Tell Me Again: A Memoir

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Tell Me Again: A Memoir

Tell Me Again: A Memoir

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In EarthBound the player can invoke this trope pretty much anytime anyone explains anything to Ness, as often as necessary. Carceral feminism and coercive control: when Indigenous women aren't seen as ideal victims, witnesses or women

When we arrive at the new home, I can’t help but think it looks and smells funny. The carpets are all weird bright colours; my sister takes the room with the orange carpet, mine is purple. There are no curtains in the windows, and that first night, with the moonlight filtering through the branches of the old tree that scrapes against my window, I become convinced that if I move, something that is waiting will see me and gobble me up. I lay still in my new bed and by morning I have wet it, soaking through the sheets and my pyjamas. Mum is disappointed but not as much as I am disappointed in myself. I will be starting at a new preschool and I don’t want the other kids to think I am a baby – only babies wet their beds. Sometime after, I’m out on a drive with Dad; we talk about anything and everything when we are in the car alone together. I tell him all about the grown-up show about prisons I had watched, and comment that maybe people in this country who go to jail should just be killed like they are in America because jail seems like such a rotten place. The energy of academic conferences isn’t like your average conference. It is the bringing together of academics from universities all around the country, sometimes around the globe, all working within similar or related specialisations. This means one thing: niche gossip and lots of it. There’s a reason why so many academics love reality television – we have intensely intellectual, oftentimes dry jobs, meaning much of the juicy elements of our roles come from the interpersonal relationships. Pop, Mum’s dad, is my safe person: consistent, kind, calm. I am with him a lot, sometimes swimming, often fishing. He takes me away to his own mother-in-law’s, to Great-Grandma Lucy’s house on Yuin Country, where we fish every morning and he tells me all about our kin creatures who live in the river. The octopuses there are cheeky and steal our bait. I don’t want to be away from him, and I could tell by his face as Mum told him we were leaving that he was worried. He kept shooting glances at me and Lisa – I don’t want him to be worried.An Indigenous man in the small group, who doesn’t know me but clearly does realise what I have done, chimes in: “Nah, you lived in the city, sis. I think you got the names a bit mixed up there.”

And thanks too for the lighthearted tone and the joyful watercolor-style illustrations. As for me, I'm still heaving a little and blowing my nose and wiping hot tears from my cheeks. How is drinking coffee in there any different to when the toilet is next to your bed in a cell?” he retorts, confident in his argument. I am suspicious and she can tell but I don’t want to do or say the wrong thing. Whenever families are spoken about at preschool, I make sure I mention Dad is at “work”. I like being at preschool. There is a small kitchen but it isn’t like the one at home where everything is too big and I have to do things alone. Here the benches are real low and there are grown-ups who help us learn to make and butter our own toast. It feels like a very empowering place to be.I like this book because not all children live with their biological parents and shows the positivity of being adopted by showing the sweet moments of the parents of the child. Sometimes it's justified as an inverted Let Me Get This Straight..., in which the requester is so dubious of the explanation that he needs to hear it multiple times to believe it. Other times it's played for comedy by portraying the requester as stupid, and the people repeating the explanation will be frustrated. And yes, I personally know real-life women who managed to attain motherhood by these difficult paths, and many others.) Taken separately, I would give the text 4 stars and the illustrations 2 stars. The story is pretty sweet and straightforward - the "voice" of the book is a child who had obviously been adopted, reminiscing with her parents about the stories they've told her about the night she was born. The voice didn't sound much like a child, though, which was distracted me a little.

This book is way cute! It’s different than I thought it would be-I was expecting it to be about how a baby was made pretty much and in some ways it was but in many ways it wasn’t. This is the book about an adoption—a girl who was adopted asks her mom to tell her about the night she was born, and it goes through the whole process. The adoptive parents got the phone call in the middle of the night, jumped on a plane, called their grandparents, and then explains that the adoptive mother couldn’t grow a baby in her tummy so another woman who was too young to take care of the girl was growing her and she would be the birth mother but not the adoptive mother. It shows them arriving at the hospital and seeing their baby for the first time, the baby (in actual size) for the first time and the first time that each held the baby and their first night with her. Towards the end the girl says “Tell me about our first night as a family.” No one is friendly, and as eager as I am to see Dad, this place is a bit scary. We don’t get to take any possessions in with us and Mum has to hand over her bag before we can go in. When we finally get to be in the same room as Dad, I think he looks handsome in his all-green uniform. Everyone in that room, talking with their loved ones, is wearing prison greens. Green like my mum’s eyes.I answer without thinking too much about it. I haven’t been here in 20 years but that name sounds about right. Yet with my answer, the energy of the small group shifts. I can tell in their faces and in my belly that I have erred, that I am erring, and I am not sure how. My first academic conference is on Kaurna Country, Adelaide. Work flies me over and I am so excited, I almost bounce into the hotel on the first day. But by the end of that first day, I am deflated. But then, with a start I remembered how Jamie Lee Curtis wasn't able to have her own biological children. The premise of the book is simply adorable and precious. A young girl asks her parents about the night she was born, but before they can answer, she continues to ask more questions about the story. Tell me about this and then tell me about that, and so on until she related the entire story on her own. Yet in the end, she still insists that her parents tell her about the night she was born. The car splutters to a stop, overheating, as we are driving overloaded, long distance to our new home interstate. South Australia, Kaurna Country. The car seems to be matching Mum’s erratic energy, which has also become lulled right before the car rolled to a stop. I’ve given up trying to work out what we are doing.

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