Defining heritage with Everyday Use
I’ve recently reread Everyday Use, a short story by Alice Walker, have you heard of it?
Happy Sunday, folks! I hope you all had an amazing Thanksgiving holiday—I certainly did. Are you ready for Christmas? I definitely am. I hope Santa got my letter!
I was inspired to reread Everyday Use because of what is considered my own family heirloom and heritage. My great-GREAT-grandmother, Mrs. Lucinda (known as Masin in my family), was given three huge, ornate, beautifully crafted bowl-and-pitcher sets by the white women she worked for. Now, you’ve got to remember, this is the rural south Louisiana sha, so I use the word “worked” loosely. Anyhow, Masin went on to pass these down to my great-grandmother, my grandmother, and my great-aunt (they’ve all passed now, and I miss my grandmother every second of every day—I even miss running errands for my great-grandmother).
When my grandmother was alive, I asked her about the bowl and pitcher once. She had it displayed in her bedroom on her vanity. She went on and told me all about its history, how it came into her possession, and how, when she passed, it would go to my mother and then to me. I suppose it will eventually go to any children I might have. Though, I doubt my pet bunnies are interested in anything that’s not a cranberry or a carrot. It’s fascinating to think about because most Black families don’t have heirlooms—there’s nothing to pass on but generational trauma and poverty. So, having this conversation with my grandmother made me feel special, knowing I had something that was preserved for me to remember my grandmothers by.
Thinking about this more deeply led me to pick up Everyday Use again. I remembered reading it once as assigned reading in English class at some point, but this time, I wanted to really reflect on the topic of heritage and heirlooms, particularly as it relates to Black families and, specifically, Black women.
Alice Walker’s Everyday Use is one of those rare stories that feels effortless while carrying immense weight. On the surface, it’s a slice of life: a mother and her two daughters reunite in the rural South for what should be a warm family visit. But what unfolds is a sharp, moving exploration of heritage, identity, and the quiet tensions that define families.
If you’ve never read it—or if it’s been a while—it’s worth revisiting. Walker has a way of taking the ordinary (quilts, a butter churn, a front yard) and showing us how extraordinary it really is.
The story takes us into the home of Mama, a strong and pragmatic woman who narrates with dry honesty. Her life is simple: she lives with Maggie, her younger daughter, who’s painfully shy and scarred from a house fire years ago. Enter Dee, Mama’s older daughter, who arrives for a visit transformed. Dee, now going by Wangero, has adopted a new name and style, embracing what she believes is her reclaimed African heritage.
From the moment Dee steps onto the family’s dirt yard, you can feel the tension crackle. She admires the handmade quilts, a churn, and other heirlooms—but not for the reasons Mama or Maggie value them. Dee wants to take these items back with her, to display them as symbols of a culture she feels she’s reconnecting with. Mama’s decision about who gets the quilts becomes the story’s emotional climax, and it’s one that lingers long after you’ve turned the last page.
Walker’s brilliance in Everyday Use lies in her subtlety. She doesn’t preach or moralize; she lets her characters and their choices speak for themselves. The central conflict—over something as simple as quilts—becomes a stand-in for much larger questions: What does it mean to honor your heritage? Is it about preserving the past, or living it?
Dee is the character who gets under your skin. Her intentions aren’t bad, but they’re misguided. She’s passionate about reclaiming her identity, but her enthusiasm comes across as performative and disconnected from the real lives of Mama and Maggie. It’s frustrating because you can see her point, but it’s hard to side with her when she looks down on the people who made her identity possible.
And then there’s Mama. She’s not flashy or outwardly emotional, but her actions carry so much weight. When she decides to give the quilts to Maggie, it’s a quiet but powerful rejection of Dee’s view of heritage. Mama’s choice tells us that heritage isn’t just something you hang on a wall—it’s something you use, something you live.
What makes Everyday Use timeless is how universal its themes are. It’s about family, yes, but it’s also about the tension between old and new, between tradition and progress. In Dee, we see the temptation to romanticize heritage, to turn it into something polished and presentable. In Mama and Maggie, we see the value of the everyday, the quiet acts of carrying history forward without fanfare. This story feels especially relevant today. In a world where culture is often turned into content, Walker’s message is a reminder to dig deeper. Heritage isn’t a photo op. It’s the stories we tell, the skills we pass down, and the objects we use until they’re threadbare.
Whether you’re drawn to the characters, the symbolism, or the emotional depth, there’s something in it for everyone. But here’s the real takeaway: this story will make you think. It’ll have you looking at your own life—your family traditions, the objects you hold onto, the ways you honor where you come from. And that’s what makes it so powerful.
If you haven’t read Everyday Use, it’s time. And if you have, go back and read it again. Trust me, it’s even better the second time. See you next time suge! Don’t forget to subscribe and share!