For this week’s post I would like to reflect on the similarities between Shiloh by Bobby Ann Mason and Teenage Wasteland, which we read two weeks ago. For another post, I had reflected on the clear and believable reality that Teenage Wasteland depicted. I feel the same way when I read Shiloh. For both stories, what really pulled me in was the way in which I could relate to the characters depicted in each one. In Teenage Wasteland I felt a deep compassion and connection for and to Daisy, because, the more that I pondered over the topic, (which I did quite a lot) the more I felt that I, in the same kind of situation, would be feeling exactly the same as Daisy is. I knew that I would have reacted the same way that she did and would have probably acted in the same way to attempt to fix the problem with Donny, only to wind up with him running away to never be seen again. It was almost frightening to me how much I could relate to her. In fact, it made me feel as if the story were a prediction and a warning to me about what would happen if I should ever have a child. I have never wanted children, as I do not understand or relate to them very well at all, and this story only made me that much more certain that I am correct in my decision to avoid having them. Teenage Wasteland, though fictional, is a perfectly feasible story. Everything that happened to Daisy and Donny could easily happen to anyone in reality as well. I felt a similar kind of eerie connection when I read Shiloh. Though the subject matter is clearly very different from that of Teenage Wasteland, I could see myself in Shiloh almost more so than I could in Teenage Wasteland. In Shiloh, I felt myself connected to Leroy Moffitt, the protagonist and the main character of the story. My connection to him, however, was deeper than mine to Daisy as, though I could see myself becoming Daisy years down the road, the story of Leroy Moffitt brought back memories of my own past that I had tried long to forget. The shocking paradox of Leroy’s being home and attempting to become closer with his wife, whom he appears quite fond of, by vowing to build her a house, only to have her inexplicably walk out on him, brings my mind to a breakup of my own about four years ago. The ending scene of Shiloh is nearly a photograph of my own breakup. We had gone to a local park on a date in the late afternoon, and the person I was dating, declared that she wanted to split. There had been little indication beforehand, and we had been nearly best friend for about six years prior. I sat on the ground, a carbon-copy of Leroy silently for a while, feeling completely blank, before walking back home. I still have yet to figure out what exactly happened, and I still feel the haze over the whole situation that also marks Leroy’s perception of his relationship with Norman Jean.