Salivary glands are exocrine glands that secrete saliva into the oral cavity. They play an important role in the human body in digestion, moisturizing mucous membranes, protection against microbes, and serving as a source of biomarkers for research purposes. This article discusses the anatomical structure and types of salivary glands, characteristics of their secretions, the mechanism of saliva secretion, their physiological functions, as well as pathological conditions (such as inflammation of the glands, stone formation, Sjögren’s syndrome) and their clinical significance. According to research results, salivary glands perform important roles in protecting mucous membranes interacting with the external environment, initiating digestion, regulating oral microbiota, and providing useful biomarkers for diagnostics. In conclusion, the proper functioning of salivary glands is emphasized as crucial for oral and overall health.
Saliva is a liquid, primarily water-based secretion produced by the salivary glands in the oral cavity, consisting of up to 99% water, as well as various organic (enzymes, immune components) and inorganic compounds. On average, a human produces 0.5–1.5 liters of saliva per day. Salivary glands perform several essential functions for the oral cavity and the entire body: assisting in chewing and swallowing food, partially breaking down food molecules, maintaining oral microbiota and pH balance, moisturizing and protecting mucous membranes, and serving as bioindicators through secreted saliva. Despite their small size, salivary glands are biologically very important organs in the human body.
Discussion
1. Anatomical and Histological Structure:
Salivary glands are classified into major and minor glands. They include parotid, submandibular, sublingual, and other minor glands.
2. Salivary Secretion and Composition:
Saliva is a complex fluid composed of water, electrolytes, enzymes, and immune components.
Diseases affecting salivary glands include sialadenitis, Sjögren’s syndrome, sialolithiasis, tumors, and xerostomia.
5. Regeneration Prospects:
Approaches for restoring gland function are being developed through gene therapy, cell transplantation, and biomarker research.
Results
1. Salivary glands are essential for initiating digestion, protecting mucous membranes, and controlling microbes.
2. Their anatomical and histological structure is adapted to perform various functions.
3. The composition of saliva and its secretion mechanism maintain oral balance.
4. Pathologies disrupt gland functions and negatively affect oral health.
5. Research on regeneration represents a promising direction.
Conclusion
Despite their small size, salivary glands play a vital biological role in the human body. They are crucial not only for initiating digestion but also for protecting mucous membranes and defending against microbes. Additionally, saliva serves as a useful diagnostic biomarker. In the future, research on regeneration and functional restoration of salivary glands is expected to develop further.
References
1. Anatomy, Head and Neck, Salivary Glands — StatPearls, NCBI.
2. Review of the Major and Minor Salivary Glands — PMC.
3. Physiology, Pathology and Regeneration of Salivary Glands — MDPI.
4. Salivary gland function, development, and regeneration — PMC.
5. Salivary glands (Wikipedia, uz).
6. Saliva (Wikipedia, uz).
7. Pathogenesis and Molecular Genetic Aspects of Salivary Gland Tumors — CyberLeninka.
8. Serous demilune — Wikipedia.
9. Progress in Salivary Glands: Endocrine Glands with Immune Functions — Frontiers.
10. Overview of Human Salivary Glands: Morphology and Histology — Wiley.
O‘roqova Nargiza, born on March 26, 2001, in Ishtikhon District, Samarkand Region. She is currently a first-year grant-funded student at Tashkent State Medical University.
Her professional activity includes working as a Biology teacher at Secondary School No. 33 in Ishtikhon District, Samarkand Region, during the 2024/2025 academic year. She graduated from Jizzakh State Pedagogical University, Faculty of Biology, in the 2020–2024 academic years. She has an excellent command of English, Russian, Arabic, and Turkish.
THE BALAKAVI VISIONARY: AN INTERVIEW WITH MR. BALACHANDRAN NAIR C.S.
BY RUPA RAO
Rupa RaoBalachandran Nair
Introduction
Some individuals quietly reshape the world around them, not through grand speeches or positions of power, but through persistent acts of love, conviction, and service. Mr. Balachandran Nair C.S. — poet, mentor, retired CRPF officer, and the driving force behind the BALAKAVI School Level New Poets Initiative — is one such figure.
From a childhood shaped by hardship to a life dedicated to nurturing young voices across India and beyond, his journey is a testament to resilience, creativity, and unwavering belief in the transformative power of literature. This interview captures his story, his mission, and the extraordinary movement he has built — one child, one poem, one dawn at a time.
INTERVIEW
Q1. What inspires you to focus your energies on encouraging children across states and countries to write and recite poetry?
BN: No one knows, nor has anyone recorded, who first stood facing which direction and witnessed the beautiful dawn. Yet people still gather on hilltops and seashores to watch the sunrise. I am not the sun, a hill, or the sea, but I am still able to help literary enthusiasts witness the rising of schoolchildren as new poets—reciting poems they have written for the first time in their lives. Appearing in colourful school uniforms, sounding like chirping birds. I simply capture a small bit of their talent, cupping my palms around it like a firefly, revealing it when you open your eyes in the early morning. The happiness on children’s faces when you look at them in awe keeps me going, inspiring me to collect another firefly for your next dawn.
Q2. When and how did you come up with this concept?
BN: The 14th of November, the birthday of India’s first Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, is celebrated as Children’s Day. I received an invitation to speak to the students of Government High School, Njekkad (Kerala) on that day in 2021. From childhood, I always wanted to be different. So I made a request to the school authorities: I would collect and send poems authored by a few living poets, and the students would recite them during the celebration. In return, I promised to gift each student a poetry book. They agreed, and I collected poems and books from my Facebook friends and forwarded them to the school. The programme was a grand success—many children reciting poems by living, established poets, and those poets watching online. More than a hundred books were gifted to the students and the school library. It was then that it occurred to me: if a student writes and recites their own poem, it will benefit them in many ways. That was the first seed, and I decided to move forward with the idea.
Q3. When did you step into your creative writing phase, and how did it happen?
BN: I am from Kerala, and my mother tongue is Malayalam. I learned Tamil by reading cinema posters. My last four years of schooling were in Madras. I was obsessed with cinema and watched almost every film released at that time. Cinema articles were the first things I read in newspapers. After joining the Central Reserve Police, I hardly had time to write. But the urge to write film scripts slept deeply within me. When I received promotions and had more time, I finally sat down to write scripts—mostly at night. I wrote two or three and approached several well‑known studios between 1990 and 1992. There were promises, but nothing worked out. Later, I discovered that one of my scripts had been made into a film without credit. I ran out of the theatre crying. The same thing happened again with another script in Malayalam. That film won National and State Awards. Though devastated, I gained confidence that I can write. But I didn’t write again for fifteen years.
Q4. What is your family background?
BN: My father served in the British Indian Military. During World War II, he deserted the camp with a few friends to join the Indian Independence Movement and the INA. After independence, he returned home and became a hardcore Communist. He lost everything fighting court cases but ensured we never starved. None of us could study beyond matriculation. I lost my father in 1999 and my mother in 2004. I am from Attingal, Kerala. I married in 1977 and have two daughters, aged 46 and 44. The elder is a homemaker; the younger is a Headmistress. Both have two children each. My eldest grandchild works in IT; the others are studying.
Q5. Who inspired your love for poetry?
BN: I began using Facebook in 2016. Poet Anushka Sharma, a Punjabi settled in South Africa, was my first Facebook friend. I commented humorously on her poems, and she often said my comments outshone her writing. One day she insisted I write a poem myself. I wrote my first English poem at the age of sixty‑six.
Q6. How did you juggle writing and your career?
