The American Dream

Americans are

obsessed with being “original”

From your own experience of the way people talk about our country on television, online, and in print, take five minutes to write down what you think

that means.

This book is called

The American

AdamAnswer these questions below

your previous response:• Of what famous person does

that title remind you?• How was Adam an original?• Does original have more than one meaning? Explain.

Our Paradox

We always WANT TO BE new.(present)

But we simultaneously WANT TO HAVE

BEEN first.(present perfect)

Every Era is both a Reaction and a

Revision

Puritans and Separatists

Romantics

Realists

Modernists

Postmodernists

Contemporaries

So while each is usually different

from the “parent” era, each is also

usually reminiscent of

the “grandparent”

era.

The World Changes Very Quickly

Look at How Quickly Innovation Occurs

Space Invaders – Atari - 1978

Super Mario Bros. 1 – NES - 1985

Mortal Kombat – Sega Genesis - 1993

Goldeneye – N64 - 1997

Heavy Rain – PS3 - 2010

The Last of Us – PS3 - 2013

Cell Phones!

Cars!

Computers!

Clothing!

Books!

America itself has changed over time

Early Settlers viewed America as a New Eden –

a God-Given Blessing

Later Colonists planned for a Democratic Utopia

In the early 1920s, Americans hoped for a Never-Ending Party…

The American Dream has meant different things to different people. Whose

dreams are these?

How does innovation reflect the desire to be

“original”?

Is this the American Dream today?

I Hear America Singing

By Walt Whitman(1860)

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

America

By Claude McKay(1921)

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,Stealing my breath of life, I will confessI love this cultured hell that tests my youth!Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,Giving me strength erect against her hate.Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,I stand within her walls with not a shredOf terror, malice, not a word of jeer.Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,And see her might and granite wonders there,Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.