Homework: Helpful or Harmful?

Author's Note- This is a piece I wrote for my District Writing Assessment on the harmful affects of homework, and why students shouldn't be given so much of it.

To most students, homework is a part of everyday life.  I know it is for me.  Most students have anywhere between 30 minutes to two hours of it almost every night, especially once they reach middle school and high school.  I want to introduce some points about homework I've found through some research I did and my own personal opinion on it so you can see that although homework has its positives, too much homework is harmful, and can affect our education in a negative way, instead of helping students.

Something that really aggravates me is that even though there are many negative effects of homework that are well known, such as frustration and exhaustion, eyestrain, insomnia, and even loss of desire to learn, many schools and teachers still assign boatloads of worksheets, essays, projects, and fact sheets without giving us time at school to get it done.  Now, I know most of the teachers at ACMS don't do that, but some do, and many more around the country.  So by assigning tons of homework with little work time when they know the affects of it, teachers are setting their pupils up for all of the aforementioned effects, and leading them to failure.

Another thing that bothers me is the lack of free time homework gives me for relaxation, extracurricular activities, and just going outside and shooting hoops or kicking around my soccer ball.  I get home, usually grab a snack, and head up to my room in my little corner to work on my homework.  I'll start doing my homework, but I'll get about halfway through it and then I have to go to my babysitting job, or my soccer practice.  Soccer practice takes up about 3 hours and 15 minutes of my day because its so far away, and when I get home, I have to eat dinner and shower.  By the time I'm done with that, it's late, and I'm still only halfway done with my assignments.  On those days, which is almost every day, I get really stressed out, stay up late doing homework, and don't get enough sleep.  I know that's how a lot of other student's afternoons are, as well.  I honestly don't think I've been outside to just play around and get active on my own time since school started. 

Something else I'd like to point out is that I've heard so many different people talking about how overweight Americans are getting.  I personally think homework is one of the causes of obesity.  When all we have time to do is homework, there's no time to go out and get active and play.  Also, many people eat when they're upset.  To many students, homework is upsetting!  It confuses them and frustrates them, gives them headaches and fatigue.  Many people would turn to comfort food when it gets that stressful.

One of the main things I can't stand about homework is when we get meaningless assignments, though.  It's one of my pet peeves, actually.  How exactly does coloring a worksheet improve my education?  What does cutting up magazines and gluing pictures on a piece of paper have to do with science class?  When I do this fact sheet, am I really thinking about the definition of a peninsula, or mindlessly following directions?  Seriously, what's the point of doing worksheet after worksheet when there's no real content in them, or opportunity to think for myself? 

Another issue with the amount of homework students get is that when they are given more homework than they can handle in the given amount of time, whether it be a class period, a day, or even a week, they rush through their assignments.  They'll just try to finish it as fast as they can so they can move on to the next paper due, or textbook assignment that needs to be finished.  I know this not only from my friends, but from my own experiences.  I have to speed through my science homework, not giving quality answers, just the fastest one I can think of off the top of my head.  Then I'll start my math homework and if I get a weird decimal answer, then all I can say is oh, well, not enough time to fix it, I'll figure it out tomorrow.

Homework can, in some situations, be a show of teacher incompetence as well.  If we just spent a whole hour and ten minutes focusing on a lesson, then the teacher decides to give us homework, it could be their way of saying that they didn't think we understood the lesson or learned it enough, so here's extra practice that we have to finish and turn in.  And if we spend eight hours a day at school already, we shouldn't have to spend another two relearning what we already learned.

Teens need good night's rest as well.  Many people blame the fact that we're so tired on Facebook or texting.  I don't have a Facebook, and I never text past 9PM, and I'm still bone-tired every morning.  It's not from Facebook.  Usually it's from homework that I stayed up until 10:30PM doing.