BN: In my early days as a soldier, I had no time or space to write. But I had access to a library and read extensively. Later, after promotions, I wrote at night. Writing film scripts was my passion.
Q7. Does anyone in your family follow in your footsteps?
BN: My youngest grandchild, Ashwin B. Nair, now fourteen, writes better than me. He published his first poetry anthology Darling Doodles in 2023 and his second, Dwelling Desires, in 2025. He attended online poetry meets with me and received appreciation from veteran poets. Now in high school, he writes during vacations.
Q8. What role does your wife play in your mission?
BN: My wife, Maheswari Amma, is a devoted homemaker. She constantly worries about my health, which suffers because I skip meals, drink little water, and hold my urine during school visits. I have undergone multiple renal stone surgeries and still undergo physiotherapy for a stiff neck caused by mobile‑phone use during the 2022 drive. As a pensioner, I spend much of my pension on travel and project expenses. She endures my endless phone calls and irregular routines without complaint. Her worries are justified… but I am not obedient. I have work to do—for the children. My dream is to give her one day free from my painful aaahhhs and woooohs.
Q9. Who supported you when you began, and who supports you now?
BN: The HaVen International literary platform, founded in 1999, was my first base. I began introducing schoolchildren through it on 1 January 2022. I contacted hundreds of poets worldwide and collected their biodata and simple poems for children to recite. The idea clicked. The 2022 programme ran for 365 days and created world records for:
· 407 New Poets introduced
· 357 living poets featured
· 87 countries involved
Certificates, prizes, and an annual function followed. After a break due to health issues, I revived the project in 2025, expanding it to include differently abled children. With HaVen inactive, I partnered with the International Academy of Ethics (IAE), led by Dr. Jernail S. Anand. The 2025 programme is broadcast daily through IAE and 21 global literary platforms.
Q10. Tell me about the children involved.
BN: Every child is a gem. In BALAKAVI, most New Poets are under ten. One school in Bangalore—East West Public School—has produced 92 New Poets, thanks to teacher Grace Sitharaman. As of 24.12.2025, 287 New Poets have been introduced in 152 days. Adding the 2022 drive, the total is 694. If all schools had cooperated, the number would be in the thousands.
Q11. What do you envision next?
BN: I run BALAKAVI single‑handedly. It is a massive daily task. If a global body that values literature, education, and peace recognizes this effort, it would fulfil my mission. Such recognition would inspire literary communities worldwide to think and act differently in a rapidly changing world.
Q12. What do you enjoy reading and writing?
BN: I love detective and fiction novels—Robert Ludlum, Stephen King, Ken Follett, Frederick Forsyth, Alistair MacLean, Wilbur Smith, Irving Wallace. I write Malayalam short stories and English poems, often with unexpected twists.
Q13. Anything more you’d like to add?
BN: I want to bring differently abled children into the limelight. Many parents hide them from society. I want to change that. And I wish I could give my wife a peaceful day… but I know that may remain a dream.
Q14. How did your partnership with IAE begin?
BN: I was introduced to IAE and its Director, Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, by Dr. Molly Joseph. Dr. Anand supported BALAKAVI wholeheartedly. He visited Kerala twice—once to distribute prizes to 100 students, and again with international scholars to meet New Poets. IAE broadcasts the programme daily, followed by 21 global platforms.
Q15. Any influencers or heroes you follow?
BN: My heroes are the children. They are like honey bees—buzzing, gathering nectar, never stinging, always singing. I simply help extract honey from their writings for the world to taste.
Q16. What dreams remain?
BN: I have published seven books—five poetry anthologies, one Malayalam short‑story collection, and one translated anthology. My poems appear in 92 books. One poem was translated into 89 languages. My dream is to continue guiding children to write and publish their own books.
* Bio of Mr. Balachandran Nair C.S.**
Mr. Balachandran Nair C.S. is a retired CRPF officer, poet, mentor, and the visionary behind the BALAKAVI School Level New Poets Initiative. Born in Attingal, Kerala, he overcame early hardships to become a passionate advocate for children’s literary expression. His work has introduced hundreds of young poets to the world, bridging cultures across 87 countries. A multilingual writer and translator, he has published seven books and contributed to over ninety anthologies worldwide. His mission remains simple yet profound: to nurture young voices, especially those often overlooked, and to spread literature, peace, and hope through the innocence of children.
Closing Note
Some people plant trees whose shade they will never sit under. Mr. Balachandran Nair plants poets.
Through his unwavering dedication, he has created a movement that transcends borders, languages, and limitations. His work reminds us that the future of literature does not lie in grand institutions, but in the small hands of children holding their first poem.
May his journey continue to inspire generations — and may the dawn he brings to young minds never fade.
Rupa Rao holds an MBA and a Law degree. She serves as an administrator at the Literary Warriors Group and as Chief Coordinator for the International Academy of Ethics. Her writings appear in global poetry anthologies, magazines, and literary platforms. She balances writing with hosting poetry sessions and author chats online. A lover of nature walks and yoga, she continually seeks to nurture her soul. She has completed an eminent author’s biography and has co‑authored, curated, and edited seven poetry anthologies and one prose work. She has also edited a novella and three poetry collections for writer friends.
The Drama of the Snow and Sebastian Sumac in that Season
-words and picture by Brian Michael Barbeito
It kept descending in the night, and for the most part, seemed like a wild secret or strange dream. It was pretty, certainly, like silent music orchestras floating around the industrial grade electric lights of town roads curt and organized or the playfully amidst Christmas bulbs residential and red, blue, yellow, green, and even purple.
And there were dreams when Sebastian Sumac did fall asleep amidst his books. A Malcolm Lowry book, a Charlie Brown book called, You’ve Got a Friend Charlie Brown, and a few others. He dreamt of clothing and people that he had outgrown, situations that didn’t fit him anymore. The subconscious was figuring things out. Many of the dreams had him lost in large cities with multitudes around, a populace that he didn’t know or fit into. He tried always to find his way home, or a sympathetic soul, but rarely encountered either.
And out there the winds northern blew the new snow to and from, and made wild crazed drifts across country roads, roads that had white outs for there was nothing to break or block the snow drifts. Finally, if one were travelling from the north to the south, the first structure of the town was an impossibly old church with stained yellow bricks, a marker of another time. It had a graveyard in the back with about thirty or forty souls buried and the stone markers though tall and well built, didn’t have the names any longer as time and seasons had eroded them. Now, each it was just a memory a soul anonymous, as perhaps little, or no other souls knew who the departed were.
Then places where the nocturnal animals travelled widely. Deer. Coyote. Perhaps other things. Their tracks could be seen on the bright of days after the snowstorms and sometimes it seemed they had gone along the very middle of frozen streams, beige reeds, and bushes on the sides very still then in time like artifacts from photographs. Sebastian pictured them, and how beautiful all the creatures looked then, say, under the quiet bright moon and going along more like a painting or dream, a separate and somehow dignified world that little to nobody ever saw.
Then the big box stores, their humungous parking lots, some abandoned vehicles on the edges and the odd large transport truck or trailer. The new world had taken over the old world and was spreading like a wave intent on overcoming coastlines and having the pulse and prowess of a seemingly infinite world behind it. Urban sprawl uniform and intentionally unoriginal, and each set of kilometres displaying a series of the same petrol stations and strip plazas and inhabitants also.
