Dearest Air Class Writers,
Kristin and I would like to congratulate each of you on your published memoir piece. Excellent work! We will print and illustrate these pieces in the new year and honor your work with a publishing celebration. Continue writing over winter break and we will see you in 2008. Once again, great job in your 2nd writing cycle.
Love your editors,
Seema and Kristin :)
Thursday, December 20, 2007
The Naughty Dog-by Abby Glasser
I remember the day—the day I got her. My memory falls upon the huge slobber of ice cream and the tiny candle for my eighth birthday. I closed my eyes and blew—my wish, I almost forgot!
I want to foster a cute dog from the Milo shelter. Before I knew it. . . it happened!
A week later, “Mommy, Daddy!”
“What?” asked my mom, puzzled.
“I want to go to Milo. Can we? Can we? Can we?”
My funny, tiny, frowning expression changed when I heard, “Sure!”
“Yaaaaaaa!!!!!”
“That’s a little hard on the ears,” my mom said.
At Milo, the lady picked a dog said, “This pup is an angel! Her name is Spinnacker.” I looked down to see a small, cute thing that would cause trouble for my family in the future. I played with a few other dogs, then left the shelter.
Now I’m pausing the story. My mom secretly adopted her (the dog named Spinnacker) about two months later, but told my dad that we were just fostering her. My dad got mad at the dog because she went to the bathroom all over the house. Deanne, my second grade teacher, really liked her, so we gave Spinnacker to her. Deanne renamed Spinnacker—she called her Ruby. But for some reason (I’m not telling you why, people have their reasons), she gave Ruby back.
When we got the dog back, we let dad pick the name, so he would like her better. He named her Penny. But about nine months later, “Arggg!!!” My dad stomped through the hall like an angry pirate. You get the point, my dog thinks she can go the bathroom and barf anywhere she wants. She’s so stubborn. It has been one year now. Even though my mom is really good at training dogs to be house-bred, Penny is different. She still goes to the bathroom in the house and makes my dad angry.
I want to foster a cute dog from the Milo shelter. Before I knew it. . . it happened!
A week later, “Mommy, Daddy!”
“What?” asked my mom, puzzled.
“I want to go to Milo. Can we? Can we? Can we?”
My funny, tiny, frowning expression changed when I heard, “Sure!”
“Yaaaaaaa!!!!!”
“That’s a little hard on the ears,” my mom said.
At Milo, the lady picked a dog said, “This pup is an angel! Her name is Spinnacker.” I looked down to see a small, cute thing that would cause trouble for my family in the future. I played with a few other dogs, then left the shelter.
Now I’m pausing the story. My mom secretly adopted her (the dog named Spinnacker) about two months later, but told my dad that we were just fostering her. My dad got mad at the dog because she went to the bathroom all over the house. Deanne, my second grade teacher, really liked her, so we gave Spinnacker to her. Deanne renamed Spinnacker—she called her Ruby. But for some reason (I’m not telling you why, people have their reasons), she gave Ruby back.
When we got the dog back, we let dad pick the name, so he would like her better. He named her Penny. But about nine months later, “Arggg!!!” My dad stomped through the hall like an angry pirate. You get the point, my dog thinks she can go the bathroom and barf anywhere she wants. She’s so stubborn. It has been one year now. Even though my mom is really good at training dogs to be house-bred, Penny is different. She still goes to the bathroom in the house and makes my dad angry.
The House on Blake Street- by Amaya Bremner
The persimmon tree was a tree that always dropped fruit. They dropped like hail; it seemed to say, "Ouch". I stepped on one. The squishy feeling was like stepping bare feet in mud, but that feels good. The seed of the persimmon tree was hard. It's like the hard springs on the bad mattress you are sleeping on. The persimmons it produced usually got eaten by birds or dropped and got mushed and squished by cars of course, but sometimes we would get lucky and get some to eat. But, actually I didn't really like persimmons, so I guess they're not for me.
I'm pretty sure the persimmon tree is still at my old house. The persimmon tree is a tree that holds a special place in my heart because that tree was at my old house and I will never forget about the tree or the apartment building.
The house on Blake Street is the street that I lived in when I was little. It was an apartment, our house number was five. I remember the blue and lemon pattern curtains; I still have some of that material in the sewing box. There was a persimmon tree that always caught my eye.
I remember the time it was Christmas and my grandma was there. My mom called me, "Get up!" They were in the living room, and I got up. It was early, I think. Santa Claus was in my doorway. The door was wide open. I was so excited and surprised. I loved Blake Street and I will never forget that special place I once lived in.
I'm pretty sure the persimmon tree is still at my old house. The persimmon tree is a tree that holds a special place in my heart because that tree was at my old house and I will never forget about the tree or the apartment building.
The house on Blake Street is the street that I lived in when I was little. It was an apartment, our house number was five. I remember the blue and lemon pattern curtains; I still have some of that material in the sewing box. There was a persimmon tree that always caught my eye.
I remember the time it was Christmas and my grandma was there. My mom called me, "Get up!" They were in the living room, and I got up. It was early, I think. Santa Claus was in my doorway. The door was wide open. I was so excited and surprised. I loved Blake Street and I will never forget that special place I once lived in.
The Home on Evelyn Street- by Conor McCaulley
It was only about 400 square feet in area. It had a small kitchen, with a stove, refrigerator, and sink. It had a hall, a bedroom, a living room, and about five closets. The front yard had a small lawn and a small garden. Behind the house, there was a cement patio that was as big as the whole house. In the hedge, there was a hole that was cut just for me, so I could go into my neighbor’s yard…
My neighbor was Uncle Todd. He wasn’t really my uncle--he was my godfather. I trusted and loved him so much, he felt like a parent to me. My Uncle Todd was one of the first people I met when I was little. I used to walk out my back door and through the hole in the hedge. I would walk into his garden. Sometimes I would stop and pick a tomato. Then, I would walk up his back stairs and knock on the back door. If he was home (which he usually was, because he was a writer and a musician), he would let me in. Usually, he would give me carob-covered raisins. I thought he was so cool.