In my research, I learned something that shocked me at first, but later I realized that it's not all that surprising.  This is an excerpt from a book written by specialists about the negative effects of homework:

"…most parents (as well as many teachers) would be surprised to learn that there's very little proof that homework helps elementary school pupils learn more or have greater academic success.  In fact, as this book will explain, when children are asked to do too much nightly work, just the opposite is found.  And study after study shows that homework is not much more beneficial in middle school, either."

-The Case Against Homework: How Homework is Hurting Our Children and What We Can Do About It by Sarah Bennett and Nancy Kalish

Once I thought about it, I realized that in many cases, whenever I did my homework, I never learned anything, just repeated what I was already taught.  That's not really helping me in academic success.  Most homework doesn't help me at all, in fact.

Homework also interferes with family bonding time.  Families all around the country are complaining about how they never get to spend time with their kids, because whenever they aren't working, their kids are holed up in their room studying.  Some people may argue that when parents help with homework, they are bonding by getting involved in their child's education.  In truth, when parents try to help with homework, often times the way they were taught is completely different than what the student was taught, and everyone ends up to confused and frustrated.

Homework not only has negative effects on students and parents, but the environment as well.  We waste more and more energy with every light bulb we have to keep burning and laptop we charge.  We have to chop down our trees for textbooks, pencils, and paper.  We are killing our earth one worksheet at a time. 

All the assignments we've had to do are hard on the students, parents, and environment.  We shouldn't have to go through this on a daily basis.  Homework can be good in moderation, when it's homework that has some real, actual content, but when we are given a ton of worksheets where there's no thought process involved, it just wastes our time.  I hope now you can see that the cons of homework in most cases outweigh the pros, and that homework can be very harmful if we're given too much. 

The Babysitter and the Body

"Erica!"  Giselle whined, "Come play princesses with me!  You promised!"

                "I'll be there in a minute, sweetie!  Just let me finish the dishes from dinner."

                "Erica," Ashton moaned.  "Nick is stealing my action figures again!"

                “Erica, hurry!"  Giselle screeched.  "I need to show you how pretty I look in my Ariel dress!"

                "I'm almost done, honey!"  I said.  "Nick, give the action figures back to Ashton.  If you want to play with them, you have to ask nicely, and share."

                "Yeah, Nick, give it back!" Ashton said triumphantly.

                "Erica!  Come play princesses NOW!"

                I sighed deeply, scrubbing the pizza sauce off the last plate.  I dried it quickly, and put it back in the cabinet.  "I'll be right there, Giselle!"  I called.

                I walked over to the playroom, and plastered a big, fake smile on my face.  Giselle was standing there, hands on her hips, foot tapping impatiently.  She had on a blue and purple sparkly dress with a picture of Ariel, the Little Mermaid, on the front, paired with cute little dress up heels, a plastic necklace, and fake clip-on earrings.  "Oh my goodness, Giselle!  You look so beautiful!" I gushed, putting extra enthusiasm in my voice.

                "I know," she said haughtily.  Man, she is one conceited little three-year old.  This babysitting job just doesn't pay enough sometimes.  She turned around and started rummaging through her dress up princess chest, and a few moments later, came back out holding up a Cinderella dress made for five year olds, and plastic shoes too small for even my tiny feet.  "Put these on!" she ordered.

                "I don't know if I can, Princess Giselle.  They're so small!  I'm pretty sure I'd burst the seams if I tried to fit it over my head," I shrugged, pretending to be sad that I couldn't fit.

                Well you never know until you try, so try it on anyway!"

                I sighed, resigned, and took the dress from her.  I couldn't even fit my shoulders through the bottom of the dress.  "Doesn't look like I'll be able to wear it.  Sorry, Princess Giselle."

                "Erica!"  screamed Ashton.

                "I'll be right back, sweetie,"  I said to Giselle.  In response she stomped her foot and harrumphed, but I ran back to the living room anyways.  I arrived to find Nick running around the room with an action figure, being chased by a very angry Ashton. 

                "Give it back, Nick!"  he demanded, then stopped running, looked at me and tattled, "Nick asked like you said, but then he just took it without waiting for an answer!  It's mine, and I want it back!"