In the days Sebastian, who had shed his old name and named himself after the trees that remained red deeply and always struck his consciousness in faraway meadows and fields in a benevolent manner. He had read that some cultures had even used the sumac for dye in clothing. In an ever changing world all one really had was oneself and oneself in that situation was like the sumac when it succeeded…colourful, upright, a unique phenomenon under the azure sky…all and everything peaceful and unique up the way from labyrinthine paths in the whimsical wondrous woodlands and far enough away from the sky infrastructure of troubled and over populated cities and towns.
He stopped often and sat with a warm coffee. The shops had decorated the windows with stickers of towns themselves, towns decorated with trees and snowflakes. Again, the snow. He watched the sticker snow and the light sprinkles of snow arriving outside. And the patrons often talked of such also. ‘They are calling for more on Tuesday,’ or ‘Soon, like last year, we are going to run out of places to put it all…’ Some people were with friends and others with family, but Sumac was mostly alone. Alone with the vision of the snow, the idea of poems and travel logs or epistolary. And with the nights. The drama of dreams, books, and writing…and that snow…sometimes wafting down easily, like a languid journey being had, but also at moments fast, vexatiously even, in a rush, some gods of the other upper world intent on making winter a true winter certainty.
Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian poet, writer, and photographer. His most recent book, a compilation of prose poems and landscape photography, is titled The Book of Love and Mourning.
Student of Denov Institute of Entrepreneurship and Pedagogy
Email: shomurodovadilafruz07@gmail.com
The article discusses the fact that in Uzbek linguistics a number of studies have been carried out on the linguopoetic, pragmatic, derivational, and communicative features of texts, and that the emergence and development of such fields as pragmalinguistics, discourse analysis, cognitive linguistics, and linguoculturology in world linguistics have led to the appearance of serious theoretical approaches in interpreting the phenomenon of text creation.
It is well known that in world linguistics texts were initially approached mainly from semantic and syntactic perspectives. In recent years, especially since the beginning of the 21st century, the tendency to study texts on the basis of linguoculturological, pragmatic, sociolinguistic, cognitive, and psycholinguistic principles has intensified. Texts began to be viewed not merely as a collection of semantically and syntactically connected sentences, but as a form of communication possessing social value and as a mental construct that reflects the knowledge, linguistic thinking, national psychology, and mentality of speakers of a particular language. The formation of the anthropocentric paradigm is associated with the study of the speaker as a linguistic subject. The anthropocentric turn in linguistics shifted attention away from the structuralist principle of studying language “in and for itself” and focused instead on the human factor. The roots of anthropocentrism, which is now recognized as one of the leading paradigms in linguistics, draw upon the theoretical views of W. von Humboldt and L. Weisgerber. The term anthropocentrism is derived from the Greek anthropos (human) and the Latin centrum (center). Initially, the term was used in reference to the ancient Greek philosophical idea that “Man is the center of the universe,” a view that became
especially widespread in medieval Europe. In linguistics, the anthropocentric study of the language system has been manifested primarily in research on linguistic semantics, cognitive linguistics, psycholinguistics, pragmatic linguistics, and linguoculturology. Studies conducted within the framework of the anthropocentric paradigm investigate the language system in close connection with the human factor. Although research by Uzbek linguists in linguistic semantics, pragmatics, and cognitive linguistics demonstrates anthropocentric tendencies, studies in this area are still insufficient.
In particular, approaching text analysis from an anthropocentric perspective has become one of the leading directions in modern linguistics. Many researchers emphasize that in the study of texts as complex and multifaceted phenomena, the triad consisting of the speaker-text-listener (author- text-recipient) should be regarded as the main object. The well-known Russian linguist Yu. N. Karaulov, in the preface to a collection of articles devoted to issues of language and personality, emphasized the idea that “behind every text stands a specific individual who has mastered linguistic systems.” The external and internal structure of a text can be likened to a mirror that reflects the linguistic competence of speakers belonging to a particular nation.
In early studies of text, attention to the text creator was observed mainly in psycholinguistic and pragmalinguistic research, whereas today rapidly developing fields such as cognitive linguistics, functionalism, ethnolinguistics, linguoculturology, and discourse analysis have made this issue one of the central problems of linguistics. The main achievement of the system-structural approach was proving that language is a systemic phenomenon. However, it became evident that these paradigms shared a common shortcoming: language was separated from its owner-the human being. Attempts to overcome this deficiency led to the emergence of pragmatic and cognitive linguistic paradigms.
Professor N. Mahmudov, reflecting on the formation of the anthropocentric paradigm in linguistics, notes that in accordance with the objective nature of language, the anthropocentric paradigm places the human being at the center, while language is regarded as the main component that shapes human personality. Specialists often cite the aphoristic statement of the famous Russian writer S. Dovlatov that “90 percent of a person’s personality is formed by language.” At the same time, the anthropocentric approach to language integrates the latest achievements of these fields and increasingly strengthens its status as an independent paradigm. As recognized in linguistics, the anthropocentric paradigm focuses primarily on the subject of speech activity-that is, the language user who produces and perceives speech. The inclusion of the category of the language user in scientific paradigms necessitates greater attention to concepts such as personality, linguistic consciousness, thinking, activity, mentality, and culture.
At present, the concept of the language user is mainly employed in the following senses: (a) an individual capable of carrying out speech activity in a particular language, that is, capable of producing and perceiving speech; (b) a person who uses language as a means of communication, a communicant; (c) a representative of a particular language community who possesses and manifests the lexical resources reflecting the national-cultural and spiritual values of their people.
In contemporary research, various branches of linguistics approach the issue of the human factor from their specific perspectives. The problem of text interpretation and the human factor is closely connected with issues of text creation and the perception of its content. In studying this problem, it is important to examine not only the text creator but also the perceiving individual-the listener or reader. As N. I. Zhinkin aptly stated, “A person speaks not through individual sentences, but through texts.” Therefore, a person’s stylistic features can be adequately studied only on the basis of the texts they produce.
Investigating the speech style of a writer or creator solely from the perspective of word choice or sentence construction no longer meets contemporary requirements. Consequently, studying text creation from the perspective of individual style enables a deeper examination of the linguistic aspects of texts.
It is well known that cognitology is intrinsically linked with semantics. Today, many researchers regard the 21st century as the age of
interdisciplinary integration. Interdisciplinary cooperation yields effective results in revealing the essence of particular objects of study. Such an approach is especially appropriate in investigating the speech activity of the human personality, a complex phenomenon. Human speech, like the human being itself, is multifaceted and complex. Therefore, cooperation among linguistic disciplines will undoubtedly yield fruitful results.
It should be noted that in the early years of the 21st century, significant research was conducted in Uzbek linguistics within the field of text linguistics. Monographic studies emerged on text linguopoetics, content perception, pragmatic, derivational, and psycholinguistic features of texts, as well as text modality and temporality. Studying texts from the perspectives of their creation, perception, and comprehension further deepens theoretical views on texts. Investigating the mechanisms through which the intellect and thinking patterns of a discourse subject are transformed into textual form makes it possible to identify features specific to the reflection of cognitive models in the Uzbek language. In literary works, especially in prose, the expression of key linguoculturological concepts such as life, death, mother, homeland, love, goodness, justice, and woman frequently occurs. Since literary texts are products of creative activity, the expression of particular concepts in such texts naturally manifests individuality and imagery.
Consider the following text:
By the side of a great road, a tree was growing… By chance, a traveler came to rest beneath it. The day was hot, and the traveler was tired. He sat in the shade of the tree and rested… The traveler grew hungry. He looked and saw that fruits were ripening on the tree. He was too lazy to climb it, so he threw a stone. The fruits fell abundantly. The traveler ate his fill… The destination was far. He broke off a branch from the tree and made a walking stick… Then his throat became dry. He went back under the tree’s shade… Then he continued on his way… The tree began waiting for another traveler… The name of this tree was Goodness… (O’. Hoshimov, “The Tree by the Road”).