My Uncle Todd was a storyteller. In the stories he told to me, there were several characters. This is one of the stories he told to me:
One day, Knocker’s mom told Knocker that she was going to San Francisco for the day. She said, “Knocker, you cannot go to Hm-hm’s or Jeremy’s.”
“OK,” said Knocker. Then she left. “Hmm,” said Knocker to himself, “She did not say that Hm-hm and Jeremy couldn’t come over here.” So he got the ladder and got on top of the roof and called them, but they were miles away and could not hear him. One of the neighbors heard the call. The neighbor called Jeremy and Hm-hm on the phone and told them that Knocker was on top of his roof, shouting for them at the top of his lungs. Jeremy and Hm-hm came over and stood among the small crowd that had gathered to see what all the shouting was about.
Hm-hm and Jeremy shouted up to Jeremy, “What do you want?”
“Oh good, you’re here,” said Knocker. “What should we do today?”
“I know,” said Hm-hm.
“What?” asked Knocker and Jeremy.
“Come down and I’ll tell you,” said Hm-hm.
“Psp, psp, psp.
(My Uncle Todd would keep his listeners in suspense by saying “psp, psp, psp” instead of the characters’ actual words. This always made me want to hear the rest and made me excited because I knew something funny was probably coming up.)
“Ok, Ok,” said Knocker and Jeremy, “that sounds like a good idea.
So they went to the equipment rental place and rented two cranes as big as the Empire State Building. Then, they drove the two big cranes over to Knocker’s house and strapped chains from the cranes big booms to the house. Then, Knocker took his chainsaw and cut the house right off its foundation. With the help of the cranes, they loaded the house onto two flat-bed trailer trucks. When it was loaded, Jeremy and Hm-hm got in the cab of the trailer trucks, while Knocker got back into the house and started playing Legos, being a good boy like his mom told him.
My Uncle Todd’s stories usually lasted about an hour. If I was drinking a glass of water while I listened, the rug would usually end up soaked because he always made me laugh right after I took a sip.
My neighbor was Uncle Todd. He wasn’t really my uncle--he was my godfather. I trusted and loved him so much, he felt like a parent to me. My Uncle Todd was one of the first people I met when I was little. I used to walk out my back door and through the hole in the hedge. I would walk into his garden. Sometimes I would stop and pick a tomato. Then, I would walk up his back stairs and knock on the back door. If he was home (which he usually was, because he was a writer and a musician), he would let me in. Usually, he would give me carob-covered raisins. I thought he was so cool.
My Uncle Todd was a storyteller. In the stories he told to me, there were several characters. This is one of the stories he told to me:
One day, Knocker’s mom told Knocker that she was going to San Francisco for the day. She said, “Knocker, you cannot go to Hm-hm’s or Jeremy’s.”
“OK,” said Knocker. Then she left. “Hmm,” said Knocker to himself, “She did not say that Hm-hm and Jeremy couldn’t come over here.” So he got the ladder and got on top of the roof and called them, but they were miles away and could not hear him. One of the neighbors heard the call. The neighbor called Jeremy and Hm-hm on the phone and told them that Knocker was on top of his roof, shouting for them at the top of his lungs. Jeremy and Hm-hm came over and stood among the small crowd that had gathered to see what all the shouting was about.
Hm-hm and Jeremy shouted up to Jeremy, “What do you want?”
“Oh good, you’re here,” said Knocker. “What should we do today?”
“I know,” said Hm-hm.
“What?” asked Knocker and Jeremy.
“Come down and I’ll tell you,” said Hm-hm.
“Psp, psp, psp.
(My Uncle Todd would keep his listeners in suspense by saying “psp, psp, psp” instead of the characters’ actual words. This always made me want to hear the rest and made me excited because I knew something funny was probably coming up.)
“Ok, Ok,” said Knocker and Jeremy, “that sounds like a good idea.
So they went to the equipment rental place and rented two cranes as big as the Empire State Building. Then, they drove the two big cranes over to Knocker’s house and strapped chains from the cranes big booms to the house. Then, Knocker took his chainsaw and cut the house right off its foundation. With the help of the cranes, they loaded the house onto two flat-bed trailer trucks. When it was loaded, Jeremy and Hm-hm got in the cab of the trailer trucks, while Knocker got back into the house and started playing Legos, being a good boy like his mom told him.
My Uncle Todd’s stories usually lasted about an hour. If I was drinking a glass of water while I listened, the rug would usually end up soaked because he always made me laugh right after I took a sip.
The COG- by Zavrey Weiler
Dear Public,
Before I start my speech I would like to ask you to lend me all your attention. Agreed? OK.
Hey, you, with the hairy mustache—come up here and tell them. Oh, whatever! I’ll do it by myself. OK, now…
The COG is a cooperative and a cooperative is kind of like a grocery that is cheap. Like I told you, this cooperative is called the COG, but it is organic only and mostly fair trade (except for some things). This means that the food is not sprayed with pesticides and the people who make the food get a reasonable amount of money.
My mom, dad, Elisa and Martin (some Earth class parents) are building the co-op. Now, we are just starting it. You have to be a member to shop there when you want to. We have a building that is half in Oakland, half in Emeryville. Soon we will get a refrigerator. When we finish the COG, I will be an assistant. My job will be to fill out orders and stuff.
I hope you see the store so you will change your thoughts about food. Please join as a member of the COG!
Sincerely,
Zavrey
I remember when we were in Hawaii. The adults were talking about the food co-op in Brooklyn. I asked, “What is a cooperative?” My mom explained what it was.
A couple of weeks later, my family was eating dinner, and we started talking about the cooperative in Brooklyn again. We decided to make our own organic food co-op.
First, we told our friends the idea. Then, we put up signs for it and got members. We made a web-site, got a building, and we got products. And finally, we opened it!
I hope the COG will help more people eat healthy food.
Before I start my speech I would like to ask you to lend me all your attention. Agreed? OK.
