In “Family Tradition” Lisa Nikolidakis writes, “When she raised her head, my father pressed his forehead to hers in a rare moment so tender, I knew I was supposed to cry. My first experience with grief. Instead I sat motionless, a robotic reflexiveness, a brief denial of my mother’s pain as I watched the outpouring; it wasn’t until my father told me to go to my room that I felt anything, my fists curled into tiny balls” (171). That sentence caught my attention and set the whole mood and tone of the essay. Lisa may have not felt like she could get mad because the way society makes her feel powerless or maybe it is just because the world does not prepare us for moments like these, so that leaves us stuck and motionless but it is insane how women