                "How about we put the action figures away for now and go outside?  We can play football if you want," I persuaded, trying to get them away from the toys. 

                "Yeah!" They chorused.  Nick dropped the forgotten action figure and they ran over to put their shoes on. 

                "I'll be out in a minute, I'm just going to grab your sister and clean up a bit!"  I called after them, but they were already out the door.  I hurried over to the playroom and cajoled Giselle out of her Ariel dress and heels.  Then, I helped her get on her Dora the Explorer sandals, went outside and got her some chalk to draw with, and told her I'd be back in a minute.  When I came inside the house and looked around, I realized I had a lot of work to do.  There were baseball cards and action figures everywhere, and our abandoned Candy Land was still lying there, with the cards strewn across the floor.  Walking over to the playroom, I almost tripped on a toy car, and when I got to the playroom, I realized Giselle had dumped out her dress up collection all over the floor, and knocked over the stack of piano books.  I got to work, putting this and that away, fixing up everything and reassembling the house.  I found a Wii remote lying around.  I wonder why it's up here?  I thought.  Their Wii was down in the basement, and all the CD's and remotes were supposed to be in the game closet.  Great, now I have to walk all the way downstairs, I thought. 

                I ran down the steps and over to the closet.  I looked around and shuddered.  I don't know why, but their basement always gave me the creeps.  It never happened with anyone else's basement, and it's not like theirs was one of those dark, creepy ones with cobwebs and spiders everywhere.  It was a fancy basement.  Fluffy, white carpeting, a bar, a pool table, even a 42 inch flat screen.  But whenever I went down there, I always got a creepy feeling. 

                I walked over to the game closet, and was blown away by an awful stench.  It smelled like something rotting!  I hurriedly put the Wii remote back.  Right as I was about to shut the door, something caught my eye.  A pale, white piece of what looks like…like flesh, behind the stack of games.  Intrigued and curious, though thoroughly grossed out, I moved the stack, and stifled a shriek.  What I saw was an elbow.  I slowly raised my gaze.  What I saw repulsed me.  There was a long, sickly gash along the upper arm of a body, covered in dried blood and gangrene.  I moved aside a small shelf of books to discover a whole body.  Oh, my God.  Oh, my God there's a dead body in the closet there's a dead body in the closet and oh my God oh my God what am I going to do oh my God oh my God oh my-

                All of a sudden, a maggot crawled out of the gash in the arm.  This time, I couldn't hold it in.  I let out a blood-curdling scream, and turned around and ran.  I dashed down the hall, up the stairs and then Oh my God I'm going to puke.  I'm gonna puke, I'm gonna puke!  I dashed into the bathroom and regurgitated my dinner.  I sat there for three minutes, just barfing my guts up.  Then I realized the kids were still outside.  I slowly, cautiously walked out.  If I had gone any faster, I would've passed out.  I made it to the yard, then just collapsed.  Laid down on the ground and stared up at the sky.

                Ashton ran over.  "Erica, what are you doing?" he asked.  Good question.  What am I doing?  I should call the cops.  I should call 911.  Wordlessly, I pulled out my phone and punched in the three numbers.  Immediately, someone, a female voice, answered.

                "Hello, 911, what is your emergency?"

                "Hello, I'd like to report a..a uh-uh--"and I couldn't finish the sentence.  I couldn't bring myself to say ‘dead body’.  Like saying it would make it all real.  I felt a tug on my sleeve, and there was Ashton again.

                "Erica, what's going on?"  he asked, his eyes widening in fear.

                'I'm not sure, hon," I replied honestly. 

                "Ma'am?  Ma'am, are you there?"  I heard from the other end of the line.

                Taking a deep breath, I responded, "Yes, I would like to report a dead body."