In this passage taken from O’. Hoshimov’s book Notes in the Margins, the concept of GOODNESS is expressed. In the text, this concept is represented through the symbol of a tree, and the act of comparison employed in the author’s cognitive- discursive activity gives the text a metaphorical meaning.
Indeed, the most important source for elucidating the relationship between language and personality is the text. A text is not only a speech structure that encompasses all levels of language, but also a phenomenon that fully reveals the linguistic potential of the speaking (or writing) individual. Cognitive metaphors, as one of the factors generating implication, leave their traces in words, phrases, sentences, or entire texts. Units whose meanings have shifted on the basis of metaphor represent the visible part of the “cognitive iceberg” (to use Fauconnier’s term), while its main part remains hidden deep within our linguistic consciousness. It should be noted that the cognitive background phenomenon manifested in such cases has not yet become an object of study in Uzbek linguistics. Studying the cognitive background in connection with metaphor, metonymy, simile, and personification is one of the essential issues of anthropocentric linguistics.
Today, the study of the human factor as the performer of linguistic activity continues to deepen in such linguistic fields as psycholinguistics, linguoculturology, cognitive linguistics, and pragmalinguistics.
References:
1. A. Aliyev, Q. Sodiqov. From the History of the Uzbek Literary Language: A Textbook for University Students. Tashkent: Uzbekistan, 1994. 118 p.
2. U. Tursunov et al. History of the Uzbek Literary Language: A Textbook for University and Pedagogical Institute Philology Students (revised and expanded edition). Tashkent: O’qituvchi, 1995. 264 p.
3. M. Vahoboyev. The Uzbek Socialist Nation.
Tashkent, 1960. pp. 30-32, 49.
4. M. Qodirov. “A Journey into the Wealth of Words.” Labor and Life, no. 4, 1972, pp. 20-21. 5. A. Nabiyev. Historical Local Studies. Tashkent: O’qituvchi, 1979. pp. 63-74.
Scott Brown sat on the sofa in the shadowy living room of his modest clapboard house, a warm beer clutched in his hand. His clouded mind journeyed back through the previous year. What might he have done differently? he wondered. And what should he do next? With a tired sigh he sat up straight. There was no time like the present, he decided.
One year ago
The call came in at 3pm Central Standard Time. I was living in Illinois, across the river from St. Louis, 20 minutes from the Gateway Arch. I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored the summons at first. But when the call went to voicemail, they hung up and then called back immediately and, thinking it could be important, I picked up. It was.
I said, “Hello?”
“Mr. Brown, please?” asked the young-sounding male voice. “I need to reach Mr. Brown or another member of the Brown family.”
“You got him,” I said easily, expecting a spiel on a Medicare advantage plan or something. “This is Scott Brown.”
“Mr. Brown, are you related to Phillip Brown?”
Instantly my heart sank. I had neither seen nor heard from Phil for many years and I knew this could not be good news.
“Phil’s my brother,” I told the man.”Mr. Brown,” he said, “this is the San Francisco Medical Examiner. I have some bad news to deliver to you.”
That sealed it. He continued, “Your brother was found deceased in his Veterans’ Housing apartment earlier this week. I am very sorry, sir.”
I took a great breath and then released it. “Can you tell me anything about the circumstances of his passing?” I asked. I had assumed for years that he was already dead.
“Yes, of course. He was reported as unheard from by a wellness worker three days ago and the police were summoned and when they arrived they gained access to the apartment through the building manager. Phillip was unresponsive and emergency workers were unable to revive him. There was no sign of foul play…””How long had he been…deceased?” I asked
.”He was last sighted on Oct. 23,” the ME told me. I glanced at the calendar on my laptop: it said Nov. 14.I shook my head.
“I’ve very sorry for your loss,” the man said again. “Did he have any children that you’re aware of?” he asked. An old joke, but serious as a heart attack.
“I’ve no idea,” I said honestly. “How did he die?” I asked.
“There was drug paraphernalia found in his residence,” said the man. “And his remains tested positive for fentanyl.”
“So, just another statistic, huh?” I asked bleakly.
“I’m afraid so. I wish there was more I could tell you.”
“Thank you.”
“Could you tell me when you last saw your brother?” he asked next.
“It’s been right on 50 years,” I said.
“I see. I’m required to ask,” said the man, “if you wish to make funeral arrangements?”
“No,” I replied at once. “Regretfully,” I added.”
I understand,” he said, then he told me how sorry he was again and we ended the call. I went through a maelstrom of emotions: loss, anger, indifference, then loss again.
My brother and I had little in common, going back to when we were youngsters. But there is an indelible bond that exists between individuals, particularly family members, who have known one another for all their lives. I had often fantasized about what I would do if ever Phil would come home, the prodigal son, and beg forgiveness. I’d told myself I would spurn him, deny him entrance to the home that I’d inherited from our parents; a home that we’d shared as children. But, would I have treated him so indifferently? I still don’t know.
I walked into the kitchen, fetched a can of beer and returned to the living room and sat down on the sofa. I reached out and seized the large half-filled bottle of liquid cold meds. Unscrewing the cap, I took an unmeasured swig of the gloppy green fluid, then shuddered at the awful after taste. I popped the tab on the beer and took a big drink. And thus began the evening,
The next morning, I awoke slumped on the sofa. I stared blearily at the forest of spent beer cans and the now-empty bottle of cold medicine. Then I recalled the night before. The phone call from California. For a long moment, I wondered whom I should notify of Phil’s death. There was no one in our immediate family left to inform; my parents had predeceased us and I had no other siblings. We’d had just two aunts and uncles and a small handful of cousins growing up and they were all long gone or unreachable.
Apart from my parents, family had not figured prominently in my life for many years. I had no best friend to be consoled by and no significant other; no friends I ran with. I was a 71-year-old disabled man with practically no connection to the world outside the four walls of my home. I no longer even drove, and my most frequent visitors were the kid who mowed the lawn and the man who delivered my mail. Feeling an almost overwhelming aloneness, I cast my thoughts back to my brother.
Phil had in part made me the man I became. My parents’ disappointment in Phil’s lack of effort in school, despite his native intelligence and creativity, served to make me study that much harder, in order to please them. Perhaps Phil thought I did it to show him up, but it wasn’t like that. The older I got, the more Phil’s resentment seemed to build, manifesting itself in beatings and scorn and overt animosity towards his younger brother. I grew up believing that all sibling relationships mirrored our own, but discovered, years later, that genuine love often existed between brothers. Phil was always hugely popular with people unrelated to him.
“You got a fine son there, Carol,” they would tell my mom. “He always pitches in and helps out.”
“He does?” my mom would ask in surprise. That didn’t sound like Phil. From a tender age, he got into trouble with the police. Be it a curfew violation, maliciously setting a field afire or even pounding pennies into dime-sized tokens with a hammer and feeding them into vending machines, he was never idle. He became an embarrassment. When he came of age, the authorities ceased taking his mischief so lightly.
“Mr. Brown,” the policeman addressed my father at the door, “I’m afraid your son stole a car.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” muttered Dad in dismay. That was neither the first instance nor the last. More thievery, shoplifting, breaking into the residence of a family friend, it just went on and on. My brother left home at 19, bound for the war in Vietnam. It was either that or go to prison, by order of the judge, for what amounted to a penny-ante offense. The judge, probably a veteran of WWII, remarked from the bench that it might “straighten you out,” meaning my teenage brother.