Hey, you, with the hairy mustache—come up here and tell them. Oh, whatever! I’ll do it by myself. OK, now…
The COG is a cooperative and a cooperative is kind of like a grocery that is cheap. Like I told you, this cooperative is called the COG, but it is organic only and mostly fair trade (except for some things). This means that the food is not sprayed with pesticides and the people who make the food get a reasonable amount of money.
My mom, dad, Elisa and Martin (some Earth class parents) are building the co-op. Now, we are just starting it. You have to be a member to shop there when you want to. We have a building that is half in Oakland, half in Emeryville. Soon we will get a refrigerator. When we finish the COG, I will be an assistant. My job will be to fill out orders and stuff.
I hope you see the store so you will change your thoughts about food. Please join as a member of the COG!
Sincerely,
Zavrey
I remember when we were in Hawaii. The adults were talking about the food co-op in Brooklyn. I asked, “What is a cooperative?” My mom explained what it was.
A couple of weeks later, my family was eating dinner, and we started talking about the cooperative in Brooklyn again. We decided to make our own organic food co-op.
First, we told our friends the idea. Then, we put up signs for it and got members. We made a web-site, got a building, and we got products. And finally, we opened it!
I hope the COG will help more people eat healthy food.
Stories of the Underground Tunnels- by Jack McDonald
I remember when my mom would tell me stories about underground tunnels in my backyard. The stories were about my cat and my friend’s cat. My mom would look into my eyes. Her eyes were bright blue, mine turquoise. Her voice came out loud and clear over the table. It went into my ears and into my mind. I could imagine it all. It was amazingly awesome.
I remember this one story about my cat. This is how it goes:
Once Demitas, my cat, went over to Cheetoh’s house (Cheetoh is my friend Ellis’s cat) to play. But Cheetoh was not there, so my cat went into the tunnel opening in the middle of the garden. She got into the tunnels. She followed the sound of bubbles and happy meows. T0hen she found Cheetoh in a lava bath. She asked Cheetoh to play. Cheetoh said, “Yes,” and they walked away happily…
I think my mom’s ideas for the stories came from our trip to Train Town. At first, I asked her to tell me Train Town stories, and then she started to change them and tell about underground tunnels. My mom remembers telling me stories, but she doesn’t remember what they were about because she was making them up as she went along. But I remember her stories vividly—they inspired me to write my book series called Lightning Cat. I think it’s cool how my mom mixes imagination and real things in her stories.
I remember this one story about my cat. This is how it goes:
Once Demitas, my cat, went over to Cheetoh’s house (Cheetoh is my friend Ellis’s cat) to play. But Cheetoh was not there, so my cat went into the tunnel opening in the middle of the garden. She got into the tunnels. She followed the sound of bubbles and happy meows. T0hen she found Cheetoh in a lava bath. She asked Cheetoh to play. Cheetoh said, “Yes,” and they walked away happily…
I think my mom’s ideas for the stories came from our trip to Train Town. At first, I asked her to tell me Train Town stories, and then she started to change them and tell about underground tunnels. My mom remembers telling me stories, but she doesn’t remember what they were about because she was making them up as she went along. But I remember her stories vividly—they inspired me to write my book series called Lightning Cat. I think it’s cool how my mom mixes imagination and real things in her stories.
Pretzels!!!! Hurray!!!!- by Owen Storey
My favorite kind of pretzels is called Wetzels Pretzels. They taste really good because they have a bunch of butter. Wetzels Pretzels doesn’t only have pretzels. They have hot dogs and Wetzels Bitz, which are kind of like chunks of pretzels. I wonder if they call it Wetzels Pretzels because Wetzel is the name of the person who started it, or if they just did that to rhyme. I think they did it just to rhyme, but who knows?
My family and I go there for some celebrations, like passing a test. I remember passing a test--I think it was a third grade or maybe a second grade test—and we went to Wetzels. I do Johns Hopkins, an education program for gifted youth. They have different kinds of courses, K-6 (which is called EPGY), and also some extra courses like Problem Solving II and III.
My brother and I get to decide where we want to go when we pass a test on Johns Hopkins and other important tests. Sometimes we go to get pretzels, but we only know one place where there’s a Wetzels Pretzels. It’s at Hilltop Mall. I feel good when the celebration is because of me passing a test, and I feel proud of my brother when it’s because of him…and glad that I get to eat pretzels!
My family and I go there for some celebrations, like passing a test. I remember passing a test--I think it was a third grade or maybe a second grade test—and we went to Wetzels. I do Johns Hopkins, an education program for gifted youth. They have different kinds of courses, K-6 (which is called EPGY), and also some extra courses like Problem Solving II and III.
My brother and I get to decide where we want to go when we pass a test on Johns Hopkins and other important tests. Sometimes we go to get pretzels, but we only know one place where there’s a Wetzels Pretzels. It’s at Hilltop Mall. I feel good when the celebration is because of me passing a test, and I feel proud of my brother when it’s because of him…and glad that I get to eat pretzels!
My Grandma’s House/Running- by Chaia
My Grandma's House
My grandma lives in Connecticut. My dad and I visit on summer breaks. We didn’t visit last summer, but I’m pretty sure we went all the rest of the summers. When we go, we go for about ten days. My grandma’s house has a pool, a huge trampoline, and a little playground.
My grandma’s name is Donna, but I call her Grandma Donna. My grandma is unique. She is not like other grandma’s. Grandma Donna runs, jumps, swims, and all other things. It’s really fun to play with her. She wants to be active. Most grandmas like knitting and listening to the radio, stuff like that (at I think so). Grandma Donna is my dad’s mom. My dad takes after his mom, and I hope I take after my dad and my grandma when I’m older.
Running
Running up hill,
Running down hill,
Running on the smooth road,
Running on the scratchy grass,
My grandma’s fast.
It’s like the wind blowing her away
Down the road…
And when she finally gets tired,
She doesn’t even notice that she has gone ten miles.
It’s late now,
And it’s almost dinner time,
So she walks home with the swift wind against her body
And the darkness creeping up behind her.
