Writing Celebration 2013 Anthology

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present the San Luis Obispo County

Writing Celebration 2013 From

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From Heart to Hand An Anthology (grades 1-12)

To the Community, It is again my pleasure to CONGRATULATE our writers, their families and teachers who are recognized in this anthology.

This year’s publication,“From Heart to Hand,” marks the 34th year of the Writing Celebration in San Luis Obispo County. This book is filled with narratives and poetry that are excellent examples of the creative expression of our students. Over one-hundred authors have shared their feelings, insights, expressions and descriptive language in the construction of their winning entries.

I would like to give special thanks to ARTS Obispo for their generous contribution in publishing this year’s compilation of writings.

Sincerely,

Julian D. Crocker County Superintendent of Schools

To the Community: We are delighted to partner with the San Luis Obispo County Office of Education to make certain that the annual Countywide Writing Celebration would have funding this year. In addition, the compilation of all of the student winners’ writing was a labor of love by ARTS Obispo staff.

The mission of ARTS Obispo is to promote the visual, literary and performing arts throughout San Luis Obispo County, and supporting education is one of our major programs. We were so happy to work with the County Office of Education to make sure this celebration of effort and excellence in student writing at all grade levels did not disappear. We are so thankful for those in the community who supported these efforts: business partners, parents, teachers, writers, readers, art lovers and artists.

Not only did our community step up with donations, but many volunteered to be on the panel of judges who spent many hours selecting the best entries from the County schools. ARTS Obispo Board members, staff and volunteers are proud to help present this year’s celebration of literary arts!

We thank those teachers who coached their students so well and congratulate those students who have expressed themselves so confidently and creatively!

Sincerely,

Mary Kay Harrington

Mary Kay Harrington, President ARTS Obispo Board of Directors

Table of Contents ABOUT THE WRITING CELEBRATION................... page 1 EXPOSITORY WRITING............................................... page 3 IMAGINATIVE NARRATIVE.................................... page 28 PERSONAL EXPERIENCE.......................................... page 52 POETRY.......................................................................... page 78 TEACHERS AS WRITERS........................................... page 91 THANK YOU................................................................ page 93

ABOUT THE

Writing Celebration 2013 Objectives 1.

2.

3.

4.

To generate student writing To provide a broad audience for student writing To encourage and support instruction of the writing process at all grade levels To recognize effort and excellence in student writing at the school, district, and county levels

Participation Students from all San Luis Obispo County schools, both public and private, are encouraged to participate in the Writing celebration. Each district is invited to select winners in the following divisions to participate in the county-wide competition: • Regular Education Grades 1 through 12 – three entries for each category for each grade level • Special Education – as many as twelve entries for each category or grade level • Second Language Learners – one entry per grade level in each of the four categories, written in English by English language learners Student entries in each division were judged independently of entries in the other two division.

Teachers referred to the California Language Arts Standards and Reading Language Arts Frameworks for guidance for instruction. Judges used a scoring rubric that reflected these standards. The entries published in this book represent the judges’ selection of the best writing by students within each division for this competition.

Staff attempted to retain original content, style, and voice as submitted by the authors. Some spelling, punctuation, and minor format changes have been made. Creative writers, in order to achieve a specific effect and voice, sometimes set aside formal rules of punctuation and grammar.

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Categories Poetry

There is no specified form or length for the poetry category. The format for the poetry is entirely dependent upon the writer’s choices. Meaning is central to a poem. Form and rhythm are characteristics, which differentiate poetry from prose writing. Exemplary poems might show levels or originality, style, insights/feelings, creativity, depth, imagery, colorful vocabulary, similes, metaphors, and/or personification. Response to literature may serve as inspiration for an original piece.

Personal Experience Narratives

This category includes: • Autobiographical Narration – a specific occurrence in the writer’s life • Biographical Narration – portrays a person, who is significant to the writer, through incidents and descriptions rich in detail.

• Response to Composition – may resemble an autobiography but focuses on the significance of personal experiences and/or concerns. The writer relates the incident to more abstract ideas that illustrates the writer’s important beliefs or generalizations about life.

• Response to Literature – may be a reflective composition, which describes the effect a specific piece of literature has had on the author’s own thinking and/or experience.

Imaginative Narratives

The forms in this category my include short stories or plays. Generally, the writing shows a central conflict between characters or between a character and the environment. It should have a beginning, a middle including events or actions that develop the story line, and an ending that successfully concludes the story. Point of view may be either first or third person. Dialogue and description may be used.

An imaginative narrative may be a response to literature and be rewritten from a different perspective, a new direction for the plot using existing characters or a new ending may be created, the setting and time frame may be changed, or the story may be rewritten as a parody.

Expository Writing

This category follows the California Language Arts Frameworks and Standards providing a continuum of expository writing skills from the first through twelfth grade.

• Grade One – descriptions of real object, person, place or event • Grade Three – descriptions that use concrete sensory details to present and support unified impressions of people, places, things or experiences.

• Grade Six, Nine, and Ten – Persuasive compositions • Grades Nine and Ten – Analytical essays • Response to Literature – Essays that demonstrate an understanding of a literary work (grades four through twelve)

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The winning entries in this publication have been compiled and assembled by ARTS Obispo. Contributions from our generous donors (listed on page 109) have paid for this publication and the Writing Celebration, held May 20, 2013, at Laguna Middle School.

Expository

The Arts in Education California is falling behind. For the past thirty years arts education in California’s schools has been disappearing at an alarming rate. Only 11% of the public schools are meeting state goals for arts instruction. The state’s recent fiscal crisis has resulted in still more dramatic cuts to visual and performing arts education programs.

(The California Alliance for Arts Education)

How I Eat a Gingerbread Cookie!

First, I would bite off his feet so he couldn’t run away.

Second, I would bite off his head so he couldn’t see me eat him.

Third, I would chomp his cheeks off so he couldn’t say, “Run, run, as fast as you can’t catch me because I’m the Gingerbread Man” Brenda Aguirre, First Grade Teacher: Kirsten Atkison Dorothea Lange Elementary; LMUSD How to Get Ready For Santa When Santa comes this year do you know how to get ready? Well if you don’t know, I will tell you how if you listen to me.

First, make sure your stockings are up on the wall. Then you need to have a Christmas tree up in the living room. If you have a porch, like me, then you can make a batch of oatmeal and put it on your porch for the reindeer. They love oatmeal.

Also, if you are a little kid like me you might want to sleep in your mom and dad’s upstairs bedroom on the floor. If they sleep downstairs that would be good too. This helps because you can wake them up early in the morning. Then overnight if you were good, Santa will come to your house. And in the morning all of your house will be wrapped up and you get to unwrap it. Merry Christmas to all!

Samantha Luchetta, First Grade Teacher: Jennifer Jenison Pacheco; SLCUSD How to Ride a Horse Chapter 1: How to Get Ready You get the horse out of the paddock. Then walk into the crossties. Brush the horse with a curry comb.

After you curry comb, the body brush the horse. Hoof pick the horse’s hoof.

Chapter 2: How to Tack Up Go to the tack room. Find your horse’s tack. First put the saddle pad on the horse’s back. Then put the saddle over the saddle pad. Strap the girth to the saddle. Then put the bridle on the horse.

Chapter 3: How to ride First get on the horse. Put your feet in the stirrups. Then check the girth. If it is tight enough, click and ride! You can walk, trot, canter, or gallop.

Glossary Paddock- place where horses run Crossties - where you brush a horse Curry comb - a brush that gets all the tangles out before you body brush Body Brush - a brush that gets the dirt and hair off the horse Hoof pick - a thing to pick dirt, rocks, and mud out of a hoof Bridle - part of the horse’s tack that goes on its head Stirrup - part of a saddle that you put your feet in Tack - saddle and bridle Ivy Scott, First Grade Teacher: Rebecca Wallstrum Bellevue Santa Fe; SLCUSD Page 3

All You Need to Catch a Bat

Imagine you’re a little bat flying along in the woods and you crash into something soft. It’s a mist net! Mist nets are a safe way to capture flying animals if they are set up properly. Usually mist nets are used to catch birds and bats. Scientists mark the animals they captured and set them free.

Then, they come back and hope to get the same animal to study it. They can see if the animals are healthy, if there are more or less of them, and other scientific questions they have. Did you know that scientists who study birds are called ornithologists, but that bat scientists don’t really have a special fancy name? One source suggested Batman, but that’s silly!

Mist nets are made out of nylon mesh. The nylon is so thin that the bats cannot see the netting from far away. When the mist nets are put up the right way, they are almost invisible - they look like a big volleyball net. Mist nets are never put on the ground, otherwise someone could trip over them or get tangled up in them. They always are put up high, usually in between tree branches because that is where the bats and birds fly. When the mist nets are up, someone always needs to watch them, so that when a bat or bird flies into the net, it doesn’t get tangled in the netting. If it gets tangled in the netting, the scientist has to cut the mist net. It is hard to untangle it without scissors since the netting is so thin and delicate. They have to be really careful when they have to cut the mist nets because the scientists do not want to hurt the animal, especially it’s wings.

Mist nets are an important tool for helping us learn more about bats and birds. I hope you enjoyed learning about them.