In the mid-60s the U.S. Army was eager for recruits and my brother didn’t fancy a jail cell. So Phil chose Nam. When he returned, 20 months later, it was with a less-than-honorable discharge. What was once a casual flirtation with illegals had morphed into a serious romance with hard drugs.
During his service, I recall my mom receiving in the mail unopened cartons of American cigarettes. She didn’t realize that these were not Marlboros, but rather, professionally-rolled marijuana doobies. I hadn’t the heart to tell her the truth, and she put them away for Phil’s return.
I now found myself streaming every memory, good and bad, that I had of my brother, from the time I was born until age 12, when Phil went to Southeast Asia. When my parents saw Phil off at the bus station, he hugged my mom and gravely shook hands with my dad. He utterly ignored me. The next time I saw him, other than when he was only passing through, was when I was 17, and he took up residence in our hometown. He never invited me to his home. He borrowed money from our father and then split town, leaving my dad in the lurch. Still, he was forgiven.
When I saw him next, he was being sentenced to prison on some inflated, improbable charge: possessing burglary tools. He was no doubt intent on robbing the drugstore, but had he had a competent attorney, he would not have gone down for it and would not have done time. Phil was anxious for my folks to forfeit their modest home in order to make his bond and acquire a lawyer for him, but once burned, twice warned. Convinced he would flee the state if released, they turned their back on him. I was glad they did.
At length, while serving time in the maximum-security state prison, Phil wrote me a letter for the first and only time in his life and asked me to ferry his girlfriend the 80 miles in my car to visit him. I did this twice, but the first time we were face to face, Phil would not even look at me, much less shake my hand. Was it shame, disdain or just complete indifference?
In between visits to the prison, I romanticized my brother as I sped along lonely highways in my jalopy 1964 VW Beetle. I pictured Phil as the title character in the Elton John tune “Daniel,” as it played over the tinny speakers of my car stereo. I had always longed to admire my brother and, growing up, I repeatedly got into scuffles with friends who branded him a “hood” and later, a criminal. Under the reproving gaze of my contemporaries, I lost friends and, in many instances, never made them in the first place.
I made a second and final visit to the prison, taking along Jayla, Phil’s love interest. If anything, he was even more remote than the first time I’d been there. After that, the girlfriend got her own transport and I was not invited along.
That was the last contact we made but for one. Phil reached out to me once more, shortly after he got out of prison. As a life-long diabetic, I injected myself daily. Cagily, Phil asked me to get him a “rig,” a glass and metal hypodermic syringe, with which he could inject hard drugs. This was the first time we had spoken in two years.
“I can’t,” I told him. “Why not?” he demanded. “Well,” I said, “because it’s illegal? “He hung up on me. When Dad died 20 years ago, Phil did not make an appearance at the funeral. And when Mom passed a handful of years ago, his absence was once again conspicuous. His long-time best friend came to the funeral home after Mom died and told me that Phil had perished in the Nevada desert at the hands of supposed friends.
“Three went into the desert,” he said ominously, “and only two came out.” So then I forgave Phil for denying our parents their eldest son for decades. I remembered my father, stricken with Alzheimer’s and crying in his room at the nursing home over his missing son. And my mom, sitting forlornly in her recliner at age 90, wondering when her son would make his way home.
Fast forward a lifetime and the call from the San Francisco Medical Examiner. My brother, I decided, had not progressed, he had not evolved; he was the same dismal, shameless but oddly appealing figure he had always been. Sitting alone in the dark–how long had I been reminiscing–I drew a great breath and let it out, then cursed myself for a fool as a single tear traced its way down my cheek. He had died alone and for that I was profoundly saddened. I knew that a similar fate probably awaited me, as I had no friends. To the very end, my brother never failed–to disappoint. I shrugged and opened another beer.
Two days later
In the aftermath of my brother’s death, I decided to pen an obituary, as a service to those few remaining people who might have known him. But even a brief notice in my local newspaper cost more than $500 and, being nearly as poor as my late brother, I opted instead to use a free service to publish the obituary online. That made more sense, inasmuch as many of his old acquaintances might have left the area over the years and could readily access the item online. I struggled, but eventually came up with something that was serviceable and published it.
Two weeks later I got another stunning phone call, this one from Colorado. The caller, a woman with an eerily familiar voice, and I talked for almost an hour. I had never met her before, but we shared a thread of history. She said she wanted to meet me. She said she would fly in a few days later.
On a Friday, three weeks to the day after I learned of my brother’s death, I met Phil’s daughter, Jasmine. She told me she was the offspring of Phil and his long-time girlfriend, Jayla.
“Hi, Uncle Scott,” she deadpanned. She leaned in for a cursory hug and I hugged her back. “Call me Jaz,” she said. Jaz was born in Las Vegas in 1986, making her 39-years-old. With her high cheekbones and chiseled facial features she favored Phil. I could scarcely recall Jayla, having seen her only twice. Jaz told me she had only a few short minutes before she had to catch a flight to New York. We sat on the sofa. I offered coffee but she waved it away, saying she had only minutes before she had to leave.
“When’s the last time you saw your dad?” I asked her.
“To begin with,” Jaz replied, “I don’t consider him my dad, or even my father. I consider him to be the sperm donor. My dad is my stepfather, Edward Smith. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, where I was raised.”
“So when did you last see Phil?” I asked in a different way.
“When I was a-year-old,” she said. “Of course I don’t remember. My mom, whom he dumped after she got pregnant with me, went to San Francisco, where he’d moved, to show me off, to introduce us.” She grew silent.
“How did that go?” I asked.
“Mom said he showed zero interest, in either one of us,” Jaz replied with a grim expression. “He didn’t even ask to hold me,” she said. “But he screwed her again and she got pregnant again, and nine months later I had a little sister.”
“Phil has a second child?” I asked with surprise. “Where is she? What’s her name?”
“Michelle Menendez,” said Jaz. “She’s married, got two kids; she’s very happy.” She smiled a little.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” I said warmly. “Glad that something positive emerged from Phil’s troubled life. You’re married too, you said?”
“For the time being. I’m going through a divorce.” She stared thoughtfully into space.
“And you have a daughter,” I remembered aloud.
“Jayla,” she said, flashing Phil’s smile. “She’s 19. Named after my mom.” She looked up at me. “Mom’s the reason I reached out to you, Scott,” she said. “She said she met you when you took her to the prison to see Phil, all those years ago, and she was impressed by what a stand-up guy you were. She said that Phil was no account, but that she thought something of you.”
“You told me she passed away,” I said, recalling our phone call.
“Two years ago,” she said. “I know that you didn’t really get to know her well, but losing her left a hole in my heart, you know? We’re a close family.”
I nodded, regretting that Jayla and I had not remained in touch. Jaz perhaps read my mind. She said, “Mom was determined to put the whole Illinois experience out of her mind. She grew up here too, but after Phil, she never came back.”
“Did Phil know that she passed?” I asked Jaz. She shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t tell him. I didn’t even know if he was still alive. I searched the web and found a lot of Phillip Browns, but nothing that matched, nothing that rang a bell. I put an obituary online, like you did, but I didn’t get a nibble from the man who told my mother he would love her forever…”I nodded again.
“Do you know if Phil had any other children?” Jaz asked.
I shook my head. “I have no clue. He hasn’t been a factor in my life for a half century,” I said. “I may hear something from someone, like I did from you, and if I do…””Yeah,” she said. “Who knows?” She glanced at her cell phone.
“So what’s next?” I asked.