                There was a couple seconds of silence on the other end, and then, "And where is your location, ma'am?"  I replied calmly, and answered all her other questions in the same collective tone.  My name, did I find the body or did someone else, where was it found…it seemed to take an eternity, but I finally heard the woman say, 'Alright miss, we have people on the way, you just stay put,"  and then the dial tone after she hung up. 

                By now, Nick and Giselle had come over, and Giselle started crying.  "Erica, I'm scared!"  she sobbed. 

                "Where's mommy and daddy?"  Nick cried.  Ashton just buried his face into my shirt. 

                "Everything's going to be okay, guys.  It's all going to be fine.  Mommy and daddy will be here soon.  Everything's okay."  I gathered them close and hugged them all, and just kept repeating what I said, over and over, more for myself than for them.

Birthday Pie

Author's Note- A while ago in class, we did a journal entry, and the this was the prompt.

Power Outage at home, in the night, and your family is all around you.  Summer, during a thunderstorm around 9 pm central time.  With no cake.  Sharing a pie.

I had decided to write about my birthday pie, which is an actual birthday tradition for our family.  Last night, I found this, fixed it up and added a few things to it, and it is now a new  blog post.  Comments are appreciated, as always. 

"Oh, no!" cried my mom.  "The pie!"

"Pie?" I asked, looking around.  There was no pie in sight.  "What pie?"

"The pie I made for you're birthday tomorrow!  Since the power is out, that means the fridge won't be cold, and the pie will go bad.  By tomorrow, we won't be able to eat it!" she exclaimed.

This was a serious dilemma.  No birthday pie?  Birthday pie is a tradition in our family, and without it, the fun would be taken out of the party.

"What ever shall we do?"  asked my little sister Lauren, rather dramatically.

"Well, how about we have the pie early?"  proposed my mother.  "We'll pretend it's your birthday right now, and we'll get out the pie before it goes bad, and we'll eat it!"

My family pondered this.   Having birthday pie when it wasn't your birthday is something we never do.  It would ruin the tradition.  And then there would be no pie for the party!  But otherwise it would get all rotten, and there would be no pie!  It's completely and totally against all family traditions, but….

"It's not a bad idea," said Dad.

"If we don't eat it now, we won't have any pie at all," my mom added.

"Well…"  I hesitated.

"I don't see a problem with it," shrugged Lauren.

I sighed.  "Okay, I guess." My mom brought out the coconut cream pie, and we all dug in.  And it turned out to be the best coconut cream pie in the entire universe, even if it was a day early.

Colorful Feelings

Author's Note- This is a creative piece I did inspired by one of my favorite books that Peyton happens to be reading right now called "A Mango-Shaped Space".  Idecided to take emotions and other things that don't really have a color and make it colorful, imagine it through the eyes of someone with synesthesia.  Comments and feedback are appreciated, as always.

  

Colorful Feelings

The sickly, pasty yellow of hunger, tinted with light brown and famine.

The urgent, frantic, bright red of panic, streaked with vibrant yellows and charcoal blacks, causing senses to go into overstimulation, what to do, what to do?

The bubbly, eccentric yellows and oranges of laughter, creased with happy, soft red lines for smiles and fun.

The deep, dark red of anger, streaked with cold, hard black, seeping into your vision, blinding you from reason with it's opaque density and darkness.

The endless and ominous blue sky of perseverance, with tufts of white fluff with hints of grey shadows.

Rich reds and purples of passion, with hues of pale blues, filled with emotion.  A kiss under the moonlight, a goal achieved, a love for anything, for anybody.

The dull grey-blue, subtle, nothing exciting, really.  Boredom.  The color I see in math class and nonsensical movies.

Chaos, a catastrophic jumble of neon, exuberant colors in a frenzy, each trying to be the biggest, the most noticeable, pushing each other out of the way for the spotlight like the childhood game King of the Hill, or two divas fighting over center stage.

The blindingly bright and deep blue of confidence, with shades of green and belief in yourself.

The pure white of faith, drizzled with the soft, comforting light brown of trust and spotted with the greens and blues of confidence.

