Answer:
C. Alvarez explains how her mother's reaction to her novel provoked a rare moment of peace between them.
Explanation:
When the novel came out, I decided to go ahead and risk her anger. I inscribed a copy to both Mami and Papi with a note: "Thank you for having instilled in me through your sufferings a desire for freedom and justice." I mailed the package and—what I seldom do except in those moments when I need all the help I can get—I made the sign of the cross as I exited the post office. Days later, my mother called me up to tell me she had just finished the novel. "You put me back in those days. It was like I was reliving it all," she said sobbing. "I don't care what happens to us! I'm so proud of you for writing this book."
I stood in my kitchen in Vermont, stunned, relishing her praise and listening to her cry. It was one of the few times since l had learned to talk that I did not try to answer my mother back. If there is such a thing as genetic justice that courses through the generations and finally manifests itself full-blown in a family moment, there it was.
How does the author develop the central idea across these paragraphs?
Answer: Table sent to jail for attempted murder!
Explanation:
So when I was about five, I thought I was a ballerina. It was also my birthday. So, as a five year old, I tripped over my own feet, and guess where my left temple headed? Into the corner of the table. I apparently was losing consciousness, and my mom freaked out. Long story short, I went to are hospital, got stitches, and can't remember much. That hit probably affected my head. Into the attempted murder, we sent it away to get recycled. It was announced guilty.
He puts his family on display when he take in the case of Tom Robinson
"[his] bike"
because we don't know if Stuart meant his own bike or his father's bike