“I’m catching a flight to New York tonight,” she said, “so I’ve got to get back to the airport.” She stood. I stood as well.
“I’d like to meet Jayla, if that’s okay,” I said. “And Michelle. And I want to see you again.” I wasn’t used to having a family. The idea excited me, and I didn’t want to let the opportunity slip away.
“I’ll tell them.” she said. “I just wanted to scope out the territory first, you know? Since my stepdad died last year, I’m the de facto head of the family.”
“Where does Michelle live?” I asked.
“New Mexico. Roswell. She married an alien,” she said with a straight face. I smiled.
“Michelle would like to learn something about the man who gave her birth,” said Jaz. “Medical history and the like, you know, for her kids. Plus, she’s curious. Phil’s absence, in spite of my dad, always left a hole.”
“It’s not a pretty story,” I said. “And there’s a gap in my knowledge of about 50 years.” She wrote down her address, handed it to me and I told her I would be in touch and would send her my mom’s letters from Phil from Vietnam and from prison and any photos she wanted. “What’s mine is yours,” I said.
She rose to her feet, leaned in for another hug, warmer this time, and drifted to the door. “I’m glad I met you, Scott,” Jaz said. “And I’ve decided that I want my daughter and my sister and her family to do the same. Would that be alright?
I told her with a grateful smile that it would be more than alright.
“Too late for Thanksgiving this year,” she observed, “but prepare yourself for next year, alright?
“I said I looked forward to it. With the passing of my mom years before, I had imagined that I would never again enjoy family time. It occurred to me that a brighter, happier, less lonely chapter could be opening up for me. Like any family, it would be a mixed bag, but I thought: Phil, in spite of the tragedy that was your life, you did something right and I’m to be the better for it.
The following summer, during vacation, Michelle and her two young ones showed up, along with Jaz. We had kept in touch via emails and telephone calls in the interim and I felt I knew them pretty well by the time they turned up. Because my modest home had only a single extra bedroom, they all opted to stay at the local Holiday Inn. That meant that we took most of our meals out, which suited me. For the previous five years, I had been battling Parkinson’s Disease, which made everyday tasks like cleaning and cooking increasingly problematic.
I didn’t tell my guests about my condition and they didn’t let on that they suspected anything was amiss. Over the winter and spring, Jaz had gotten her divorce and hadn’t yet found a new “Mr. Right,” but she was looking, she said. Jayla had not accompanied her, she said, because the 20-year-old college sophomore had a job and couldn’t take time off. Jaz told me wryly that Jayla’s newfound uncle couldn’t compete with her new boyfriend. I told her that was alright, that I’d see her over the Thanksgiving holiday. We did touristy things and I took them all out to a Cardinals’ baseball game, where Jaz drank too much beer and Michelle had to drive the rental back to my place.
Michelle’s kids were a hoot. Brandon and Karen, 14 and 12 respectively, bickered endlessly, but unlike it had been between my brother and me, there was no malice apparent. I grinned when Brandon accused his sister of being “such a Karen.”
“Mom, how could you ever name me this?” she lamented to her mother.
“Prescience,” replied Michelle with a sigh, and her daughter looked at her queerly, not understanding. They stayed in town for three days and I lapped up the attention, answered a million questions and shared memorabilia from my brother’s early life. On the final day, before they left for the airport, the gang convened at my house for a goodbye.
When I walked into the bathroom, the rank effluvium of incinerated pot struck me like a slap in the face. I grew concerned for Michelle’s children and before they left, I took her aside and told her what I’d found. Michelle thanked me profusely and promised she would nip this behavior “in the bud” and asked me not to mention it to the others.
Smiling at her clever turn of a phrase, I agreed.
“You understand, Scott,” murmured Michelle more soberly, “that my family is rather sensitive to the danger of drug use and addiction. There was a sea change in the attitude of my mom from when she hung around with my birth father. Jaz would go to pieces if she thought my kids were getting high.”
“I understand,” I said.
When they had gone, the house rang with a now-unfamiliar silence. The ticking of the mantel clock seemed preternaturally loud and the stark absence of iPhone rock & roll music was a little jarring.
Just when I thought the house would only get any more oppressive, I met Violet. Violet, a 60-something divorcee who had lived next door almost anonymously for the past five years, turned up on my doorstep one morning in early September. She was seeking, she said, to borrow a cup of sugar. This was the first time we had spoken and I wondered at how I had missed making her acquaintance. She was, as Agatha Christie, one of favorite authors, was wont to write, a “handsome woman.”
“Please, come in, Mrs. Starkey,” I told her. I was lucky to have remembered her name.
“It’s Violet,” she replied, stepping across the threshold. “And what may I call you?” she asked expectantly.”Mr. Brown,” I deadpanned. When her face fell I smiled and said, ”No, call me Scott.”
She smiled.I got her the sugar, we shared a cup of coffee and got along famously. We laughed and talked about our families (she had a daughter and a grandson and I explained the new dynamics of my own family); our former jobs (she had been a high school English teacher, I a computer nerd); and what we did for fun (she belonged to every conceivable organization, group and club, whereas I joked that I didn’t have any fun).
“We’ll have to change that, Scott,” she said brightly.
She asked me what sort of car I drove, having seen no vehicle in my driveway.
“I don’t drive anymore,” I replied a little self-consciously.
“Then how do you get about?” she asked. I explained the paratransit bus, which ferried me door to door. “Must make dating a little awkward,” she said, and laughed. “Not at all,” I said. “I don’t date.”
“No?” she said. “Did you ever date?” she asked. I felt Violet was getting a little too personal for such a new friend, if that’s what she was, but I held my tongue. Perhaps sensing my unease, she said, “I’m sorry, Scott, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“That’s alright…” I began. “…it’s a natural question, I guess…”
“None of my business,” she said. “Besides, I have other gay friends…””That’s very white of you,” I commented dryly.
Violet blanched. “I’ve got to go,” she said hurriedly, scrambling to her feet. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I said in return. As the door closed behind Violet, I saw the cup of sugar still sitting on the table before me.. . . . .It took two days for Violet to work up the nerve to darken my door again.
When I answered the summons, she burst out at once, talking rapidly. “Scott,” she said, still standing in the doorway, “I didn’t mean to insult you by suggesting you were gay…””Violet,” I said, “it would not have been an insult.”
“Oh!” she said. “Then you are gay?”
I rolled my eyes. Violet’s blue eyes grew wide. “I didn’t mean…””What did you mean then?” I asked.
“I mean,” she said, calming down, “that being gay–or not being gay–is entirely up to you. I respect your choice and…””Many people feel it’s not a matter of personal choice,” I inserted, which only made her more upset.
“Scott,” she said desperately, “what am I supposed to say?”
“Whatever you feel,” I replied easily, then I chuckled at her befuddlement. “Do you want to be my friend?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said, “I do.”
“Then come in and finish your coffee,” I said, stepping aside.
She walked in.. . . . .By October, I had acquired a new friend. Violet and I sat on the swing on her front porch, doling out candy to trick or treaters. For the past ten years I had kept my porch light darkened, opting not to participate in the annual celebration. But Violet, as with everything she did, wrapped herself enthusiastically in the occasion.
We discussed where we grew up. Violet hailed from the Pacific Northwest, and I had lived all my life in the Midwest.
“Trick or treat!” shrilled two little ghosts, clomping up the steps and holding out their goody bags. I reached for the candy dish, but Violet stood, stepped forward and said shrewdly, “Weren’t you here earlier this evening?” She narrowed her eyes at them. The children lowered their bags and together shouted, “busted!” and scampered down the steps and through the neighborhood, laughing all the way.