My grandma lives in Connecticut. My dad and I visit on summer breaks. We didn’t visit last summer, but I’m pretty sure we went all the rest of the summers. When we go, we go for about ten days. My grandma’s house has a pool, a huge trampoline, and a little playground.
My grandma’s name is Donna, but I call her Grandma Donna. My grandma is unique. She is not like other grandma’s. Grandma Donna runs, jumps, swims, and all other things. It’s really fun to play with her. She wants to be active. Most grandmas like knitting and listening to the radio, stuff like that (at I think so). Grandma Donna is my dad’s mom. My dad takes after his mom, and I hope I take after my dad and my grandma when I’m older.
Running
Running up hill,
Running down hill,
Running on the smooth road,
Running on the scratchy grass,
My grandma’s fast.
It’s like the wind blowing her away
Down the road…
And when she finally gets tired,
She doesn’t even notice that she has gone ten miles.
It’s late now,
And it’s almost dinner time,
So she walks home with the swift wind against her body
And the darkness creeping up behind her.
Liza, Dear Liza, Mexico- by Abbey Cohen
Liza
I eat the fish that I find on the beach. Someone comes by and looks at me--I decide I like them. So I follow them. The tall figure, the dark-haired lady, and the little girl look back and don't expect me to be there. They keep on walking to their house on the beach. They open the door, but don't let me in. They all go inside, except for the little girl. She stays and comforts me as we sit in the fog. A few hours later, the door opens and the tall figure calls, "We are going to town!"
The tall figure, the dark-haired lady, and the little girl hop into the golf cart. "Wait," I think, as the engine goes on. I run after them until the cart stops, and then I hop on. I hop in the front of cart. I mean, a dog needs to be in a comfortable seat.
A few days later, the family leaves. Sometimes I think about them when my puppies are sleeping and hope that they will come back soon.
Dear Liza,
I miss you so much. Sometimes I think about you and remember how much fun we had. It was like being in another world. How are your puppies? I remember you eating your fish like a bear. And I remember you chasing the crab that looked like Sponge Bob. I also remember you fighting that dog, towering over it like a dinosaur trying to protect us. I wish I could fly to you like an eagle. I miss you!
Your friend,
The Little Girl
Mexico
When I was seven, I went to Mexico. We were only there for a week but it felt like a month. I went swimming everyday and I went to town everyday. The town was so small that instead of cars, they used golf carts. The roads weren't even paved--they were sand! Our house was right on the beach.
The second day of our trip, we met a dog that lived on raw fish she found on the beach. Her name was Liza. She was a black lab and was the color of chocolate. She slept on our porch and followed us everywhere we went. She made herself at home in our golf cart. Once it was raining and we had to go pick up my mom and uncle. She wouldn't get out of the front seat, so she made my mom and uncle sit in the back. It was funny because we tried pushing her and she wouldn't move.
I got to drive the golf cart and I got to be a pretty good driver, but sometimes I got a little crazy. Once I was driving and I couldn't reach the brake so my dad had to reach down and do it for me. My dad and I laughed.
It was really hard to leave Liza. I still miss her. She really became a part of our family. I tried to convince my dad to let me keep her, but he said, “No!" I liked Liza just as much as I like my dog. It took forever to get to Mexico and back, but it was definitely worth it.
I eat the fish that I find on the beach. Someone comes by and looks at me--I decide I like them. So I follow them. The tall figure, the dark-haired lady, and the little girl look back and don't expect me to be there. They keep on walking to their house on the beach. They open the door, but don't let me in. They all go inside, except for the little girl. She stays and comforts me as we sit in the fog. A few hours later, the door opens and the tall figure calls, "We are going to town!"
The tall figure, the dark-haired lady, and the little girl hop into the golf cart. "Wait," I think, as the engine goes on. I run after them until the cart stops, and then I hop on. I hop in the front of cart. I mean, a dog needs to be in a comfortable seat.
A few days later, the family leaves. Sometimes I think about them when my puppies are sleeping and hope that they will come back soon.
Dear Liza,
I miss you so much. Sometimes I think about you and remember how much fun we had. It was like being in another world. How are your puppies? I remember you eating your fish like a bear. And I remember you chasing the crab that looked like Sponge Bob. I also remember you fighting that dog, towering over it like a dinosaur trying to protect us. I wish I could fly to you like an eagle. I miss you!
Your friend,
The Little Girl
Mexico
When I was seven, I went to Mexico. We were only there for a week but it felt like a month. I went swimming everyday and I went to town everyday. The town was so small that instead of cars, they used golf carts. The roads weren't even paved--they were sand! Our house was right on the beach.
The second day of our trip, we met a dog that lived on raw fish she found on the beach. Her name was Liza. She was a black lab and was the color of chocolate. She slept on our porch and followed us everywhere we went. She made herself at home in our golf cart. Once it was raining and we had to go pick up my mom and uncle. She wouldn't get out of the front seat, so she made my mom and uncle sit in the back. It was funny because we tried pushing her and she wouldn't move.
I got to drive the golf cart and I got to be a pretty good driver, but sometimes I got a little crazy. Once I was driving and I couldn't reach the brake so my dad had to reach down and do it for me. My dad and I laughed.
It was really hard to leave Liza. I still miss her. She really became a part of our family. I tried to convince my dad to let me keep her, but he said, “No!" I liked Liza just as much as I like my dog. It took forever to get to Mexico and back, but it was definitely worth it.
Charlotte and I- by Leah Kochendoerfer
Dear Charlotte,
Do you remember how much fun we used to have before you moved to Germany? It hasn’t been the same since you left.
From,
Leah
Dear Leah,
I really had a lot of fun playing with you. I’m glad I visited you.
From,
Charlotte
The last time I saw Charlotte was when I went to Germany in July. Before she came I was playing in my grandma’s garden that has flowers that fill her garden with happiness. Suddenly, I heard some voices that my body knew. I thought quick, and then I knew it was Charlotte’s voice and her little sister’s voice. I told my mom and dad and then I ran to the door and I opened it. Charlotte and her family were there. I was so glad to see Charlotte.
