Blog # 3
March 17, 2011
Favorites?
Every novelist and ethnographer who portrays a host of characters faces the question of “who was your favorite?” Certainly, when the writer has lived with the characters for decades, favorites emerge.

In the research behind Words at work and play, from time to time, I favored this or that child, generally because I was especially fascinated by how he or she was learning to use language. When bilingualism became almost the norm among families of the late 1990s, I tended to spend more time with children such as Bernardo, Rebecca, and Mark, who were growing up with two languages than I did with their monolingual counterparts. After Bernardo lost his mother and became alienated from his father, I filled an especially tough role, for I had been very fond of his mother, admired and respected her immensely, and become intellectually bonded with her during our many evenings talking science and art. I knew up close the unique companionship Bernardo felt for his mother.

As the years went by and I monitored the quantitative measures within my charting of key characteristics I kept for each child, I often turned my attention to those children whose patterns were showing striking changes. If a child who had been particularly adventuresome and outgoing in middle childhood became sullen and withdrawn during adolescence, I wrote and phoned more often than usual, and I tried to be around for special events, end-of-term activities, and birthday celebrations. I wanted to know if early childhood features restored themselves, or if these had been only a phase in the child’s maturation.

Once Jerome and I reconnected, we communicated frequently, for until he went to Atlanta the first time, he was filled with curiosity about what his mother and half-siblings might be like. He asked questions incessantly and wanted to see photographs, hear tapes, and look at maps of Georgia and Atlanta.

Martha, along with about a dozen more learners very much like her, drew my attention often. Martha went in and out of any willingness to talk with me, show me her artwork, or let me be with her during her after-school hours. However, she, like many of the young people who did not do well in school, did send me messages, photos, and let me be their “friend’ on Facebook. As Martha (and others) moved from their secondary years of schooling into decisions about career entry, higher education choices, and living arrangements away from home, I became a sounding board for their expressions of rebellion, joy, fear, and despair. The children of the late 1990s soon found out that they had no idea how to shop for groceries, cook a meal and clean up after themselves, or manage laundry, apartment cleaning and maintenance. Those who thought they could conquer the world after their secondary school graduation found themselves having to keep too many balls in the air, and they needed to vent to someone. I was often that someone, for most of them could not face telling a parent that leaving home had not turned out to be the fun freedom they had expected. Decisions surrounding romance, sexual activities, finances, and competition framed many of my conversations with those between 17 and 24 years of age during the first decade of the 21st century.

So the answer to the question of whether or not I have favorites is YES! I have plenty, but who holds a position of favorite at any moment varies often. Now when I read Words at work and play and “see” each character as he or she was when the episodes and communications recounted there took place, I often shiver with the emotions recalled from that particular slice of life. Ethnographers as well as novelists and biographers immerse themselves in the lives of the characters they freeze in time through the written words on the page. These writers do not easily lose the memories associated with the place and atmosphere of words and incidents as they happened in life or as they revealed themselves through archival sources.

So if you ever ask an ethnographer, novelist, or biographer about favorites, prepare yourself for stories to come. Remember that for any character or set of characters, “Neither the whole story nor the true one ever exists, however much we may wish for it. If we could achieve wholeness and absolute truth in our stories, we would have no more stories to tell. And tell stories, we must” (p. 7).