Violet resumed her seat next to me on the swing. “Pretty cagy, aren’t you?” I kidded her. “You betcha,” she replied, smiling. She placed her hand over mine. It was warm where we touched. At nine o’clock, we doused the light, took up what was left of the candy and went inside.
I started to sit on the sofa, but Violet put her hand on my forearm and said, “Would you like a little treat, Scott?” My sex life, dormant for a dozen years, swung like a pendulum in the other direction.. . . . .
In the leadup to Thanksgiving, Violet asked if I’d like to spend the day with her and her son and his family. I was torn because I had promised to spend the holiday with my nieces and their families. I explained it to Violet. “You have a happy dilemma, then, don’t you?” she observed lightly. You have multiple gatherings that want to include you.” But she assured me that she understood why I’d want to spend my first holiday in years with family, and she gave me her blessing.
Jaz had taken to phoning me each Friday, but then that was reduced to twice and then once, a month. But I understood. She was a busy woman. When by the fourth week of November I hadn’t heard from her, I called her. I was very surprised when the phone was picked up not by Jaz, but by her sister Michelle. I could tell at once that she was upset. I asked her what was wrong.
“She’s gone, Scott,” she said. “I was going to call you.
“”Who?” I asked. I could hear sobbing. “Jaz,” she replied. “What do you mean? Where is she? Is she alright?” “She passed away, Scott.”
I stood there, speechless, clutching the cell phone with a death grip.”What happened?”
“She went out to a party with her new boyfriend and they were found dead in his car. They’re both dead,” she told me.
I instantly recalled Jaz drinking heavily at the baseball game, to the point where she couldn’t drive. She had more sense than to drive, I was certain.
“It was drunk driving?” I asked.
“No,” Michelle said. “They didn’t crash. They were parked. Their blood alcohol level wasn’t high.”
“Then how did they die?” I demanded. This wasn’t making sense.
“Fentanyl,” she said, the word slicing like a knife through my flesh.
“When did this happen, Michelle?” I asked.
“Last night,” she said in a teary voice.
“How is Jayla?” I asked, instantly concerned for Jaz’s daughter.
Silence.
“Michelle?” I prompted.
“She was in the car with Jaz and Mike. She’s on life support, Scott,”
I felt a chill run like an icy stream down my body. “Will she…”
“She’s expected to make it,” said Michelle.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. “Thank God,” I whispered.
“But,” said Michelle, “there are complications.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “She’s suffering kidney failure, she’s had at least two seizures and a stroke and…””There, there, that’s alright…” I began.
“No, it’s not alright,” she hissed.
“I only meant,,,” I began.
“I know what you meant,” she said harshly. “It may be alright for you to not see your own brother for a half century and sit calmly at home while he dies alone in government housing halfway across the country, but this is my family!”
“Michelle,” I said with great surprise, “you don’t blame me for Jaz and Jayla, do you?”
“We never had this problem before you barged into our lives,” she said. “Nobody used drugs before you came along.
“What about the pot we smelled in the bathroom in my home?” I said.”How do I know you didn’t get them high then?” she asked hysterically.
“Michelle,” I said calmly, “you’re in shock over what’s happened. But, I’m not to blame. Drugs are everywhere. They didn’t get them from me. I don’t use illegals. I wouldn’t do that to my family.”
“You’re not family,” she said.
I felt crushed. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she replied. “Don’t ever call or email again.” She hung up._______
Seeing as how I was supposed to be in Boulder with my own family for Thanksgiving, Violet had made plans to spend a week with her son and his family in Vancouver. She had left only the day before I called my niece. I hadn’t the heart to call her and tell her the tragedy that had befallen us.
On the evening of Nov. 26, Thanksgiving Day, Violet called me. I didn’t tell her about Jaz and Jayla even then. I asked her how her holiday was going. Her tone grew guarded. After a moment, I asked her what the matter was. Then she came clean.
She told me that her ex-husband, Mike, had turned up at the celebration, which was a surprise to Violet. The reunion, she said, was a huge success. “Mike has retired now too,” she said.
“What are Mike’s plans?” I asked, just to be pleasant. She often talked of her ex, who lived somewhere in Oregon. Maybe I was a little jealous.
“He’s moving to Vancouver,” Violet replied. “There’s an available lot in the same neighborhood as Frank,” she said, meaning her son.
“So he’s building a new home?” I inquired, thinking that Mike must have either a helluva credit rating or a great deal of money. Violet had never told me what he did for a living.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “And he’s getting married.”
“Well,” I said, frankly relieved. “Good for him. Did he meet her in Oregon?”
“Yes. Scott, I am remarrying Mike. I’m moving to Vancouver, where he’ll be teaching part time at the University…”
Then I recalled: Violet had told me he was a math professor. He was even a published author, no less, with ten mathematical tomes under his belt. I gulped. I struggled to regain my aplomb. “Congratulations, Mrs. Starkey,” I said stiffly.
“Now, Scott,” she chastised. “We had our fun. But now, our time is over. I guess that I never really fell out of love with Mike,” she said wistfully, and giggled. “After all, he’s the father of my only child. You do understand?”
“I think I do,” I replied, feeling like I wanted to puke.
“Good. Take good care, Scott,” she said breezily. Then I heard the click of the land line.. . . . .I called and emailed Michelle again and again, but got no response. When Violet came back a few days later, she was there to supervise the loading of her belongings into the back of a moving van. I stayed inside and she never knocked at my door or called. I told myself that she was cold and crass and no great loss, but I knew I was lying to myself. As twilight settled over my little community, the moving van rolled away, followed by Violet’s Hyundai.
I pulled the drapes and sat on my sofa, a 24 oz. Tall Boy on the coffee table before me. I leaned forward and decanted some green syrupy green cold medicine into a little plastic cup and then tossed it back like a shot of tequila. I opened the can of beer and took a long draught.
Present day
Scott opened his laptop and searched the web. He had grown used to being in the company of people who at least seemed to care for him. He had been out of practice at relationships and perhaps he stumbled a time or two. He could learn from his mistakes, he told himself.
Looking at the screen, he finally found what he was looking for: a community bulletin board on a dating site. Unsteadily tapping the keys with an index finger, he typed, filling out the app: I AM: A man SEEKING a woman. I AM: 72 years old. OBJECT: ?
DEVELOPING STUDENTS’ ORAL SPEECH THROUGH AUDIO-VISUAL MATERIALS IN THE PROCESS OF LEARNING FRENCH
Samarkand State Institute of Foreign Languages Philology and Language Teaching (French) 1st year student Eshpo’latova Khilola Davron kizi 0009-0005-9329-4347
Annotatsiya: Mazkur maqolada fransuz tilini o’rganayotgan talabalarning og’zaki nutqini rivojlantirishda audiovizual materiallarning tutgan o’rni va samaradorligi tahlil qilinadi. Bu tilni o’rganishda audiovizual vositalar talabalarning muloqot kompeteniyasini rivojlantiradi va bu til egalari bilan bo’lgan amaliy suhbatlarga tayyorlaydi. Tadqiqot davomida audiovizual materiallar, xususan, videoroliklar, filmlar, podkastlar, television ko’rsatuvlar va video ma’ruzalardan foydalanishning afzalliklari ko’rsatib beriladi.