Sophia Pitrowski, Second Grade Teacher: Betsy Schaffer Bellevue Santa Fe; SLCUSD A Letter From a Platypus Dear Scholar, I am so different from you. You are a person and I am a Duck-billed Platypus. Let me tell you how and why we are so unlike.

First, I have closeable nostrils on my long, flat bill. I have them, so when I go into the water, I can close them so I don’t get muddy water up my nostrils. You don’t need them because when you swim in a pool, you can plug your nose.

Also, I live in a narrow, tight, burrow, so at night, predators don’t find me wen I am sleeping and my babies are kept safe. You don’t need a burrow to sleep in, because you have a large, calm house to stay safe.

Finally, I have webbed feet. I have them to help me swim faster so predators in the water don’t eat me. You don’t need webs, because you have feet to walk on.

Now you know how I am different from you. Even though we are different, we are both special.

Sincerely Yours,

Duck-billed Platypus Ryley Reynolds, Second Grade Teacher: Marcia Janich Ocean View; LMUSD Amazing Pugs

Have you ever heard of a cute animal called a pug? Pugs are my most favorite animal in the world. First, pugs only have two teeth. The two teeth are on the top of the mouth. A pug’s snout is really floppy. It’s like a chin but its drooping down. Pugs come in different sizes. Some pugs are big, some are small, some are short, some are tall. There are some adult pugs that can be really small. They are as big as a large cat. Also, pugs come in different colors. Usually, pugs are beige but some are black and white. Pugs come from China. They are a Chinese dog. Pugs live 12-14 years. In people years they live 84-98 years. Pugs weigh 24-25 pounds. That’s a lot of weight for a pug. They need to live indoors.

They like to stay warm and dry. Third, pugs have flat faces covered with wrinkles. They need to stay Page 4

clean. Sometimes dirt can get into their wrinkles. If dirt gets into their wrinkles they can get sick. Pugs like to chew on chew toys. They chew on the toys to make their teeth strong so they can eat meat, bones, and even more chew toys! Pugs need to drink lots of water and eat lots of food.

Pugs are caring pets. They visit hospitals to cheer people up. I read in a book about how a guy in a wheel chair had a pug on his lap and it made him smile. Pugs are brave dogs even though they are really small. Love from their owners keeps them happy. That’s why I adore pugs.

Holly Schmitt, Second Grade Teacher: Jill Banfield and Julia O’Connor Pacheco Schmitt; SLCUSD Baby Brother

Baby brother was born in a hospital where the doctors and nurses could help my mom. When Haru was born, he looked cute. Every time he laughed, he reminds me of a horse. Just like my Dad, my baby brother has ticklish feet. When I tickle the bottoms of their feet, they move their feet up. Now that he is one, he is still cute like when he was born. As you can see, he is a very precious thing.

Before he was born, he was in my mom’s tummy. I had to bring my mom a lot of stuff. I brought her a blanket and a pillow. As a result, my baby brother was a handful. He is now one year old. He takes naps, he crawls, and he walks. One, two, three, four, five...then he sits down after he walks. He plays with Dad, Mom, and me. Haru likes to go outside and play with the rocks and balls.

Baby brother sleeps with Mom and Dad; he drinks Mom’s milk. He has an excellent time with my family. To sum it up, it’s a hard job to take care of a baby!

Most of the time, baby brother is a trouble maker, he throws things, rolls toilet paper, and he pulls trash bags out of the trash can. Haru tries to pull the sleeve of my mom’s jacket off the chair, he tries to get his own jacket, but he can’t, and he tries to get the key off the hook. In conclusion, that is how baby brother makes trouble, but I love my baby brother!

Rio Fukatsu, Third Grade Teacher: Mary Ann Britton Del Mar Elementary; SLCUSD My Ethiopian Friend Violet

My friend Violet Hamdiya Brown came from Ethiopia to America. Her name in Ethiopia was Hamdiya. She has been in America for eight months. In Ethiopia it was dirty. She had her mom but not her dad because he died. When she lived with her mom, her mom washed her clothes by hand.

Then she lived in the orphanage because her mom and dad died. She has ripped clothes and had to share clothes with other kids in the orphanage.

Things are different in Ethiopia than America. In Ethiopia at the orphanage school they don’t have any math. They had desks that were tables at the orphanage school. She had Barbies in the orphanage like we do, but that was her only toy. Life is different in America because she gets better clothes and shoes, and different food.

Her American mom and dad came and adopted her. She felt scared and excited. She thought it was beautiful coming to America. Her new family is fun and nice and likes to help her learn new things. Her family helped her learn how to talk and play soccer and ride a horse. They taught her how to get dressed and take a shower. It was really hard for her to learn English. Learning English is the hardest thing for her since she came to America. She made new friends like Grace, Alexus and Sierra, and got a better life.

Violet misses her friends in Ethiopia sometimes, and wishes she could go back and see them.

If she went back she would play with her friends. In America it was scary and fun and the other kids helped her and made her feel better. I have learned that Violet is a great person and a good friend.

Grace Knight, Third Grade Teacher: Laurie Ingham Dana Elementary; LMUSD Page 5

Martin Luther King, Jr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as a great man. He believed in love and peace. He believed in a kind heart.

He was a loving minister and a great dad. He was also a great speaker. He was short for what he believed at the age of 39. He liked to speak so whites would believe in peace. One of the things he said was “our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Some whites listened and many black too. He started a big march that made many more whites believe. Many black were hurt by tear gas and beaten by cops because they were protesting, but it was worth it because they got more rights. Martin Luther inspired many people that they should have equal rights and said “Never, never be afraid to do what’s right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.” It’s easier to be bad than it is to be good, and Martin Luther King, Jr. made a great choice by choosing to be good and stand up for what he believed.

Maddison Maddaleno, Third Grade Teacher: Andrea Jacobson Harloe Elementary; LMUSD Hiking in Lime Kiln Lime Kiln State Park is absolutely breath taking. It is located in Big Sur, California. This location is about one hour and a half away from where I live in Los Osos, California. It’s along a narrow and very twisty road. The drop is approximately 1,000 feet down to the ocean shore. This place is awesome; you are surrounded by thousands of extremely tall, at least 1,000 year old redwood trees. To sum it up, Lime Kiln is amazing!

The trails in Lime Kiln are called Salmon Creek, the Lime Kiln Mines, the Waterfall, and the Fairy Pond. About every trail you go on, there is poison oak so BE CAREFUL! There are very narrow paths along these trails as well as mossy, slippery, slimy rocks. If you are not careful, you will slip due to the rocks. If you walk straight and don’t get crazy you will be fine. All and all, my favorite trail is the Lime Kiln Mines because you get to see an actual mining place where they mined lime kiln.

Some of the plants and animals that live in Lime Kiln are: bats, bears, bees, ticks, black widows, birds, snakes, fish, and mountain lions. If you see bears or mountain lions, here are some tips for you.

Play dead if you see a bear and lay on the ground until it is gone. For mountain lions it is the exact opposite. You want to make a lot of noise and look as big as you can! One of the plants you will find there is...poison oak as mention in the writing above. There are also clovers, ferns, boysenberries, and black berries. As a result, Lime Kiln is a very wild place.

Some of the supplies that you will need for this journey are: food, water, a walking stick, a pocket knife, and a back pack. The clothing you must wear is a long sleeved shirt, a long pair of sweat pants, hiking shoes and a jacket. A back pack is necessary to hold most of the supplies. In conclusion, Lime Kiln is my favorite place to hike.

Jaeden Roski, Third Grade Teacher: Mary Ann Britton Del Mar Elementary; SLCUSD Eggroll for Breakfast One afternoon we were sitting at home and our family decided to enter a contest. The grand prize winner would win a trip to the Baishan Zoo in China. A few days later, my mom heard the phone ring. She looked at the number and said, “Hey it is the Sweepstakes number!”

She answered it and a man said, “Congratulations Aguirre family! You have won a trip to China!” We were told to pack fast because we were leaving the next day. The flight was long, but we were anxious about what the next couple of days were going to be like. Once we were settled at our hotel, we could hardly wait to go to the zoo and see the baby orangutans. After visiting the zoo for a couple hours, we decided to leave. On way out, we noticed a sign on the wall that read: PLEASE HELP OUR ZOO FIND OUR VERY RARE MISSING BABY ORANGUTAN NAMED EGGROLL. REWARD 3,000 REMBINIS.

That night after we were finishing up dinner, we all started talking about how great it would be to find that missing orangutan. We decided to do some research to learn more about them. We Page 6

found out that orangutan’s bodies are unique in many ways. Their arms are 11/2 times as long as their legs and both are very strong. They move through the forest using their very flexible shoulder muscles as they swing from tree to tree. If the Orangutan wasn’t covered in bright orange hair, it would look more like a chimpanzee. An adult male can weigh as much as 300 lbs, and the female about half that weight. These great facts helped us on our search for baby Eggroll.

We wondered what it would be like to encounter an Orangutan. Were they going to be friendly or aggressive? Their teeth are very similar to humans, so they can eat meat and plants. The lips are important because they can feel the texture of fruit and not get poked. Their skeleton is adapted to live in trees. They carry their babies in their arms just like humans. Just like humans, fingerprints are a good way to identify Orangutans as well. An orangutan’s jaws are much stronger and larger than humans. Some of their favorite fruits have hard shells. With all of these facts we realized it would be dangerous to search alone.