The new, spring green of hope, like a freshly planted flower, just popping its head out of the ground.

And love, a  rainbow of colors, balancing each other out, because love is filled with bright happy colors, dull sad tones, sharp, stinging, painful  tints, grey-blue sorrows and regrets, deep, emotional purples and fluttery pinks. 

Cheating

Author's Note- This is a Stream of Consciousness entry that I did a while ago, and I just found it tonight and decided to expand on it and post it to my blog.  I did it based off a picture on the back wall of Mr. Johnson's room, of a little kid doing a math problem in his head while the kid sitting next to him is looking at his answers.  I thought it would be fun imagining what the kid felt like, finding out his best friend was cheating off his slate.

58, 59, 60, 61….61!  That's it.  A large grin spreads across my face as I double check my answers, and find them all right in my head.  As I wrote down the answer with my white chalk, I thought, Hey,  I'm actually starting to get the hang of this arithmetic's thing!  I turned to tell my best friend Jimmy about how excited I was, and saw him staring intently but sneakily at my slate.  I looked down at it to see if there was a bug or a glob of snot or something equally fascinating, but all I saw were my answers.  Why would he be staring at my answers?  Wait…..he's cheating off my slate!  Oh, that little stink-nosed, dog breathed booger face!  I blushed, looking around, ashamed.  My mommy told me to never, ever say those words.  They were naughty.  But it doesn't matter, because I'm gonna get him, and I'm gonna get him good.  I raised my hand as high as it could go, and started to shout, in a sort of whiny voice, "Mrs. Honey!  Mrs. Honey!  Oh, oh, Mrs. Honey call on me!  Pretty, pretty please with chocolate syrup and sprinkles and brownie crumbles and a cherry on top?"  Mrs. Honey, who looked about fifty, with her wrinkled, frowning face and bun pulled back so tightly I wondered if she could even blink, sighed impatiently and frowned even more.

"Yes, Jeffery?"

"Jimmy was cheating off my slate!"

"Oh, really."

"Yes!"  I whined.

"And your proof is…"

"Well, I don't have any proof, but…"

"Then how could I possibly know if you were telling the truth?"

"But-but, I saw him…"

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"But-but…"

"No buts.  Now get back to work."

I harrumphed, angry that my friend never got in trouble.  I looked over and Jimmy and stuck out my tongue, but he just smugly smirked at me.  It just wasn't fair.  But what could I, a scrawny little first grader, do about this catastrophic predicament?  (My mommy taught me those big words.  She told me that they mean bad situation, but I still can't say predicament very well yet.  There are so many letters and sounds that it's hard to get it straight, so I only use it inside my head, because what's the point of sounding smart when you just mess up the words?)  Anyways.  If I keep trying to get Mrs. Honey to realize that I'm not lying, she might give me a time-out, and I'd have to wear the dunce hat.  I don’t like the dunce hat.  It makes me feel silly, and everyone laughs at me.  If I let my emotions get the better of me, and I start crying, Johnny and Erik will never let me live it down, even though I don't tease Erik about the time he peed his pants, 'cause that would make me a bully, and I don't wanna be a bully.  Plus the entire class will laugh at me, just like if I wear the dunce hat, and Mrs. Honey will tell me to suck it up and they'll laugh even harder, and Charlotte might think I'm a wimp!  I can't let her think that, no matter what.  If I just sit here and take the blow, I'll lose my manly dignity, which is not going to happen, either.  I have to do something.  But what?

Suddenly, an idea popped right into my brain.  I got it!  If he's just gonna keep cheating on me, then I'll write down the wrong answer, and when Mrs. Honey calls on him, he'll get it wrong!  As Mrs. Honey wrote the next problem on the board, a creepy smile spread across my face.  I couldn't help it.  I wanted to see Jimmy get made fun of in front of the entire class!

