The Prophecy of Steinbeck

I was overjoyed the day my loquacious and homophobic Sophomore English teacher announced that he would be stepping down for the semester to make room for Ms. Harrison, our new student teacher. Until that point I had never experienced an English instructor who had not become long-winded and jaded by his or her many years in the public system. Ms. Harrison, on the other hand, from the first clearly held a passion for the world of literature that would benefit me throughout my life.

It was custom sophomore year for the class to read The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck (the story of a family living during the time of the Great Depression), and Ms. Harrison wasted no time handing copies out to the groaning, whining class. I, of course, was the nerd who loved the opportunity to read something with substance. Apparently Ms. Harrison was too, because she hushed the class immediately and began the first of what was to become a series of lectures that would be the only valuable literature discussion I would have in my early high school career with the words: “Remember, this book is truth. This book is telling a story about something that could easily happen again. Pay attention.” I did.

Through the ravages of dust from a thirsty and dead ground, and the danger of society made feral by desperation, the story of the Joad family serves ONE purpose: To remind us what could easily become of our world again if we aren’t careful.

I remember the way the other sixteen year-olds around me reacted when the character ‘Rosasharn’, a pregnant teenager, offers a starving stranger her breast milk for nourishment. They were disgusted, amused, appalled, stricken horrified by what seemed a taboo to them.

I had tears in my eyes. The beauty of such an unselfish act floored me and filled me with a sense of good beyond any I’d felt before. The people around me did not see it because they were caught in the idea that such a scenario could never play out in their lives. The battering poverty of the people in The Grapes of Wrath would never be a part of who these teenagers were. I saw the truth though. I saw that the book wasn’t just a story, but a warning–a parable.

Now, during a critical time in the history of our nation, before we take that final step into desperation I hope those same kids who laughed and groaned at how uncomfortable the idea of a pregnant teenager breast-feeding an old man made them, now remember the message that the story meant to send. We are not immune from misery. We have no shield against devastation. We only have each other when it comes. John Steinbeck knew this, Ms. Harrison knew this, and because of them I know it and hope to pass it along, because when the flood comes I plan to have my arms strongly linked with strong people.