Finally we larned about their diet. They aren’t adapted to eating some spiny fruit, so they pick off the spines with the fingers and toes. Orangutans make tools to help them poke or stab the food they want. Some of their favorite foods are jackfruit, figs, and they also eat nuts. Every hour they are awake they search for food. They have very healthy diets.

The next morning we went out for breakfast. I ordered some eggrolls with a side of jack fruit. I was looking towards the kitchen and I noticed an orange monkey with a chef’s hat on, and it was Eggroll! I was amazed because he was cooking! No wonder he was so rare. I grabbed his hand, and he was very friendly. We took him back to the zoo where we received our reward of $3,000. We decided to donate half of the money back to the zoo to help fund future Orangutan research and used the rest to enjoy a comfy seat in first class on our long flight back home.

I would like to go back to Borneo someday, and visit Eggroll, and learn more about these amazing creatures.

Anthony Aguirre, Fourth Grade Teacher: Liz Johnson Branch Elementary; LMUSD La Mission San Carlos Berromeo Del Rio Carmel La Mission San Carlos Berromeo Del Rio Carmel was a place of hard work, devastation and restoration. The Carmel Mission is one of the most significant of the missions. This mission was a place of power in the Central Coast chain of missions. It was foundered in 1770 by Fr. Junipero Serra. It was the second mission to be built and it’s purpose was to colonize Alta California for Spain.

While the Native Americans started to put the first stones in the ground, little did they know that they were building a California landmark. In 1771 the Mission was moved to Carmel where there was better farming ground and fresh water. Its location is by the Carmel River just outside the Monterey Bay Area. It was named after Saint Charles Berromeo. The Carmel Mission is number 14 geographically in the mission chain. Its name and location make the mission the place it is today.

Carmel has attracted many diverse people over the years. The people that worked there were mostly Native Americans. In addition, several Padres settled around the area. There was peace and prosperity for all. Then in 1818 a French Privateer named, Hipolito Bouchard looted the mission and left it in ruins. Carmels leaders, workers and villains have all contributed to its current state.

The Carmel Mission soon experienced hard times. In 1821 Mexico gained independence from Spain. California became part of Mexico and in 1834 the Mexican government closed the missions.

The Indians and the padres were forced to leave the mission grounds. The missions lay abandoned and soon they were vandalized and ruined. This happened with all the missions including Carmel.

Carmels future looked grim.

Fifty years later it was rebuilt into what it is today. In 1884 Harry Downie started the mission restoration project. Even today people remark on how authentic it looks all because of his efforts. Today the mission is being used for religious purposes and is a place for children to learn about God. The missions journey from its beginning days to today are the result of hard work, devastation and restoration.

Ultimately, Carmels leaders had a great deal of perseverance to overcome its many difficulties.

Kaden Diggs, Fourth Grade Teacher: JoEd Sennes Bellevue Santa Fe Charter; SLCUSD Page 7

How to Grow Facial Hair without Being Caught Step 1. Convince a grandparent to take you to the store to buy hair gel (but really to buy a product to make your hair grow.) Say you need it because you have a date with a hot girl/handsome boy and you want your hair to look great. Come up with a name for your date you made up and be sure not to hesitate. Don’t make the mistake of bringing a grandparent that has good vision or this plan will fail (if you don’t have a grandparent that has bad vision then this plan is dead to you. Feel free to throw it away.)

If you bring a grandparent with bad vision, they can’t see the small letters on the package and they will assume it is hair gel.

Step 2. Find a distraction that will keep a parent busy such as telling them there is a snake in your little/ older brother/sister’s pocket and he/she needs you right now. Do something that will kill some time.

Step 3. Find a bathroom and make sure you have the hair product when you go in, be sure to lock the door. You never know who could walk through it.

Step 4. Apply the hair product on your face gently where you want the hair to be. Be sure not to show your face with the get at any time. Try wrapping a bandana around your face from your chin to your nose so nothing shows. That’s what I did. The hair should be done growing in about a week.

If anyone asks about why you have a bandana over your face like a biker say you think you’re turning bad. When I tried it they didn’t exactly buy it (which I have no idea why), I just used a pink and purple bandana with hearts and butterflies on it.

Lauren Stevens, Fourth Grade Teacher: David B. Copley Ocean View Elementary; LMUSD I Believe that Every Kid That’s 10 and Up Should be on a Soccer Team Reasearch shows that some people don’t like soccer, but we all have different opinions. Also, other studies show that soccer is the best sport because it’s good exercise, good for your mind and a good team sport.

I believe that soccer is the best sport because you run a lot and your feet get stronger. Another example that proves this is because you work your muscles a lot, and they will get stronger. Other people might believe that soccer is dangerous because you might break your ankle or break your arm.

However, this is not true because you are going to learn basic stuff first, like stretching and not getting into dangerous positions.

As I had already stated, is my opinion that soccer is the best sport. Another valid reason for proposing this is because when ever you are playing soccer you always have to think about the plays like centering it or making a header. You can’t just do it, you need to think before you head it or pass it. Another example that shows how you must think is, thinking helps you make good plays when you’re out in the field like passing the ball to your open teammates. Some people say that we already make good decisions because we are smart, but this is not necessary true because you need to have the spirit of thinking and making good decisions, like when you think about passing or centering to your open teammates. When you have the spirit of thinking and making good decisions you might win the game.

The absolute best reason for playing soccer is because it’s a good team sport. Also, your kids can make new friends on the team by introducing themselves to new players. Most importantly you learn how to work as a team and how to communicate with your teammates. For example, when you are playing a game you need to let your teammates know that an opposing player is behind him so you could yell, “man on!” This lets them know when a player is going to steal the soccer ball away from them. This communication between each other could help save your team. You might disagree with this, because of some dangerous plays, like when you are communicating and the ball might hit your face or someone tries to slide tackle you! Remember it’s possible they could be dangerous plays, but not if you work as a team and always communicate by telling your teammates about other players slide tackles.

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In conclusion, it is important to you to remember that soccer is a great sport. Why? Because it’s good for your health, mind and is a good team sport. Now, please sign your children in soccer and take their video games away.

Andrés Candelas, Fifth Grade Teacher: Eric Marthaler and Carol Del Toro Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD Nauseating, Nasty, Nuggets!

Have you ever been so hungry at school that when its lunch time you are disappointed at what you get? This happens to my classmates and I almost on daily basis!

Let me begin by telling you what experiences my classmates and I have had with these cafeteria food regulations. My classmate, Bob, had an interesting experience with a pea in his chicken nugget. Who in the world puts a pea in a chicken nugget?! It’s not called a pea nugget, or is it?! My other classmate, Jasmine, has an experience that will blow your mind! Well, what do you know? A piece of hair in her spaghetti. It was a crisis, and from that day on, she never,ever, ate cafeteria food again.

Oh, did you think I was finished with these repulsive stories? Not quite yet! My classmate, Jake, found a piece of hair in his BBQ chicken. “Another strand of hair” you might say. Yes, another strand of hair. There are too many sightings of hair in people’s food and we need to put an end to this!

Now here is where I can help by giving a couple of suggestions that I came up with. Number one: the food looks revolting! We need to make the food look more appetizing. For example my classmate, Lisa, had pizza that looked like it had milk in it. Number two: the food is not nourishing and is not made out of wholesome ingredients. Number three: there are things inside or on the food that shouldn’t be there. For example hair, peas, paper, and pieces of bananas. Number four: possibly get new chefs, or keep the same chefs and have them attend cooking lessons, and have them wear helmets while working. So those were my suggestions, and I hope you take this really seriously because soon everybody will be bringing cold lunches to school and our lunch ladies will have no jobs.

As you were reading these disgusting stories, did you gain an appetite? Probably not! My guess is that you felt appalled. Have I convinced you yet? I sure hope so because changes must be made.

Hayde Gallardo, Fifth Grade Teacher: Caitlin Elmquist Dana Elementary; LMUSD Beluga

Have you ever heard of a Beluga? No, not a beluga Whale, a beluga sturgeon! They’re smarter than anything; with their two pound frame. The fish is endangered with only 100-400 left; the beluga sturgeon is millions of years old! With the rapid decline in the beluga sturgeon population every day, we need to help the sturgeon survive.

With the rapid decline in the beluga sturgeon population, everybody needs to help the sturgeon survive. The beluga sturgeon is number one on the red list. There are lots of ways we can save them. One of the reasons they are going extinct is because of the caviar and meat products from the fish. The beluga sturgeon has survived the dinosaurs and the meteor that wiped them out. But the thing that they can’t survive is humans.

What I have told you is just scratching the surface; hopefully we can dive deeper into the mystery of this amazing fish. If you go to a place where there were thousands of them years ago, you’d see the population has dropped to less than five-hundred. You would be lucky to see a baby one.

Please help save this living fossil stay alive. So you will help the beluga sturgeon and act now, or your children will not be able to see this amazing fish.