I took her upstairs, then I showed her where I sleep at my grandma’s house, which is the bed that my dad’s brother slept in when he was little. Then, I showed her some stairs that lead up to the roof that my grandma has. We went up, and I showed her around.
First, we played with the Barbies that my dad and his siblings had played with when they were little. Charlotte had brought a horseback-riding Barbie that had no horse. She only had horseback-riding clothes and a hat. We pretended that the Barbie I had was a painter. We were lucky because there was a painter’s hat that was red. We played and played, which was really fun.
Next, we pretended that the Barbies were sleeping in a house that was really a barn (except we took out the animals and we got a piece of cloth to put on the barn so the Barbies could sleep in darkness). The Barbies shared a room. When morning came for the Barbies, Charlotte’s went horseback riding while mine painted a picture of a rabbit. Then we wanted to play something else.
I met Charlotte five years ago. Last June, Charlotte and her family moved to Germany. When she left America, I was very sad because I had a very good friendship with her. She was a kind and considerate girl. She is one of my best friends. Even though it was sad when she left, it’s not that sad because every two years I go see my relatives that live in Germany and that means I can see her.
Do you remember how much fun we used to have before you moved to Germany? It hasn’t been the same since you left.
From,
Leah
Dear Leah,
I really had a lot of fun playing with you. I’m glad I visited you.
From,
Charlotte
The last time I saw Charlotte was when I went to Germany in July. Before she came I was playing in my grandma’s garden that has flowers that fill her garden with happiness. Suddenly, I heard some voices that my body knew. I thought quick, and then I knew it was Charlotte’s voice and her little sister’s voice. I told my mom and dad and then I ran to the door and I opened it. Charlotte and her family were there. I was so glad to see Charlotte.
I took her upstairs, then I showed her where I sleep at my grandma’s house, which is the bed that my dad’s brother slept in when he was little. Then, I showed her some stairs that lead up to the roof that my grandma has. We went up, and I showed her around.
First, we played with the Barbies that my dad and his siblings had played with when they were little. Charlotte had brought a horseback-riding Barbie that had no horse. She only had horseback-riding clothes and a hat. We pretended that the Barbie I had was a painter. We were lucky because there was a painter’s hat that was red. We played and played, which was really fun.
Next, we pretended that the Barbies were sleeping in a house that was really a barn (except we took out the animals and we got a piece of cloth to put on the barn so the Barbies could sleep in darkness). The Barbies shared a room. When morning came for the Barbies, Charlotte’s went horseback riding while mine painted a picture of a rabbit. Then we wanted to play something else.
I met Charlotte five years ago. Last June, Charlotte and her family moved to Germany. When she left America, I was very sad because I had a very good friendship with her. She was a kind and considerate girl. She is one of my best friends. Even though it was sad when she left, it’s not that sad because every two years I go see my relatives that live in Germany and that means I can see her.
Lice and Hair- by Jonah Koppelman
LICE
I remember when it was Valentines Day and they pulled me from painting. And I wasn’t worried. My sister at the same time was getting checked and they said we both had lice. They called our mom. They used a comb to try to kill the lice. Then, our mom came and we got the treatment. Then we did the treatment and used a comb. This time it didn’t hurt, as much to check again and there wasn’t anything. Then my dad looked at what the lice looked like on the computer. When I was better, I was so happy. But, I felt bad for my sister because she had lice on her last Valentine’s Day at Berkwood Hedge School. She wanted to dissect a pig’s heart that day and wasn’t able to.
Hair
My dad’s hair is brownish and it’s sort of like separated. It looks really cool and always blows in the air and is kind of short. Only when he gets a haircut, like every month you can see his scalp. When you look from above it grows really long if you wait a long time it will grow long, down to his knees.
I remember when it was Valentines Day and they pulled me from painting. And I wasn’t worried. My sister at the same time was getting checked and they said we both had lice. They called our mom. They used a comb to try to kill the lice. Then, our mom came and we got the treatment. Then we did the treatment and used a comb. This time it didn’t hurt, as much to check again and there wasn’t anything. Then my dad looked at what the lice looked like on the computer. When I was better, I was so happy. But, I felt bad for my sister because she had lice on her last Valentine’s Day at Berkwood Hedge School. She wanted to dissect a pig’s heart that day and wasn’t able to.
Hair
My dad’s hair is brownish and it’s sort of like separated. It looks really cool and always blows in the air and is kind of short. Only when he gets a haircut, like every month you can see his scalp. When you look from above it grows really long if you wait a long time it will grow long, down to his knees.
A Goat’s Perspective- by Jason Hollick
The day my herd got moved to the path that leads to Lawrence Hall of Science, I saw a boy walking to the electric fence. He had long hair like wire. I also saw his dad. The boy kept looking at us and stopped at me. P.S. He was about three years old.
Suddenly, I realized I was hungry for green grass. Oh ya, I forgot I have one white ear like snow, one black ear like a crow, a black body, a white tail, brown eyes and brown horns.
Now back to the story. I think the boy could read my mind because he reached down on the other side of the electric fence and picked some green grass. He threw it over and I ate it. And he kept bending down and kept picking green grass. And I kept eating.
Suddenly, I realized I was hungry for green grass. Oh ya, I forgot I have one white ear like snow, one black ear like a crow, a black body, a white tail, brown eyes and brown horns.
Now back to the story. I think the boy could read my mind because he reached down on the other side of the electric fence and picked some green grass. He threw it over and I ate it. And he kept bending down and kept picking green grass. And I kept eating.
The Garden At Marlborough Terrace- by Joseph
The garden at Marlborough Terrace is like a geode, rocky and dull on the outside, but luminous and beautiful within. I remember the geodes that I collected long ago. The ones I displayed in the garden always seemed to glow. (Only I know they are there.) The vibrant oranges, reds, and greens stood out to me. I also remember the brilliant yellows and blues. Next to last, the royal purple, bright shining, like a warm night. Even murky browns and pitch-dark blacks. I remember shaking the box they were in and hearing the gentle clacks. The luminous things are reflecting light everywhere in the garden, like a crystal hanging from a string, endlessly turning and never going out of its orbit.