Okay, 47 + 9.  I can do this.  I did the math in my head.  47 + 9 = 56.  I double-checked, triple checked, even quadruple checked the answer in my head.  Once I was sure that 56 was the right answer, I wrote down 152 on my slate.  The answer was so far off that nobody would be able to stop laughing until lunchtime!  I snuck a peek at Jimmy.  He was, as I had planned, staring intently at my slate.  I didn't let on that I saw him this time, though.  I just watched with great satisfaction (another big word mommy taught me) and he copied down 152 onto his slate and shot his hand up in the air.  "Mrs. Honey, Mrs. Honey, call on me, I know this one!"

Mrs. Honey looked over at him with a dead, bored expression on her face.  "Enlighten us, Jimmy.  What is the answer?"

Jimmy looked at me with that same mocking smirk on his face.  Well this time, the joke is on him! "One hundred and fifty-two!"  he proclaimed proudly. 

Mrs.  Honey's usually monotone voice changed in pitch for the first time in hours as she exclaimed, "Why, Jimmy, that's nearly one hundred off from the correct answer!  I expect more out of you than that.  How on earth did you get such a number?"

Jimmy's face was filled with a confused expression.  "B-but that's what Jeffery wrote!"  Immediately after he realized his mistake, his eyes got wide as dinner plates, his hands flew to his mouth, and his face turned beet red.

"And why, exactly, Mr. Martin, had your eyes traveled over to Jeffery's slate?" she inquired, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"I-I," stuttered Jimmy, but he couldn't get past that word.

"Please, go fill the back left corner of my classroom with your presence, then, and do remember your dunce cap.  We will talk about this later."  She turned to Jeffery.  "I suppose you were right about him cheating then.  Do you happen to know the correct answer?"

"Fifty-six!"  I announced, filled with glee.

She smiled at me and winked.  "Correct."  Wow.  That was the first time I've ever seen Mrs. Honey smile!  She has pretty teeth, but not as pretty as Charlotte's.  Charlotte's are much prettier, and anyways, Mrs. Honey is an old lady.  I can't court an old lady, much less my teacher.  Ewwww!

Consumed by Love

*Author's Note- This is a response to the short story A Secret for Two, and also a practice essay for the District Assessment.  I ended up redoing this many times before I went and showed it to  Mr. Johnson, because I wasn't sure about how I felt about my essay, or if it seemed right to me.  Please comment!

What is the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear the word love?  Most people tend to think about romance- husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, secret admirer, that sort of thing.  But love is not all overwhelming attraction towards someone.  The actual definition is 'a strong and positive emotion of regard and affection'.  That means that love could be for an animal, a brother or sister, a friend, an object, a profession or job, an activity…the possibilities are endless.  Just like I love my family, Pierre Duplin loved his horse, Joseph.  He loved that horse so much that it led him to his death.  Love can be all-consuming.

Pierre and Joseph had a bond that was special.  Not only did they work together every morning and strengthen their friendship during long rides throughout the neighborhood delivering milk, but they also shared a secret.  And on that fateful day when Joseph, the horse, passed on, that secret revealed itself in tragic death.  Pierre was blind.  He had been for five years.  As he walked home from the stables that day, a truck barreled down the road.  Pierre, however, just kept walking.  Some may think that it was because he was blind, and he just couldn't see the truck.  I disagree.  This short story states that he had been blind for five years.  If he had not had any sight for five years, he would've grown accustomed to hearing sounds and smelling, tasting and touching, depending on his other senses, to detect that truck.  He knew it was coming.  He probably knew he was going to get hit.  I have two theories as to why he stayed on the road.

Theory number one says that even though he knew somewhere in his mind that the truck was coming, some part of his mind was warning him, that part just wasn't anywhere near a big enough focus.  He was thinking about the tragic and unsuspected death of his best friend.  He was probably wondering how he would move on from this loss, and grieving for his faithful companion for all he was worth.  He didn't have time to pay attention to that little part of his mind telling him, "GET OFF THE STREET!  A SEMI IS HEADED YOUR WAY!"  Maybe he didn't even notice it.