Caleb Jackson, Fifth Grade Teacher: Bridget Ready Bishops Peak; SLCUSD Page 9

Sea Cucumbers

Sea cucumbers are spectacular! Their remarkable appearance, astounding habitats, marvelous behavior, interesting reproductive system, and astonishing food skills all make the sea cucumber unique. They are even believed to treat high blood pressure when eaten by humans! Sea cucumber is their common name, but another name this animal is “sea apple”. The phylum and scientific name of sea cucumbers is Echinodermata. There are about seven thousand species of Echinodermata. This phylum includes sea stars, sea urchins, sand dollars, and much more. The sea cucumber’s class, which is Holothuroidea, has about one thousand, two-hundred fifty species. Sea cucumbers do not seem too impressive lying on the sea floor, but these creatures can be very unpredictable. One of the amazing things these animals can do is shoot their organs out their anus!

When you’re swimming close to the ocean floor you may be surprised to see something that appears to be a squishy cucumber. It’s actually a sea cucumber, but it does resemble a large caterpillar or a rotten pickle. They are long and slightly fat just like a real cucumber. The actual size of these sea dwelling cucumbers varies depending on their age, gender, and species. Common skin tones of the sea cucumber are olive green, black, or brown. The other colors that sea cucumbers may fashion, depending on the species, are bright red, orange, or purple. It’s not best to touch a sea cucumber, but if touched, it would feel leathery, a little bumpy, soft (not furry), and somewhat like seaweed. They sometimes have soft spikes depending on the species. Sea cucumbers also style eight to thirty short tentacle tubes surrounding their mouth. Overall sea cucumbers look like cucumbers, but a lot more eye catching.

Just like humans, sea cucumbers live in different areas but they also stay mostly in one place.

They live on the seafloor worldwide so there are quite a lot of them to cover that much of Earth. Some of them live on rocky shorelines or shallow coastal waters while others are located in the deep oceans.

Sea cucumbers may be several inches under the surface of the water or at depths greater than five miles. For a living squishy cucumber, that would seem amazing, but it’s just a sea cucumber’s every day habit. Sea cucumbers sometimes burrow partly beneath the sand when they aren’t sitting above it. In depths and shallows, above sand and below it, there are sea cucumbers across the world’s ocean floor.

Sea cucumbers behave in some very strange and bizarre ways. They are very sluggish and they swallow large amounts of sand, but the most astonishing thing is that they breathe through their anus! When they take a break from being sluggish, they propel themselves across the ocean floor on tiny tubular feet, or by muscle movements for those species without tube feet. Sea cucumbers perform in an extraordinary way when they are defending their lives. They violently contract their muscles and expel some of their internal organs out their backside to distract their predators while they scurry away. They regenerate these organs later. Some sea cucumbers also discharge sticky threads to ensnare their predators. They use these methods against fish, marine animals, and humans, but not against whales because whales don’t fancy cucumber. A sea cucumber’s life span varies depending on the environmental species and predators. Sea cucumbers have interesting behaviors, an amazing defense, and do some spectacular things in their life span.

Like most things in the ocean and on land, sea cucumbers reproduce. A sea cucumber will release egg and sperm into the water, and when they meet, it grows into a sea cucumber. There must be many individuals for the likelihood of this process to work. Most species of sea cucumbers die after they reproduce. The young of all sea cucumbers go through larva states before adulthood. During these states, they are prey to fish and other marine mammals. It is a deathly process for sea cucumbers to reproduce, but in the end, there becomes a new sea cucumber to take its place.

Sea cucumbers eat things like most living creatures, but they eat quite unusual things, they get their food in a strange way, and they eat in a peculiar process. Sea cucumbers eat tiny particles which are algae, minute aquatic animals, and organic waste materials. Sea cucumbers gather these particles with either to thirty tiny tubes surrounding their mouths. Once the sea cucumbers have the particles in their tubby grasps, they shove it into their mouths with those tubes. The sea cucumbers then break down these particles. The particles become food for bacteria and then the sea cucumbers recycle their waste back into the ocean ecosystem. Out of all the ways of eating, sea cucumbers have an interesting way to gather and eat the unusual food they enjoy.

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Unpredictable as they are, sea cucumbers are very impressive. The things that make these creatures so impressive are their amazing appearance, marvelous habits, astonishing behavior, fascinating reproduction system, and the astonishing ways they acquire their food. Overall, sea cucumbers are wonderful creatures living their lives below the surface of the ocean.

Madeline Fletcher, Sixth Grade Teacher: Diana Jones Teach Elementary; SLCUSD Go Fight Bounce!

On November 2, 1898 the University of Minnesota football team was losing and the fans were not smiling, when suddenly a tremendous roar won the crowd’s attention. It was six male college students, led by Johnny Campbell. They were cheering for the home team; they called themselves the Yell Captains. This was America’s first official cheerleaders. They stood before the crowd and yelled “Rah, Rah, Rah! Ski-U-Mah! Hoorah! Hoorah! Varsity! Varsity! Minnesota!” Soon the crowed joined.

During the 1920’s, cheerleading began to include gymnastics and tumbling. At this time women were invited to become cheerleaders. In 1940’s, men were called to fight in World War II. Cheerleading changed overnight. Suddenly, it was women not men who were cheering. Remember, it was men were the ones that invented cheerleading.

Tumbling

Tumbling skills are required for cheerleading tryouts. Competitive cheer may require more elite skills. Tumbling requires gymnastics ability. There are two types of tumbling.

Standing Tumbling

Many competitive and school cheerleading squads use standing tumbling in routines, cheers, and chants. Standing tumbling can even be part of a stunt. A standing back hand spring as a minimum requirement from squad members during tryouts. More elite squads may require a standing back tuck. Although, back hand spring and back tucks are the most common standing tumbling skills, standing tumbling may also consist of more than one trick, such as two back hand springs in a row or standing back hand spring into a back tuck.

Running Tumbling

Running tumbling is seen when cheerleaders take the court or field during a performance or routine. Running sequence begin with a round off into a series of one or more tricks. The most basic running tumbling pass is a round off back hand spring. Some squads require basic tumbling pass while others may ask for a series of two skills. Many cheerleaders, who tumble however, perform a round off back hand spring into a more difficult maneuver. Although competitive squads generally perform on a spring floor, high school and collegiate squads’ perform in the school gym.

Safety

Cheerleading isn’t just jumping and waving pompoms. It is now an athletic and potentially dangerous sport which needs safety guidelines. The nation’s cheerleaders group of pediatricians say:

“The number of cheerleaders injured each year has increased dramatically over the past 20 years. Common stunts that pose risk include tossing and flipping cheerleaders in the air and making human pyramids that reach 15 feet high or more. In a new policy statement released online on October 2012, the American Academic of Pediatrics says school sport associations should designate cheerleading as sport, and make it subject to safety rules and better supervision. Just like other athletes, cheerleaders should be required to do conditioning exercises and undergo physical exams before joining the squad. The new policy says, not everyone is fully aware of how cheerleading has evolved over the last couple of decades. Cheerleading use to be just standing on the side lines doing a few cheers and few jumps,” said Dr. Cynthia LaBella, a Sports Medicine Specialist.

Last year, there were almost 30,000 emergency room visits for cheerleading emergencies among girls ages 6-22, according to data from the Consumer Product Safety Commission, that’s more than 4 times higher than 1980, when cheerleading was tamer.

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While there are still traditional cheerleading squads that support athletic teams, some school and private clubs have separate cheerleading teams that compete against other teams.

Positions

In a stunt there are three positions all of the positions are very important, without somebody the stunt can’t be made.

Flyer: The person that is elevated into the air by the bases. Flyers are the top of the pyramids.

Base: This is the person/persons who remain in contact with the floor lifting the flyer into a stunt.

They are also on the bottom of pyramids.

Spotter: A person that stays in contact with the performing surface and watches for any hazards in the stunt or mount. The spotter is responsible for watching the flyer and being prepared to catch her if she falls.

Jumps

Jumps are an important part of cheerleading. They could be hard to do at first, but if you practice them you’ll get better at them. There are lots of types of jumps. Here are some examples: Toe Touch: In this jump legs are straddled and straight, parallel to the ground, toes pointed, knees are back, and arms in a T-position. Despite its name, you do not touch your toes during a toe touch; you reach out farther in front of your legs. Keep your back straight and bring your legs up to you. This is the most common jump.

Double Hook: A jump where the legs are a “Cheer Sit” Position Hurdler: The straight leg is either forward (a front hurdler) with arms in touchdown, or out to the side (a side hurdler) with arms in a T. The bent knee faces the crowd in a side hurdler and the ground in a front hurdler.

Tryouts!

Tryouts are a lot like taking a test. You can study and prepare for it, but excessive nervousness can affect your performance. The key to a successful tryout is preparation. Practice with others, and get yourself in shape several weeks before hand. If you’re one of those people who wait until the week of, you might end up working yourself os hard in such a short period of time that you’re too sore to perform all the skills you’re capable of doing! You should ask as many questions as possible throughout the week and before tryouts. Here are some questions you should ask, Do you offer scholarships? And if so what kinds? What type of training should I be doing prior to tryouts? What do I wear to tryouts? If you don’t ask you’ll never know.