The garden is small but plentiful, limited but wide. Hummingbirds flit in and out. Sometimes it feels like it is impossible not to wonder when I’m inside. The outside is an illusion, but it is real within--like the hummingbird nest made of twisted vines that look like green snakes entwined.
Every time I go in the garden, I feel imaginative and forever safe. It has changed my life in the way I appreciate nature.
The garden is small but plentiful, limited but wide. Hummingbirds flit in and out. Sometimes it feels like it is impossible not to wonder when I’m inside. The outside is an illusion, but it is real within--like the hummingbird nest made of twisted vines that look like green snakes entwined.
Every time I go in the garden, I feel imaginative and forever safe. It has changed my life in the way I appreciate nature.
Swimming and Diving at Camp Casadero- by Uma Fry-Demetria
Once I went to Camp Casadero, there was a really cool pool there. By the way, Camp Casadero is a 2ND grade over night field trip. I basically learned how to dive there, but I kind of already knew. I already know how to do pin drops, canon balls, and regular diving, just not off a diving board.
When I stood at the front of the diving board I felt like the President or like I just got a big part in the school play. I felt so proud, happy, and responsible, but also nervous, scared, and like I had butterflies in my stomach. The voice inside my head said, "Oh my,” Then, I heard my mom and friends chanting my name. The voice inside me said, "Stop it, Uma,” and surprisingly the diving board answered, "No, don't stop, just think whatever you need to think."
There that moment, I put my arms up and glued them to my ears. I closed my eyes and then opened them. I wrapped my toes around the end of the diving board and all the chanting went out of my mind. I couldn't hear but it was till going on.
I heard my friends Dewi and Sana yell my name. They told me to go for it, if I wanted to. I didn't answer, but I answered in my head, yes. The diving board felt ready. I said, "Let's do this,” to the diving board. The board sprung up into the air. I closed my eyes and my head hit first. I landed a perfect dive. After my whole body was underwater I felt a pain all over. I was shaking so hard, even underwater. I wanted to come up to the surface so bad, but I couldn't move. It was too cold to move. But, I forced myself the surface and I grabbed for the ladder and pulled myself up. When Dewi asked how it was, I said, "CCCCcold,” in a shaky voice. Everyone laughed.
When I look back at that memory I stroke my beard. Just kidding. I remember how I felt scared at first and all of my friends were chanting me on even if they didn't know how to dive. But after I felt happy and brave. I loved that moment when me, Sana, Dewi, Chaia, and Leah were sitting in the sun and talking and eating a snack. Now, I'm in 3rd grade. I love 3rd grade but I still love the moment in 2ND grade at Camp Casadero.
When I stood at the front of the diving board I felt like the President or like I just got a big part in the school play. I felt so proud, happy, and responsible, but also nervous, scared, and like I had butterflies in my stomach. The voice inside my head said, "Oh my,” Then, I heard my mom and friends chanting my name. The voice inside me said, "Stop it, Uma,” and surprisingly the diving board answered, "No, don't stop, just think whatever you need to think."
There that moment, I put my arms up and glued them to my ears. I closed my eyes and then opened them. I wrapped my toes around the end of the diving board and all the chanting went out of my mind. I couldn't hear but it was till going on.
I heard my friends Dewi and Sana yell my name. They told me to go for it, if I wanted to. I didn't answer, but I answered in my head, yes. The diving board felt ready. I said, "Let's do this,” to the diving board. The board sprung up into the air. I closed my eyes and my head hit first. I landed a perfect dive. After my whole body was underwater I felt a pain all over. I was shaking so hard, even underwater. I wanted to come up to the surface so bad, but I couldn't move. It was too cold to move. But, I forced myself the surface and I grabbed for the ladder and pulled myself up. When Dewi asked how it was, I said, "CCCCcold,” in a shaky voice. Everyone laughed.
When I look back at that memory I stroke my beard. Just kidding. I remember how I felt scared at first and all of my friends were chanting me on even if they didn't know how to dive. But after I felt happy and brave. I loved that moment when me, Sana, Dewi, Chaia, and Leah were sitting in the sun and talking and eating a snack. Now, I'm in 3rd grade. I love 3rd grade but I still love the moment in 2ND grade at Camp Casadero.
Bambaloogy- by Naama Weksler
My hamster lives on the other side of the galaxy. I will never see her again. I cried for two hours when I heard the news that she died.
But I also remember the story of how I got her, and I will tell you. Well, it all started when we went to Lucky Dog Pet Shop. There were parrots, rats, and mice, white as the moon. But I knew I wanted a hamster. I walked over to the hamster cage and there were about ten hamsters curled up in a purple hamster ball. She was at the bottom, a little coffee cream ball, not like the others. My parents talked to the man at the counter. He came over and lifted the purple ball like it was a plum. Nine hamsters ran out, but Bambaloogy stayed right where she was. I said, “That one!” We got her cage and went home.
Bambaloogy was a genius. Whenever I opened her cage, she would come running to me. The first time, my friend Uma saw it happen. She said, “Whoa!” and fed Bambaloogy some sunflower seeds. She was so tiny, about as big as two scrumptious marshmallows. She never bit me, not even once. Bamboloogy was my best friend in the world. She was my “Beeny Deen, the Little Queen”!
But I also remember the story of how I got her, and I will tell you. Well, it all started when we went to Lucky Dog Pet Shop. There were parrots, rats, and mice, white as the moon. But I knew I wanted a hamster. I walked over to the hamster cage and there were about ten hamsters curled up in a purple hamster ball. She was at the bottom, a little coffee cream ball, not like the others. My parents talked to the man at the counter. He came over and lifted the purple ball like it was a plum. Nine hamsters ran out, but Bambaloogy stayed right where she was. I said, “That one!” We got her cage and went home.
Bambaloogy was a genius. Whenever I opened her cage, she would come running to me. The first time, my friend Uma saw it happen. She said, “Whoa!” and fed Bambaloogy some sunflower seeds. She was so tiny, about as big as two scrumptious marshmallows. She never bit me, not even once. Bamboloogy was my best friend in the world. She was my “Beeny Deen, the Little Queen”!
