Antanaclasis (an’-ta-na-cla’-sis): The repetition of a word or phrase whose meaning changes in the second instance.
The time was getting late. I was having the time of my life. I didn’t know what to do. It was close to 3:00 a.m. I was supposed to be home by 11:00 p.m. My parents were probably flipping out, maybe even looking for me at the morgue.
Here I was, sharing a joint with my best friend’s little sister. She had just turned 18 and she told me she was ready to do a lot of things that she couldn’t do before because she was too young. I thought that included sex and I was going to try to broach the topic and go crazy with her. She told me she had a passion for politics and could finally participate and “go all the way,” Hmm. It sounded like sex to me until she added “and vote.”
That’s when I went home.
When I got there, there was a police car parked outside. I heard an ambulance in the distance. My father was lying on the front lawn, unconscious, with a pair of binoculars in one hand. Neighbors were gathered around and my mother was talking to the policeman. My mother saw me and came running toward me “When you didn’t come home at eleven, we thought you were missing.” she said. My father is an avid bird watcher. He had climbed up on the roof of the house to see if he could spot me somewhere with his “lucky” binoculars—the ones he had spotted the rare pink-capped Chickadee with.
He slipped and fell off the roof. I knew I would be blamed for what had happened to my father. Mother admitted that he hadn’t taken his Lithium for a week and had started hearing voices and seeing birds circling around the dining room table. The last time he had gotten like this, he had stuck a spatula up his butt and tried to make scrambled eggs. He was severely burned and spent two months in the hospital. But, he always smiled and was always happy to see me (when he recognized me).
Later that afternoon I saw my best friend’s little sister. She said, “I’m ready for you to stuff my ballot box.” I thought “My prayers are answered!” I asked her where she wanted to do it, She said “Right here!” I was shocked. Then she pulled a little locked box with a slit on top out of her backpack. “I’m running for Prom Queen an your vote will help.” She handed me a ballot and a pen: I voted for her and stuffed my ballot into her ballot box.
When my father came out of his coma, the first thing he sad was “Smile at the little birdie.” My mother had given him a stuffed duck to comfort him while he was unconscious. Now, he was holding it. He was back!
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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