Preparing for Tryouts • Eat healthy and be sure to get plenty of rest the week before.

• Get in shape. If you aren’t already on a workout plan, be sure to start one at least a month prior to tryouts. You’ll need strength, endurance, and flexibility to be a successful cheerleader.

• Talk to past or present team members. They can be an excellent source of information about the style of cheer the coach is looking for.

• Take a blank tape or CD to record the tryout music. Use the music every time you practice, even while you’re just learning, so all the moves full out and sharp. This will help you become natural.

• Have confidence in yourself-at clinic and on the day of tryouts. A simple smile and a great attitude can show a great deal to the judges.

Making the Team • Dress to impress! If you feel good about the way you look, it’ll be easier for you to concentrate on what you need to do. Make sure your attire is appropriate - some teams require a specific outfit, so be sure to check that out. It’s always a good idea to wear your school or team colors. Your hair should be neat and pulled away from your face.

Cheerleading is a great way to stay in shape, be active, and get involved in a sport!

Daniela Ramos, Sixth Grade Teacher: Lynnly Sainsbury C.L. Smith Elementary; SLCUSD Page 12

Things That are Real or Could Be

I really enjoy reading a lot. I love words, and how authors use them to convey messages to their readers. The three stories that I have enjoyed the most so far this year are The Land I Lost: Adventures of a Boy in Vietnam, In Two Worlds: Ayup’ik Eskimo Family, and The West Side. I think what I like the most is the fact that, two of them are true stories of real people, and the third one is a story that could be true and probably is true somewhere.

In the story The Land I Lost I really like how the author took you into the countryside of Vietnam. He expressed a true love for his country and his family. I like how he told about the hamlet he lived in, and of how they kept safe from predators by the use of trenches around their house. I could imagine myself crossing a “monkey bridge” and then pulling it into our home at night to keep safe.

The theme was of a strong family and their strength in their heritage.

Heritage also plays a huge role in the over all theme of In Two Worlds. However the big difference is that the Rivers family is caught in the middle of how things use to be and of how things are now. The children in this story do not necessarily want to learn the old ways. Tradition does not seem to mean as much to them and that is sad. I think that people need to learn where they came from, so that they can learn from their ancestors successes and mistakes.

In the story The West Side, Juan is conflicted with the fact that most of the Spanish kids have become so Americanized. He does not understand this lack of wanting to know one’s own heritage. Even though this is not a factual story, I feel that I have already grown up with kids who feel like this. Some wanting to hold on to the old and familiar ways of life and others embracing new customs and new goals.

All of the stories that I picked were about families. Families on the verge of change. Sometimes change can be a good thing, and other times it is just a word of convenience. I guess for me I would choose changes in my life to come slowly, it seems like that way I will always have a chance to remember the past before it is gone.

Bridget Watterson, Sixth Grade Teacher: Althea Gibson Templeton Home School; TUSD Too Much Homework

Would you rather hang out with your friends instead of doing homework? We have seven classes everyday and it’s frustrating to have so much homework. There shouldn’t be any homework because we do six hours of work at school, and you are tired, and there’s no time to play.

Students already work six hours of school five days a week and shouldn’t have any homework.

“Millions of high school students, like myself, having time for only six hours of sleep a night due to an over abundance of homework might be putting our education and health at risk by not making sleep a higher priority” (Rubosky). After a full day of school, most students’ brains are starting to shut down.

Kids can have so much homework that they still have homework after dinner. After they eat, students still have homework to do and study for tests, which they will finish very late. When kids get up the next day they are very tired, and then they have the same amount of homework the next day.

Students are tired. “Homework is mindless busywork that takes away family time and does not improve academic performance. Homework’s critics argue that kids should instead be reading for enjoyment, exploring, and being creative” (Harris). Sometimes students have homework over the weekends, but they shouldn’t. The weekends are when kids can have fun and take a break from school. That is when they should have family time and have fun with their friends.

With homework every night, student’s have not time to play. “Nancy Kalish’s daughter was an enthusiastic middle -schooler- until homework started to take over consuming her evenings and weekends. Then she started dreading school...”(Nair). Sometimes when you have a lot of homework it can take away family time. When teachers have to grade homework, it also takes away from their family time, and no time for themselves. Homework can be frustrating when it takes all night to finish, therefore teachers should not assign homework, work should be done at school.

Jonathan Miller, Seventh Grade Teacher: Emily Green Paulding Middle School; LMUSD Page 13

A Fair Assessment of the Fairest of the Land

A breathtakingly beautiful princess seemed to glow as she danced around the forest, her long yellow dress flowing behind her. Deer, bluebirds, raccoons; any animal that lived in the woods happily sang a sweet tune with her; she brought light to their small eyes. She was, after all, the fairest of the land. Snow White, this lovely young princess, is known for her striking beauty, her kind, soft heart, and her endearing innocence. The tale of this well-known girl, however, is not only told in one way.

The story of Snow White’s tangled adventures was first written by the Grimm Brothers in Germany in the 1800s. Later on, in the 1930s, Walter Disney created his own, Americanized version of it. The two are very different, yet alike in some key ways. When Disney wrote his version of the fairytale, he was aware of who his audience would be. Thus, he tweaked the fable in some ways to create what he thought was a better, more moral image for a child’s eyes. The Grimm Brothers, on the other hand, wrote Snow White as a story full of ideas that no parent in our modern-day society would want to sink into their innocent child’s head. But although Disney changed the story, it is clear that both versions share some of the same values. For instance, even the altered, American story that Disney wrote consists of lessons and ideas that are not ideal for a child, especially a young girl, to absorb. Along with that, it is evident that both tales show likeness in many important ways; place the same amount of weight on major things, such as love, violence, beauty and women.

In both Disney’s and the Grimm Brother’s version of Snow White, love is a big part of the story.

In the two fairytales, it is shown and expressed in some separate, yet also similar ways. For instance, in the Grimm Brother’s version, Snow White is immediately drowning in the pool of powerful love between her and the prince; just by one kiss! They ride off into the sunset together to live a happy life, knowing nothing more of each other than faces and lips! In Disney’s story, however, the princess meets her lover at the beginning of the movie; long before he finds and wakes her from her sleeping death. Nevertheless, both versions are making light of how complicated and confusing love can be.

Both stories are sending a misleading message to viewers that, no matter how difficult life (or in Snow White’s case, death!) can be, a Prince Charming will never fail to come sweeping in at the right moment to save the day. Both Disney and the Grimm Brothers created in their stories an idealistic world where true love is brought between two individuals by merely one kiss; one moment; one glance.

Also, a certain amount of violence takes place in both stories. The Grimm Brother’s story, however, consists of violence that is certainly more stark and gruesome; the wicked queen decides to eat what she believes is Snow White’s heart, instead of keeping it in a little box as she did in the Disney version. Along with that, at the end of the Grimm Brothers’ story, Snow White and her prince force the queen to dance to her death in hot iron shoes at their wedding, while Disney’s version showed the queen’s death being caused by a lighting bold that strikes her off a rock. This in itself shows that Disney had some good motives: he had the idea that if he kept the death of the queen the same; did not rewrite it; it would be delivering the message to children that, if a kid pushes them on the playground, it is right to push them back. What he wanted children to see instead was that people who are cold; full of envy and hatred, will eventually fall off the shaky ground of bitterness they are standing upon, fate will bring that to them. And although Disney does show violence in his movie, it is clear that he was much more concerned than the Grimm Brothers were about what the viewer’s eye would take from it.

One noticable trait of both stories is the way they portray the importance of beauty, and how they developed their weak woman character. In the Grimm Brothers and the Disney version of Snow White, it seems that the princess’s strongest trait is her beauty; the dwarves let her stay in their home, and perhaps, love her, because of it, the huntsman cannot bear to kill her because of it, even the prince, who she declares is her “true love” seems to be drawn to her because of her hair black as ebony; lips red as a rose; skin white as snow. It is true that when Disney wrote his version of Snow White, he decided to create more personality for the girl: positivity; kindness; thoughfulness. But even with that, he still created an idea in his movie about women that young girls are unfortunately being exposed to. Though careful, sweet, and innocent, Snow White lacks the important aspects of character that a woman should also have: strength, intelligence, and independence. What both stories are conveying is that is the idea that beauty itself will take a woman to her dreams in life. Though helpless and naive, it seems that wondrous things are drawn to Snow White in magnetic force that only her beauty can create. What’s more, there seems to be a message coming through in the fairytale that a woman not only desires, but needs a man to save her from the dangers of life. Instead of Snow White having the ability and strength to fight the queen, or the intelligence to refuse the poison apple, she Page 14

becomes fully dependent on a man to rescue her from her sleeping death. When Walt Disney rewrote Snow White, he changed it in order to present better values to young girls. What he didn’t realize was that false, twisted ideas were still present in his movie; still seeping woman in the world.