I remember- by Adrian Shore
I was skateboarding wearing Keens on Friday. Keens are a type of comfortable shoes. I only skateboard on Fridays, Sundays, and Wednesdays.
My Keens were strapped onto my skateboard, so I could jump, but the trucks got stuck and I couldn’t turn. I was freaked. I was calling out for help like a wild boar trapped in a cage. I was heading for a pole. “Mama, Mama,” I called, but she didn’t come. Of course, my mom didn’t come because she was at a party across the street. I was sad that she didn’t come because I was very scared.
Then, after that, well, that’s my secret. I learned not to skateboard in Keens again because it’s not worth the silent scream of agony. And besides, I don’t skateboard. I don’t want to ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever again—except for sometimes. Well, I don’t really know if I do or not. Maybe, maybe not.
My Keens were strapped onto my skateboard, so I could jump, but the trucks got stuck and I couldn’t turn. I was freaked. I was calling out for help like a wild boar trapped in a cage. I was heading for a pole. “Mama, Mama,” I called, but she didn’t come. Of course, my mom didn’t come because she was at a party across the street. I was sad that she didn’t come because I was very scared.
Then, after that, well, that’s my secret. I learned not to skateboard in Keens again because it’s not worth the silent scream of agony. And besides, I don’t skateboard. I don’t want to ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever again—except for sometimes. Well, I don’t really know if I do or not. Maybe, maybe not.
A Special Home by Dewi Zarni
I first lived in D.C., then Chicago, then Berkeley, (which some people call Berzerkeley). My favorite was D.C. I loved the snow all white; it was like the clouds had dandruff. I was six months old. We lived in a big house that we shared with our friends. I slept in a white room with wall-to-wall carpet that had a little slide near my bed. I had all my friends down the hall, and my godmother across the street. We had a pink cherry blossom tree outside and it looked magical in the spring. There was a group of kids who lived across the street and whose parents neglected them because their families were poor. Their parents had to always work. So my mom let them come over and play. One kid's brother was in a wheelchair and his parents put him on the street to watch the cars go by.
My friend Lila (she was seven), liked to press the ice machine until there was a pile of nearly melted ice for someone to clean up. But, nobody noticed because I was going on the slide with my friends from across the street and my mom was trying to get me to say mama, "Say Mama, Say Mama" which I finally said. She looked like she was going to sing Joy to the World.
Then Chicago. My room was almost the same; except for I had more Spanish things because of my Spanish speaking babysitter. My mom told her to mostly speak Spanish to me so I would learn. The other thing I had in my room was my own boom box so I could play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Then last was Berkeley. When we moved from Chicago all our friends from D.C. moved to Berkeley. So I almost knew everybody on my block. I'm not going to tell you anymore about Berkeley because that story hasn't ended yet and I hope it never will.
My friend Lila (she was seven), liked to press the ice machine until there was a pile of nearly melted ice for someone to clean up. But, nobody noticed because I was going on the slide with my friends from across the street and my mom was trying to get me to say mama, "Say Mama, Say Mama" which I finally said. She looked like she was going to sing Joy to the World.
Then Chicago. My room was almost the same; except for I had more Spanish things because of my Spanish speaking babysitter. My mom told her to mostly speak Spanish to me so I would learn. The other thing I had in my room was my own boom box so I could play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Then last was Berkeley. When we moved from Chicago all our friends from D.C. moved to Berkeley. So I almost knew everybody on my block. I'm not going to tell you anymore about Berkeley because that story hasn't ended yet and I hope it never will.
The Home on Magnolia Street by Adam Stein
The home on Magnolia Street was very small. It was small like a classroom. But, if you went inside it seemed big. My sister always was calling for me, “Adam, Adam!” “What,” I would say. She wanted to go to my next-door neighbor’s house because they had a trampoline.
We always would go and bounce at my neighbor’s house. My neighbor, Sophie shared her backyard with us. My sister and I would ask our dad or our baby-sitter to jump really high. Boing! Woo Hoo!
Then my mom would call us in for dinner. Sometimes Sophie would have dinner with us. For dinner we always had noodles and Sophie’s favorite food was noodles.
The home on Magnolia Street was special to me because we got to the neighbor’s house and they got to come to ours. This made us become good friends.
Sometimes, I still see Sophie and go over to her backyard, even though I live far away now. Once she came over to Berkeley and came into our new backyard.
The new house in Berkeley has a garden and there are pods hanging from the trees. But, it’s still not as special as the house on Magnolia Street. Maybe, it will be special to me one day.
We always would go and bounce at my neighbor’s house. My neighbor, Sophie shared her backyard with us. My sister and I would ask our dad or our baby-sitter to jump really high. Boing! Woo Hoo!
Then my mom would call us in for dinner. Sometimes Sophie would have dinner with us. For dinner we always had noodles and Sophie’s favorite food was noodles.
The home on Magnolia Street was special to me because we got to the neighbor’s house and they got to come to ours. This made us become good friends.
Sometimes, I still see Sophie and go over to her backyard, even though I live far away now. Once she came over to Berkeley and came into our new backyard.
The new house in Berkeley has a garden and there are pods hanging from the trees. But, it’s still not as special as the house on Magnolia Street. Maybe, it will be special to me one day.
My Grandfather by Sana Azim
My grandfather was part of the government that helped the lives of people from the Maldives. My grandfather was very young at this time. He built schools and educated people--it was like the whole world was on his shoulders. This happened when my country changed from kind to president. But that didn’t stop him from doing anything. He kept doing what he did and now all the people in the Maldives are smart and kind. But that’s not where the story ends.
There was a horrible president. He locked up my family and my mom was left alone in the house at 12 years old. My family had to write on their clothing while they were in jail. They wrote secretly so the police wouldn’t see, and then sent the clothing out. Everybody that was there in my house would try to read the clothes. I still don’t know what the clothes said.