My other theory is that he just didn't care.  He didn't give a darn.  This is very different from suicide, of course.  He wasn't planning to die- he had barely gotten past his mourning enough to focus on what he should do about himself.  He merely thought, 'If my best friend in the entire world has just died, and there is no one else for me, then who cares what happens to me?  Who would care if I went home and just sobbed for eternity?  Who would care if I died right now?'  He certainly didn't care either way.  He was just going through the motions.  If a truck was coming at him, then maybe that's the way the good Lord planned it.  Maybe He planned it so that when one of them leaves the world, the other will follow.  This quote from the text supports this theory.

'“We are two old men,” he said to Jacques. “Let us wear out together. When Joseph is ready to retire – then I, too, will quit.”'

So, yes, he most likely did feel the vibrations in the cobblestone road, he did hear the rumbles and roars of the huge truck, but he either didn't notice or didn't care.  Simple as that.  He was too upset for Joseph, his horse, his friend, the one he loved.  He was consumed in his own love for Joseph.

The Secret Leaders

Author's Note- This is a response to the mandatory response for my Language Arts class about Animal Farm, how the pigs have changed since the book started, and what Orwell is saying about those who became leaders of the Russian Revolution.  I would appreciate feedback very much for this one.  Thanks!

When old Major, a highly regarded farm pig, gathered the farm animals one night to talk about a dream he had, a dream about a revolution, all animals were filled with hope, and ready to do anything to free themselves from a place where they are poked, prodded, branded, worked to exhaustion, and practically starved.  During the time, all that was in any animal's head was hatred for the humans, and longing for escape.  After the revolution, most animals stayed in that mind set, just not wanting Mr. Jones, the farm owner, to come back.  Some didn't.  Some wanted more.  Some wanted power.

Snowball, Napoleon, and Squealer, three of remaining pigs since the death of Old Major, decide that it's time to make some rules.  The pigs come up with the Seven Commandments, that every animal must follow and worship.  The most important, of course, is the seventh.  All animals are equal. 

As the Revolution continues, the pigs begin to take more and more control over the farm without the other animals even realizing it, becoming leaders almost secretly, and claiming they are only doing what they believe is best for every farm animal.  It is Napoleon, however, that lets the power take control of him.  He thirsts for control, so much so that he'll do anything for it.  Even accuse, lie about, and exile Snowball, leaving him in total power.  To remain in control, of course, he has to make some changes.  He adds enforcements in the form of vicious dogs, to protect him from any harm, and makes even more changes to the already switched around and messed up commandments.  He begins killing anyone who speaks against him, and starts going mad with power.  He started out as a pig trying to help his farm establish into a better community, and ends up misusing and lying to the naïve animals just to satisfy his urges for control. 

Napoleon very much resembles Stalin in this way, because Stalin was a ruthless leader that used the military to control the people, much as Napoleon used the dogs to control the animals.  Lenin kept trying to get Trotsky on his side, warning against the leadership of Stalin and urging the Soviet system to become more open and democratic.  Snowball was doing the same in Animal Farm, was he not?  This leads me to the conclusion that Snowball represents Lenin.  During this entire animal revolution, Squealer and Napoleon kept getting closer and closer, just as Stalin and Trotsky were doing in Russia.  Trotsky represents Squealer because of this.

Orwell wrote this piece of literature for many reasons, but one of the main reasons is to show us how ridiculous and ludicrous the situation was, and how we need to actually think about things we're told instead of just believing them.  What I mean by that is thinking about the lies the animals were told- if the pigs don't get more food than us, Mr. Jones will surely return!- how?  If the pigs aren't fed better than everyone else, for some reason, Mr. Jones will decide to come back and take over again?  All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others- what?  That's like saying, 1+3=4 more than 2+2=4!  They were even naïve enough to not realize it when Napoleon started taking control right under their noses before it was too late!  If the animals had any common sense, and actually questioned things that the pigs said instead of believing their every word, maybe they wouldn't have gotten into this mess!