Snow White is a story of magic and flawless love. There are parts to both the Grimm Brother’s and Disney’s story that are helpful to a young girl’s creative mind and developing imagination. There are ways that both versions of the story teach good morals to children: evil people will not get what they want in life; being kind and thoughtful in the world brings good things back; love is a strong and an important part of life. But aside from all that, there are strong reasons why both stories should not be exposed to our next generation. The fact that Snow White is beautiful in the movie/story is not an issue, but the fact that it is the central part of her life is a problem. When girls watch the princess, the fairest of the land, live a wondrous life, they are left with the impression that beauty is the main thing that can take a girl far; lead her to dreams. Though there are times (especially in Disney’s version) when Snow White has other traits too; she can be kind and caring, it is still clear that the majority of what she gets in life is because of her beauty. It is unsettling to think that, by demonstrating these ideas and values to our children, we are leading them to believe that their whole lives ride on their looks. Do we want our girls to look in the mirror, not see the fairest of the land staring back at them, and wonder what they’re worth? Do we think it is right for them to believe their lives, if thrown into the arms of a man, will be saved? Are we willing to watch them trade their knowledge, strength, and ability to fend for themselves for layers of makeup, pounds of clothes, and diet magazines? If our new and improved society would take the time to write a new fairytale, we could save our daughters from this black hole of vanity that will suck them into its infinite depth if we do not fight it off in time. Our new version of a fairytale would be about a girl with the strength and knowledge to fight off a witch, and the courage to grab love by the hand and pull it towards her rather than helplessly waiting for it to find and save her. Most of all, it would demonstrate to our modern-day girls that they do not need hair black as ebony; lips as red as a rose; skin as white as snow to live happily ever after.

Malia Simon, Seventh Grade Teacher: Emily Green Paulding Middle School; LMUSD “A Crush” by Cynthis Rylant - Response to Literature Essay

Many lives can be changed by love. Can love really change more than just one life at a time?

Suddenly, you and those around you are different. In “A Crush” by Cynthia Rylant, Ernie is not the only one who is changed. Ernie is a developmentally delayed 31 year old man. His life changes drastically over a pack of seeds and a woman named Dolores. Ernie’s new-found feelings let him see the world in a new and different way. He experiences many changes in his life. Many lives can be changed by a simple crush.

In the exposition of the story, the characters, Dick, Dolores, and Ernie, are lonely for different reasons. Dick owns “Stan’s Hardware.” He does not name the store after himself, and he stays in his office. Dick feels he isn’t very social. He also hates his name. Dolores has a tattoo that says “Howl at the Moon” (Rylant 68). She won’t tell why she has the tattoo. Dolores is lonely because she has never loved, or no one has ever loved her. Ernie is kept in his house because he is developmentally delayed.

He is afraid of almost everything. He has no friends, and no one to talk to. Because of Ernie’s problem, “Ernie’s mother kept him in the house with her because it was easier, so Ernie knew nothing of the world except this house” (Rylant 70), Ernie has no idea what he’s missing. Each character is stuck in a mental shell. This shell is hiding them from the world.

In the rising action of the story Ernie develops a crush and starts to change. At one point, a lady in a brown truck drops off seeds in front of his house. Ernie has lived in a world of darkness.

When he sees the colorful seed box, the seeds become his most treasured possessions. A year passes, and when Ernie first sees Dolores, not only does he think about his treasured seeds, but he begins to constantly think about Dolores. It’s love at first sight. Ernie decides that he will give up his seeds for Dolores. “Love is such a mystery and when it strikes the heart of one as mysterious as Ernie himself, it can hardly be spoken of” (Rylant 72). Ernie has many new feelings, but love is the greatest. After Ernie sees Dolores, he plants his seeds, waters them and begins to grow flowers. He has given up his Page 15

most prized possession for a woman he’s just seen. After a few months, Ernie arranges his flowers in to a nice bouquet. He wants to leave the flowers for Dolores. Ernie thinks the flowers will make Dolores happy.

In the falling action of the story, the characters stop hiding from themselves. Every week for the next few months, Ernie leaves flowers outside of “Stan’s Hardware.” He loves watching Dolores pick up the flowers and put them in the window. Ernie’s life changed faster than anyone could have imagined. He is no longer alone and scared. He is now happy and able to go outside and enjoy life. Dick and Dolores have no idea why the flowers keep coming. “But the flowers had an effect of them anyway” (Rylant 74). The flowers cause changes in more than just Ernie. Dick doesn’t stay in the back anymore.

Dick socializes with his customers and doesn’t hide from himself. He thinks the flowers are for him, so he wants to be noticed. Dolores fixes her appearance. She wears blouses and covers her tattoo.

Naturally, Dolores thinks the flowers are for her, so occasionally she even wears a bracelet.

Simple flowers have brought all three characters out of their shells.

By developing a simple crush, Ernie’s life has been changed. If it had not been for the mysterious flower box and Ernie’s determination, Dick and Dolores’s lives would not have changed. They would have been stuck in their shells forever. One small hope can change one’s life and the lives of those around him.

Bryce Imhoff, Eighth Grade Teacher: Sholly Von Stein Atascadero Junior High; AUSD Searching For a Home

Some say not to judge a book by its cover. However, people do this more often than they know.

Not just with books but also with people. Not just with books but also with people. I think readers would judge the characters, Johnny, from the book Johnny Tremaim by Esther Forbes and Kit, from The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare, as two drastically different characters by their appearances, classes, and who they are loyal to. But if people wouldn’t judge them by what they appear to be then they would see that Johnny and Kit are actually more similar than different. Even though they look incompatible, are from different classes in society, and are loyal to different things, Johnny and Kit are both impulsive orphans who are searching for a place to truly belong.

When people would first look at these two characters they would think them to be completely unique from each other. Obviously their appearances are different, since one is a boy and one is a girl.

Also their roles in life when the books start out are altogether diverse. Johnny was apprenticed to a silversmith and was almost in charge of the shop. “Johnny Tremain was boss of the attic, and almost of the house (Forbes, p.3).” As for Kit, who had just come to live with her poor cousins because her extremely wealthy grandfather had perished, she hadn’t a clue of how to survive in the colonies. Her cousins complained at how poorly she did her work. “A five-year-old could do better (Speare, p. 49).” Kit and Johnny’s abilities of being able to work are entirely mismatched at the beginning of the two books.

The other difference between Kit and Johnny is their loyalty. Johnny wants freedom and is against all the acts that King George III passes. He even joins a group of boys who cause the Boston Tea Party. All of the boys dress up as Indians, climb aboard a tea ship, chop the boxes open, and dump them into the harbor. Whereas Kit, who is loyal to the King, couldn’t understand why her uncle and the men of the town were angry with the King. She didn’t see how anyone could be against him.

But the fact that they are each so loyal to what they believe in unites them together. It is hard to see how Johnny and Kit are more alike than different, because they are each loyal to opposing things, yet it is this loyalty itself, that makes them similar.

Johnny and Kit are both orphans, who are searching for a place to belong. When Johnny’s hand becomes crippled from being burned, he is forced to give up his apprenticeship to the silversmith and he is left alone with nowhere or no one to go to. “Seemingly neither the moon nor the stars above him nor the dead about him cared (Forbes, p. 80).” Kit also feels lonesome when she comes to her new home. Where she came from, there were shops, huge towns, and many people about. But in Wethersfield, Connecticut, she feels isolated and alone in the emptiness of the new colony. “There was not a single stone building or shop in sight (Speare, p. 52).” In the end, they both find a place where they belong. Johnny makes friends with a group of people who start the Revolutionary War and he ends Page 16

up fighting in it. Kit, on the other hand, gets married to a sailor who she feels like she belongs with.

Both of these characters are orphaned protagonists who each find a home where they are truly happy.

These characters’ loneliness causes them to be more comparable than contrasting.

Most people would consider Johnny and Kit to be tremendously clashing because of their appearance, rank in society, and to whom they are loyal. But when people look closer at the two characters they see that they are more alike than different because they are both orphans searching for a home to belong to, which they both find. I think that Kit and Johnny are more related than diverse.

Megan Pollon, Eighth Grade Teacher: Betsy Pollon Corbett Canyon Academy; LMUSD The Brutality of War

The ancient Greek epic poem The Iliad, originally performed by the bard Homer, is centered around the action of the Trojan War. At this point in time in Greece, warriors who engaged in combat were exalted and glorified. Most of the population considered war to be an honorable, worthwhile fight because if one was successful, they would be rewarded with fame and recognition. However, through The Iliad, Homer is clearly condemning the harmful effects of war through the actions of the characters. Homer especially shows the plethora of savageness and grief war brings out.

Homer conveys that the brutality of war is a terrible activity to engage in. Through very detailed, gory descriptions of some of the fatalities of the Trojan War, Homer supports that war is not as romantic and glorious as the public perceives it to be, and it is really quite the opposite. Homer portrays warfare as horrific and brutal. For instance, as Achilles slays enemy Hector, Homer disturbingly illustrates, “...Achilles drove his point straight through the tender neck...” and vows to Hector that, “The dogs and kites will rip your body” (257). Through this horrible encounter of the two opposing war heroes, Homer establishes how savage and deadly the battles of war truly are if one simply looks a little closer. While a typical ancient Greek citizen might view war as just a gigantic game of wins, losses, heroes, and failures, Homer takes a closer look at the details of war, and shows how gruesome and dangerous it authentically is. An additional aspect that Homer chronicles to demonstrate how dreadful conflict can be is treatment after death. The handling of slain warriors’ bodies in The Iliad brings to light another horrific and unthinkable aspect of fighting. For example, when Hector is killed

by Achilles’ hand, Achilles and his fellow soldiers, “...stab the body” (259), tear off his shinning armor, and, “...lashed him to his chariot letting the man’s head trail” (260). This incident does not merely confirm that Achilles acted disrespectfully of Hectors dead body; it also proves the general brutality of war. War brings out the violent warrior in all those involved, which cause humans to behave in ways they would normally not. This turns war into an all around more fatal, brutal experience.