The weird thing was that the president sent my family to jail for no reason. But, now they have gotten out and my house is full of happiness. I know the president will try to strike again, but I’m praying that he won’t. Since my country is so small, it will be easy for him to find us. He might try, but he won’t. I pray as hard as I can every night, and since my prayers have hit the sky so hard, I know he won’t get us. But I know he won’t quit, either. I try to visit the Maldives every year to see if everybody is okay because the people in my family are the best friends they could ever be—they are my family.
My Reflection:
I remember when my mom told me how my family got locked up in jail for doing a good deed. But the president didn’t care about that, all he cares about is himself and that’s the thing that makes me mad because I am the opposite of him and I care about my family. I never want to see them suffering, hurt, or crying.
I care about my country, the Maldives because it is my home and I will never forget it. The special things in the Maldives are what fill my heart with love.
So that night I prayed that the president would stop being so mean to my family. Since my prayers hit the sky so hard, I know they will come true. I know I will get an answer. Some day it will hit me and that day is now.
There was a horrible president. He locked up my family and my mom was left alone in the house at 12 years old. My family had to write on their clothing while they were in jail. They wrote secretly so the police wouldn’t see, and then sent the clothing out. Everybody that was there in my house would try to read the clothes. I still don’t know what the clothes said.
The weird thing was that the president sent my family to jail for no reason. But, now they have gotten out and my house is full of happiness. I know the president will try to strike again, but I’m praying that he won’t. Since my country is so small, it will be easy for him to find us. He might try, but he won’t. I pray as hard as I can every night, and since my prayers have hit the sky so hard, I know he won’t get us. But I know he won’t quit, either. I try to visit the Maldives every year to see if everybody is okay because the people in my family are the best friends they could ever be—they are my family.
My Reflection:
I remember when my mom told me how my family got locked up in jail for doing a good deed. But the president didn’t care about that, all he cares about is himself and that’s the thing that makes me mad because I am the opposite of him and I care about my family. I never want to see them suffering, hurt, or crying.
I care about my country, the Maldives because it is my home and I will never forget it. The special things in the Maldives are what fill my heart with love.
So that night I prayed that the president would stop being so mean to my family. Since my prayers hit the sky so hard, I know they will come true. I know I will get an answer. Some day it will hit me and that day is now.
Stuart’s Shoes- by Stuart Muerth
Hi, I’m Stuart’s shoes. I will tell you about my life. At 8:30a.m., Stuart wakes me up, and we walk to school (or his mom drives). Except on Saturdays and Sundays, we stay home.
Back to the story... when we get to school, I walk in on the carpet, then stand on the cold floor while Stuart puts his lunch away. Then finally, I settle in on the carpet for class. I usually can’t wait until break. It’s my second favorite time of the day. My favorite is lunch!
The first thing I like about lunch is that it’s an hour long. The second reason I like it is I get to run around and play games. I like to be outside, doing whatever I want.
At the end of the day, I’m tired. Stuart takes his last steps on me as we enter the front door. He uses his toe to push me off his foot. I go to sleep on the shoe rack at 3:10, 2:10, 5:31, or 8:00, depending on the day.
Back to the story... when we get to school, I walk in on the carpet, then stand on the cold floor while Stuart puts his lunch away. Then finally, I settle in on the carpet for class. I usually can’t wait until break. It’s my second favorite time of the day. My favorite is lunch!
The first thing I like about lunch is that it’s an hour long. The second reason I like it is I get to run around and play games. I like to be outside, doing whatever I want.
At the end of the day, I’m tired. Stuart takes his last steps on me as we enter the front door. He uses his toe to push me off his foot. I go to sleep on the shoe rack at 3:10, 2:10, 5:31, or 8:00, depending on the day.
Sara Cline’s Free Concert--by Elliott Jones
I was first inspired to become a trombonist by my uncle, he was a trombonist and he was a little older than I am now. He was a really good trombonist and that’s what inspired me to be a trombonist. My uncle let me try out playing it. I liked it.
It was Christmas so he gave it to me. I took it home. My mom thought it would be one of those things that would just hang around the house. But, no, I wanted to take lessons and so we arranged for that to happen.
We found my teacher on the Internet. It was fun because I was going to become a trombonist. At first, I was scared but soon I overcame my fear. Soon, the first day of trombone lessons came. I met my teacher. Her name was Sara Cline. I could tell I was going to have a good time in her studio.
When the end of the lesson came my mom got sold a book. It was the book I had been playing out of throughout the lesson. It was called Ed Seuta Band Method Book 1.
I could play very loud and very soft. I like putting my mouth on the mouthpiece. It feels like I’m putting my mouth on a metal thingy (which is exactly what I am doing).
A trombone is a trombone, not a mini tuba. But, still when I play it, I feel like I’m playing one. It feels good to play trombone. It’s satisfying.
Later in the year, my teacher was in a concert. I wrote a poem.
It went like this:
The music sounded like a musical,
It was weird,
Even though somebody had a beard.
It was fun,
So afterward we went to eat a bun.
It was Christmas so he gave it to me. I took it home. My mom thought it would be one of those things that would just hang around the house. But, no, I wanted to take lessons and so we arranged for that to happen.
We found my teacher on the Internet. It was fun because I was going to become a trombonist. At first, I was scared but soon I overcame my fear. Soon, the first day of trombone lessons came. I met my teacher. Her name was Sara Cline. I could tell I was going to have a good time in her studio.
When the end of the lesson came my mom got sold a book. It was the book I had been playing out of throughout the lesson. It was called Ed Seuta Band Method Book 1.
I could play very loud and very soft. I like putting my mouth on the mouthpiece. It feels like I’m putting my mouth on a metal thingy (which is exactly what I am doing).
A trombone is a trombone, not a mini tuba. But, still when I play it, I feel like I’m playing one. It feels good to play trombone. It’s satisfying.
Later in the year, my teacher was in a concert. I wrote a poem.
It went like this:
The music sounded like a musical,
It was weird,
Even though somebody had a beard.
It was fun,
So afterward we went to eat a bun.
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