had other things to worry about. A few days later, when I had been at the hospital for about six weeks, Dad appeared alone in the doorway of my room. He told me we were going to check out, Rex Wallsstyle. Are you sure this is okay? You just trust your old man, Dad said. He unhooked my right arm from the sling over my head. As he held me close, I breathed in his familiar smell of Vitalis, whiskey, and cigarette smoke.
It reminded me of home. Dad hurried down the hall with me in his arms. A nurse yelled for us to stop, but Dad broke into a run.
He pushed open an emergency-exit door and sprinted down the stairs and out to the street. Our car, a beat-up Plymouth we called the Blue Goose, was parked around the corner, the engine idling. Mom was up front, Lori and Brian in the back with Juju.
Dad slid me across the seat next to Mom and took the wheel. You dont have to worry anymore, baby, Dad said. Youre safe now. Copyright by Jeannette Walls All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
The glass castle: Walls, Jeannette. Children of alcoholicsUnited StatesBiography. Children of alcoholicsWest VirginiaBiography. Problem familiesUnited StatesCase studies. Problem familiesWest VirginiaWelchCase studies.
PoorWest VirginiaWelchBiography. W35 The Glass Castle: Jeannette Walls grew up with parents whose ideals and stubborn nonconformity were both their curse and their salvation. Rex was a charismatic, brilliant man who, when sober, captured his children's imagination, teaching them physics, geology, and above all, how to embrace life fearlessly.
Rose Mary, who painted and wrote and couldn't stand the responsibility of providing for her family, called herself an "excitement addict.
As the dysfunction of the family escalated, Jeannette and her brother and sisters had to fend for themselves, supporting one another as they weathered their parents' betrayals and, finally, found the resources and will to leave home.