Thorough accounts by Homer about particular events of the Trojan War, he reveals the true gruesome nature of war.

Homer furthermore displays the cruelty of war through the reactions of his characters to death and loss. As a result of Hector’s bloody slaying, his wife, father, and mother all express their extreme grief over the loss of him. As Hector’s parents, Priam and Hecuba, first glimpse his lifeless body, “... his mother tore her braids, threw off her veil, and wailed, heartbroken to behold her son” and, “ Piteously his father groaned...” (206). Their responses reveal the true pain war can inflict, not just on the ones killed, but by all those who knew them. Homer is showing that humans shouldn’t put themselves in this path, because it causes nothing but negatives, but most importantly, hurts the ones they love. War can seem like a heroic, admirable activity to take part in, and the prospect of fame and fortune can be intoxicating. Because of this many warriors didn’t think twice about fighting. But engaging in battle to gain fame can cause one to make a decision without thinking it through, and therefore not considering all that can be lost, and the pain their choice can cause to their loved ones. Homer is trying to imply rash decisions cause hurt to everyone involved, a huge negative effect of warfare.

Likewise, when Hector’s wife Andromache learns of the sad news of her husband’s fatality, “...she fell backwards swoonning...in a burst of sobbing...” (262). Her reception to this news shows the suffering that the viciousness of war can inflict, not just to those fighting, but also to everyone who knew them.

War is not just brutal in a physical sense, but also in an emotional sense. The losses of war are reason Page 17

for much grief and sadness, causing emotional damage to anybody affected. As Andromache says, “The child we wretches had is still in infancy; you cannot be pillar to him, Hector...” (262). The violence possessed by war takes lives unnecessarily soon. So the brutality of war does not simply stop at the battlefield, it affects those at home and lasts for years to come. The poem ends on the sad note of Hector’s funeral. By ending the story with a depressing event showing the effects of death, Homer implies that the affects of the horridness of war never truly end, but stay with people for ages.

The ancient epic poem The Iliad by Homer clearly condemns the brutality of war through the actions and reactions of its characters. Homer supports that war is terrible by detailing the horrid, bloody killings during battles, and featuring the grief shown by the family of killed soldier and war hero Hector. The Iliad portrays war as one of the curelest and most gruesome events a human being can take part in.

Siena Fiorentino, Ninth Grade Teacher: Yvonne Pierce Arroyo Grande High School; LMUSD Cinderella Sans Prince

Tales of fairies and magic fill childhoods; these stories cultivate fertile imaginations and important morals, especially in the Victorian era. During this period of English history, fairytales imparted strong opinions on women. Two fairytales emphatically prove this: The Little Lame Prince and His Travelling Cloak by Dinah Mulock Craik and Cinderella, by the Brothers Grimm. Each captures the Victorian woman’s situation and teaches then-current values. The stories, The Lame Little Prince and His Travelling Cloak and Cinderella taught Victorian women to be obedient and hardworking.

The Lame Little Prince and His Travelling Cloak, or The Lame Prince, details the life of Prince Dolor.

He becomes lame as an infant, loses his throne, and has adventures with his godmother’s gift: a tattered travelling cloak. The godmother and the cloak help Dolor back to his place on the throne. The kingdom of Nomansland celebrates when their prince, Dolor is born. At his christening, nobody notices or speaks about the absence of the ill queen, Queen Dolorez. The queen had to work hard to carry and to birth the prince and heir of Nomansland. After Dolorez has completed this job, not even the king takes much note of her. This insignificance suggests that “women’s sole purpose was to marry and reproduce.”

Society expected the common woman to take care of her husband, child, and household after giving birth.

In royal households, servants took over all such chores, so queens primarily served as an ornament of their husband’s rule. Females of the era were to be exceptional in every way. Women, such as Queen Dolorez, and their resignation to their role of a woman on a pedestal, or as a mother working solely in the house, exemplify the obedience and industriousness Victorians idealized.

Prince Dolor is male, so he would not be in a woman’s situation. In order to have Dolor capture the female circumstance, he loses the ability to use his legs. This renders the prince lacking in strength, as women did in Victorian times. Craik uses Dolor, in his lame state, to represent women without causing scandal and outrage to erupt across England. Dolor has to work hard to make up for his femininity, and to achieve some level of equality. He realizes this, as so many Victorian women did, and notes, “it must be so grand to be a man.” Dolor distinguishes himself, though he is a teen by then, from men. The author, Craik, creates this distinction to make clear that until Dolor becomes king, he will never be a man in the view of the public. This parallels many period feminists’ idea: despite the power given to noble women, until all women gain power women will remain ornamental and England will not achieve gender equality.

All women presented in the fairytale are model women. The nurse also appears as an assiduous woman: she was not ordered to teach Dolor, “but she did it...She was not a stupid woman.” The nurse is one of the few female characters, but she demonstrates the sedulousness society wanted at the time.

Dolor’s obedience shows; he learns because his nurse tells him to. The women and Prince Dolor in this story show the ideal qualities of a Victorian woman: obedience and diligence.

The Lame Prince is not only Victorian fairytale that shows the values of women being complaint and hardworking. These had suffused into English society since the Dark Ages. The concept entered other tales, such as Cinderella, which revolves around a girl, Cinderella. She lives with her wicked stepfamily because her mother has died, but the chance to marry the prince of the kingdom and leave her family arises. A wishing tree growing upon the late mother’s grave grants Cinderella a dress fit for a princess and gold slippers, which the prince uses to locate Cinderella and marry her. The exact Page 18

author of this tale is unknown, but most attribute the narrative to the Brothers Grimm. The story opens with Cinderella at the side of her dying mother, who tells Cinderella “to be devout and good.” Cinderella takes her mother’s words to heart in a show of obedience, and fulfills her mother’s wishes. Her goodness and resignation to working hard without reward is such that when her father asks what she wants as a present from the fair, she replies, “Father break off for me the first twig which brushes against your hat on your way home.” This illustrates the model wife.

Cinderella is the pinnacle of virtue. She is able to invoke the help of doves, a symbol of purity and peace, to aid her in chores, as well as to bring her fancy clothing and shoes: “Then two white doves came in...and collected all the good beans into the dish...they had finished and all flown out again.” This is a single example of the doves’ aid to Cinderella. The doves aid Cinderella as an extension of the spirit of Cinderella’s mother. This is clear because the birds answer the cries of Cinderella at her mother’s grave. The mother is rewarding Cinderella for obedience of the former’s final instructions and for complying with her oppressive sisters. Again, the idea of complying with oppression because it will result in good fortune appears. The notion served as motivation for mistreated women to continue with the drudgery of their lives.

The stepsisters are the antithesis of Cinderella: they are greedy and lazy. For those qualities, Victorian society would have tolerated the punishment of women such as Cinderella’s stepsisters. “For their wickedness and their falseness, they were punished with blindness for the rest of their days,” writes the Brothers Grimm. This biblical punishment portrays the idea that women are sinful and men or other women must punish their wives, sisters, and daughters for not living up to ideals of the time.

This demonstrates the Victorian need for women to satisfy society’s standards.

Cinderella and The Little Lame Prince and His Travelling Cloak share several characteristics. In both stories, the feminine characters are rewarded for obedience and industriousness. Cinderella receives remuneration for obeying her mother and trying to satisfy her stepfamily. Her prize is marriage to the prince. The fairy rewards Dolor for being hardworking in his studies and obedient to the nurse by giving him the travelling cloak. Clearly, the supposed idea was that working hard and doing as told led to rewards; this served as motivation. This was rarely the case in reality though. Catherine Dickens, who was married to Charles Dickens, bore him ten children. He left her abruptly and had an affair with Ellen Ternan. Catherine received very little financial support, and even her children did not console her.

Grown men do not play a large part in either narrative, but they serve as complements to Cinderella and Prince Dolor. In Cinderella, the father is humble. He says of his only biological daughter that she is “a puny stunted drudge...[and] cannot possibly be the bride.” From there on, the father is not mentioned, but considering that fathers typically took part in their daughters’ fortunes, Cinderella’s father is likely no different. The father is not punished for his negligence of Cinderella’s condition, nor for his lack of compassion for his late wife (he remarried less than a year after his wife’s death).

Ironically, he probably receives great fortune, which could suggest that men who oppressed their wives and daughters were rewarded. The father is a man, and above reproach.

In The Lame Prince, a similar thing occurs. Dolor’s uncle usurps the throne from Dolor by pretending Dolor died in the mountains. Craik excuses the uncle: “He did not mean to be cruel. If anybody had called him so, he would have resented it extremely: he would have said that what he did was done entirely for the good of the country.” The uncle is clever, not evil and above all, a man. Consequently, no punishment befalls him. The idea of a man being above punishment for treatment of women was common in the Victorian era, despite it being the regime of a queen, Queen Victoria. Society held men to very low standards, perhaps as compensation for the ridiculous standards to which their women were held.

