My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. he was left handed. The thing that was descriptive about it though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up to bat
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the sentimental value of personal belongings and the bond between siblings.
In this quote, J.D. Salinger reminisces about his brother Allie's uniquely decorated left-handed fielder's mitt, which was not only a sports equipment but also a canvas for Allie's creativity. The poems written in green ink symbolize Allie's personality and the deep connection he shared with the speaker, highlighting the importance of memories and the emotional attachments we form with our loved ones.
In practice
During a family gathering, one might reminisce about a loved one's unique traits while sharing this quote.
Against my better judgment I feel certain that somewhere very near here—the first house down the road, maybe—there's a good poet dying, but also somewhere very near here somebody's having a hilarious pint of pus taken from her lovely young body, and I can't be running back and forth forever between grief and high delight.
I'm not afraid to compete. It's just the opposite. Don't you see that? I'm afraid I will compete — that's what scares me. That's why I quit the Theatre Department. Just because I'm so horribly conditioned to accept everybody else's values, and just because I like applause and people to rave about me, doesn't make it right. I'm ashamed of it. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody. I'm sick of myself and everybody else that wants to make some kind of a splash.
Each of his phrases was rather like a little ancient island, inundated by a miniature sea of whiskey.
Who in the Bible besides Jesus knew--knew--that we're carrying the Kingdom of Heaven around with us, inside, where we're all too goddam stupid and sentimental and unimaginative to look?
You can hit my father over the head with a chair and he won't wake up, but my mother, all you have to do to my mother is cough somewhere in Siberia and she'll hear you.
Tilting his head back he slowly released an enormous quantity of smoke from his mouth and drew it up through his nostrils. He continued to smoke in this "French-inhale" style. Very probably, it was not part of the sofa vaudeville of a showoff but, rather, the private, exposed achievement of a young man who, at one time or another, might have tried shaving himself left-handed.
I do not think homosexuality is immoral.
I maintain, despite the moment's evidence against the claim, that we are born and grow up with a fondness for each other, and we have genes for that. We can be talked out of it, for the genetic message is like a distant music, and some of us are hard-of-hearing. Societies are noisy affairs, drowning out the sound of ourselves and our connection.
Forgiveness flounders because I exclude the enemy from the community of humans and myself from the community of sinners.
I was tired of pretending that I was someone else just to get along with people, just for the sake of having friendships.
Whenever I meet someone, I try to imagine her wearing an invisible sign that says: MAKE ME FEEL IMPORTANT. I respond to this sign immediately, and it works wonders.
We are not our brother’s keeper we are our brother and we are our sister. We must look past complexion and see community.
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