Аннотация: В статье анализируется роль и эффективность аудиовизуальных материалов в развитии устной речи студентов, изучающих французский язык. При изучении языка аудиовизуальные средства развивают коммуникативную компетенцию учащихся и готовят их к практическому общению с носителями языка. В ходе исследования будут продемонстрированы преимущества использования аудиовизуальных материалов, в частности видеороликов, фильмов, подкастов, телевизионных шоу и видеолекций. Ключевые слова: аудиовизуальные материалы, устная речь, развитие произношения, речевая активность, эффективность обучения, аутентичные материалы
Abstract: This article analyzes the role and effectiveness of audiovisual materials in developing oral speech in students learning French. Audiovisual aids in learning this language develop students’ communicative competence and prepare them for practical conversations with native speakers. The study highlights the benefits of using audiovisual materials, particularly videos, films, podcasts, television shows, and video lectures.
INTRODUCTION Today, due to the growing interest in the French language in many parts of the world, the use of modern methods is required in the process of learning this language. Especially one of the pressing issues is the development of speaking skills, which is the main way of communicating in a foreign language. Therefore, a number of studies are currently being carried out on improving the ability to speak orally. However, we are facing several problems in their practical application.
The main purpose of this article is to improve the ability of spoken speech among students with a particular specialty of young people studying French, to adapt them to live communication and to analyze the effective aspects of the use of audiovisual materials in the formation of the skills of not only speaking French but also thinking. The results of this study provide an opportunity to develop oral speech in the process of learning French by using audiovisual tools correctly and purposefully.
RESEARCH METHODOLOGY This study was conducted in a practical and experimental direction, using audiovisual tools to improve students’ oral skills and develop their ability to speak independently, as if they were native speakers of the language. First of all, to analyze theoretical approaches to the topic.
Important scientific articles such as Karimov’s “The Role of Video Lessons in the Educational Process” and Jo’rayeva Mohina’s “Linguodidactic Foundations of Developing Students’ Oral Speech” were collected and studied. At the same time, international experiences were summarized based on the article “The Use of Audio-Visual Materials as Strategies to Enhance Speaking Skills among ESL Young Learners”, prepared under the global collaboration of Keeth Kthirvel and Harvati Hashim.
In the practical stage, pedagogical observation, comparison, and experimental methods were widely used. During this experiment, audiovisual materials (video clips, films, podcasts, and subtitled videos) were used in French language lessons. Changes were observed and analyzed in depth during the lessons and exams. The methods chosen based on these observations are fully consistent with the main goal of the study and serve to determine the importance of audiovisual materials in developing the oral speech of students learning French.
In the final stage, the useful and harmful aspects of these methods were fully studied and suggestions and recommendations were developed for the purposeful use of the above tools.
REVIEW OF LITERATURE USED
Today, the use of audiovisual materials in modern pedagogy and education is one of the most important of the issues that is at the center of current and heated discussions. In recent years, many practical and theoretical studies have been conducted on this topic, confirming the usefulness of these tools (audiovisual materials) in the learning process, especially in developing speaking skills.
In the scientific article of Karimova “the role of video cameras in the educational process”. Videodars and presentations have scientifically substantiated the development of independent thinking and talkative skills. Also, in her article “Linguodidactic Foundations of Developing Students’ Oral Speech” by KarSU doctoral student Jo’rayeva Mohina, she emphasizes the use of audiovisual materials as an effective method of developing oral speech.
At the global level, Keeth Kthirvel and Harvati Hashim conducted a study on the use of audiovisual materials as strategies to enhance speaking skills among ESL students and young learners in their article “The Use of Audiovisual Materials as Strategies to Enhance Speaking Skills among ESL Young Learners.” The article provides a scientific basis for the use of videos, podcasts, and audio-video tasks to improve students’ oral communication skills.
Studying the above studies, we can see that although the importance of audiovisual materials has been thoroughly analyzed, there is a lack of methodological approach to using these tools. This article examines this issue.
ANALYSIS AND RESULTS The results of the experiments conducted showed that the regular and purposeful use of audiovisual materials is important in improving students’ oral speech. And it came to my stop taking into account the percentage indicators of the following experiment.
In the first stage of the experiment, two groups of New simple and experimental groups were formed from 1st year students with a homogeneous level of knowledge. In normal gruhs, classes were held in the traditional style of Experimental while in gruhi, classes were held using audiovisual materials. In 2 months of favomi, changes in these groups were monitored and deeply observed. 2 months later, an examination was carried out and their level of knowledge was assessed. According to preliminary results, 30% of students in ordinary Gruh satisfactorily underestimated the skills of oral speech.48% showed an average of while 22% of students performed low. In the case of experimental gruhi, the results were significantly improved. Specifically, 50% of students returned satisfactory grades, 35% returned average grades, and 15% returned low grades.
According to the results obtained, the learning effectiveness in the group using audiovisual materials was higher and more effective than in the control group. In particular, students who achieved satisfactory results were 20 percent higher, while those who achieved low results were 7 percent lower. These percentages are clear evidence that audiovisual materials are useful in developing oral speech.
This study showed that audiovisual materials are extremely necessary and useful for every student studying French. The above figures are a clear proof.
In a typical group, a large proportion of students (58%) reported a low average of 22%. This result suggests that traditional teaching methods are inadequate in the development of student oral speech. This situation was mainly explained by the limited opportunities for real-world and auditory-visual learning during the lesson.
In the experimental group, the proportion of students who showed satisfactory results reached 50%, indicating that audiovisual materials increased students’ speech activity. Through video materials and audio recordings, as well as various films and podcasts, students can better master the pronunciation, speaking style, and speed of speech in French. Furthermore, the 15% reduction in the proportion of students who performed poorly in the experimental group showed that audiovisual materials are an important pedagogical factor in the development of oral speech.
CONCLUSION In conclusion, audiovisual materials are important in studying the natural world because they demonstrate the pronunciation, speaking style, and cultural characteristics of the French language. Through video materials, podcasts, films, and shows, students’ vocabulary and pronunciation improve. From the results of the study, we can know that the use of audiovisual materials in the course of the lesson increases the interest of students in relation to the lesson and forms the skills of free communication. This serves as an important foundation in tending them to a real-life environment.
It is also worth noting that these methods are an important guide in the process of interactive learning and an important factor in the development of students’ communicative skills and competencies. Pedagogical research has shown that each student should use additional materials on the language they are learning, which will be beneficial to their perspective and their ability to communicate freely in that language. In addition, each language that needs to be learned requires regular development and work on itself. If every student uses advanced methodologies such as audiovisual materials on a regular basis, they will make great progress in this field. This is the main goal of the study.
LITERATURE USED
Karimovan B. Y. Videodarslarning ta’lim jarayonidagi o‘rni // Zamonaviy ta’lim muammolari. – 2022. – №3. – B. 45–52.
Jo‘rayeva M. Talabalarning og‘zaki nutqini rivojlantirishning lingvistik asoslari // Til va adabiyot ta’limi. – 2021. – №4. – B. 33–39.
Khirivel K., Hashim H. The Use of Audio-Visual Materials as Strategies to Enhance Speaking Skills among ESL Young Learners // International Journal of Language Education. – 2020. – Vol. 4, №2. – P. 120–128. 4.TV5 Monde. Apprendre le français avec des vidéos [Elektron resurs]. – Kirish rejimi: https://apprendre.tv5monde.com (murojaat sanasi: 25.12.2025). 5.RFI Savoirs. Le français par l’audio et la vidéo [Elektron resurs]. – Kirish rejimi: https://savoirs.rfi.fr
YouTube platformasi. Fransuz tilini o‘rganish uchun autentik audiovizual materiallar [Elektron resurs]. – Kirish rejimi: https://www.youtube.com