Fairytales are among the most informative artifacts of any era. These stories tell us about moral values and ideals. The Little Lame Prince and His Travelling Cloak and Cinderella taught Victorian women the standards they were forced to live up to. The stories illustrate that Victorian women were taught be obedient and hardworking. They also present unrealistic fairytale endings. This state of affairs was life less than three hundred years ago. As modern men and women, we thing we have improved. Yet some would say that the only thing that has changed is the content of the ideals women are held to, and the achievability of these standards remains as bleak as it ever was. We must alter our models so women and men may have equally high norms to which they aspire.

Sam Pal, Ninth Grade Teacher: Ivan Simon San Luis Obispo High School; SLCUSD Page 19

Government Gives Kids a More Party-Hardy Life Budget cuts in education are a great advance in our future. Being in school myself, I can say that too much school makes my brain hurt. I think last year, my biology teacher might have said that the only part of the body that cannot feel pain is the brain, but he didn’t have to study for his biology final like I did. Anyway, thanks to the government, I won’t be exercising facts like these throughout my years in school anymore. We now get three days of school in the week. In my opinion, I think that less school is better for learning. We teens can go out into the world with our newfound time and learn about the facts of life. The best way to learn is to see or try new things for yourself. We can go out and try new things like getting high or drunk. By trying them ourselves, we see the effects that they leave on us, and we can make the decisions ourselves, from experience, than being told what to do. This will cause our generation to become very intelligent, very responsible and independent. Very reliable sources say that the state is cutting six hundred dollars from each student. That leaves each student with a negative five-hundred-eighty-nine dollars in school. Which is fine, because we really don’t need any more desks.

In my French class we have sixty students in one classroom. To cope with this, the school advised any dating couple to sit on each other’s laps to provide more space. Other students are told to bring chairs from home. This is also great, because the uncomfortable school desks keep students awake. Bringing comfy chairs from home will not only make it easier to go to sleep, but it will also give us less interruptions inside the class. This will boost the teacher’s self-esteem, and therefore make the time in class very useful and very calming for the sleeping students. When the kids fall asleep, the teacher has one of the big football players in class carefully dump the sleeping body outside of the classroom, again, for the ultimate goal of each student having a desk. Some of our teachers have even been giving us extra credit for bringing our own chairs. This technique is wonderful because the students who fall asleep during class counter the failing grade with some extra credit, raising the overall passing rate of the school, and ranking it higher on the list of schools in the nation. Some richer students have even brought in couches.

Kids who bring couches get double the credit, teaching us a lesson of life; it really doesn’t matter how smart we are, the people who bring the couches will always be on top.

In many ways, the government is truly looking out for the generations to come. With less days, us teens also get to exercise our lessons in the real world. At parties, we can use our chemistry lesson observe how many cups of vodka it takes to spike the punch. Using physics, we can calculate the force that a couple uses to grind on each other. Using algebra, we can evaluate the mess left versus the time that the hosts have to clean up before the parents get home. We can think like historians and find out whether a girl likes to get rides home, or if she prefers to leave from parties alone. From literature, guys learn the best words to use when picking up a girl. Even the top students at the high school don’t understand why they’re learning all of this information. Our valedictorian complains, “I don’t, like, get why we’re even, like, learning this crap. I’m going to, like, work as a punk rocker, so like, writing doesn’t even, like, matter, ‘cause the only thing, like, I need to know is, like, writing my name and, like, my teacher already, like, told us that, like, she’d teach us that, like next week man.” This will teach all those teens who complain that we really do use these skills in life.

With these budget cuts, there will not be enough materials to go around. This is also a great advantage because students will have to be doing group essays, projects, quizzes, tests, and finals. Teamwork is one of the greatest life skills we need to have. And because teenagers are such innocent and honest creatures, all projects will really be teamwork instead of just one smart person in each group doing all the work. When we work alone, we gain nothing. We sit, and figure things out on our own, instead of just being told the answer; where’s the benefit in that? There are no other people there to catch your mistakes, and proving to yourself that you can conquer a subject is useless when the only other time you will be utilizing that skill is in a group. Group work is so much better because all the conflicting ideas of the students will beautifully synthesize into a high scoring essay every time. This method will also teach the students how to compromise, which is what this country is built on. Not only that, but they’ll also learn that people with the loudest voice will always get their way.

People tend to think the government quickly stamps some papers, not having our generation in mind (probably because they’ll all be dead by the time we even graduate college), and they think that they are just a group of some coldhearted aliens come together to ruin our country and make us suffer, but I think they’re wrong. The government is a group of kind, warm, caring group of aliens Page 20

that really do have our best interests in mind when they think these plans through like this one.

Leila Assay, Tenth Grade Teacher: Amber Derbidge Arroyo Grande High School; LMUSD Crucial Camaraderie The world goes dark, and only your heart can be heard, but you feel the weight of judging eyes upon you. The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach suddenly intensifies, and you wait for the final blow. Just as you expect the teacher to give you that look of disappointment, a friend comes to your aid and asks a question, derailing the train that was bound to hit you. While comical, this scenario exemplifies a person’s need for an ally. Allies are the people who provide us with guidance and assistance when we need it, while also being the first to do what’s best for you whether you realize and accept it or not. These kinds of people can be seen in all aspects of society, from the flawed men in Joh Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men to the symbolic characters in Peter Jackson’s movie adaptations of J. R. R. Tolkein’s two novels The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The physical world is no exception, as my own experiences can attest to. Allies are an essential part of life, because no one can go through life alone for, or as John Donne put it, “No man is an island.

John Steinbeck’s characters George and Lennie truly exemplify the extent of how far an ally must go for their partner, and George’s interactions with Slim show the necessity of an ally’s guidance.

George has accepted Lennie as his burden to bear, and if it weren’t for George, Lennie would not have survived the mob at Weed. He would not have been able to gain a job either for even though he hadn’t been given a work card, he still says, “George...I ain’t got mine. I musta lost it” (5). At the end of the story, George and Lennie’s comradeship is truly tested when Lennie is pursued for killing Curley’s wife, an offense which Curley hopes to avenge by murdering Lennie. George then has to make the decision whether to let Curley, or perhaps an unmet person in the future, kill Lennie and make him face what he has done or kill Lennie himself and allow him to remain naive about his deeds. He chooses to kill Lennie, although not without a moment of hesitation and doubt about his decision (106). By doing this, George has taken away his oldest and closest friend. He has also lost the dream that the two of them have been clinging to throughout their travels. If alone, he may have let loneliness and guilt dictate his life, but luckily he has Slim. Slim finds George broken and disheveled, and says to him, “Never you mind...A guy got to sometimes” (107). George has been forced to assume the role of responsibility for as long as he and Lennie have been traveling together, but now he needs a hand to help him up. He finds that guiding source in Slim, a man among men who realizes George’s pain and seeks to console and comfort him. In each of the instances, the protagonist has been in need of a guiding light to steer them, and they have all been fortunate enough to receive such guidance from someone by their side.

The strength of fellowship can also be found in Peter Jackson’s film adaptations of The Two Towers and The Return of the King between Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins. Despite Frodo’s abandonment of Sam, Sam still pursues his master for he realizes that although Frodo might not want his companionship, he knows that he needs it. It is because Sam continues after Frodo that Sam is able to save him from Shelob the spider, only to lose him to the Orc guard. Already doing the bravest deed in his life, most of us in Sam’s shoes would have collapsed and left our friend to perish, but the opposite occurs. Sam chases the guard all the way up into the tower and rescues Frodo. Had Sam’s conviction to save Frodo not have been so great, the One Ring would have fallen into the hands of the Enemy and all would have been lost. Even before all of this though, Frodo began to fall into despair about his burden and the odds of success for his journey. With each misstep and depressed word, Sam is there to pick him up and revive his down trodden spirit. Did Sam have doubts? Of course, but he knows the right thing to do is to keep moving on so he makes sure that he and Master Frodo do exactly that. Literature, from the realistic tone and place of Of Mice and Men to the mystical lands of Middle Earth in the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, all analyze the brotherhoods people forge and how pivotal those bonds are.

Throughout my own life’s journey, I have been at many crossroads or been at the end of my rope, unable to carry on. At those points, I have relied on the influence of one person to get me through, my dad. He grew up in a hostile environment, so his stories alone always make me take a Page 21

step back and realize my life is never nearly as bad as it might at first appear. People have said they think he expects too much of me, but I know the truth. He expects not perfection, but rather effort and I know the difference thanks to him. I know many people who are great and talented, but thanks to my dad I have learned to recognize hard work and effort over it. And through that, I have gained many great friends and allies. Whenever I am faced with a choice, I think of that and ask if it’s putting my best effort forward, even if that choice is not the easiest, although nothing worth doing ever is.

Such a time came when I was working on my Eagle project. Less than ten percent of all scouts achieve Eagle, and as I struggled to become part of the minority in that statistic, I could see why. Both my will and faith in myself were coming to an end. After a year, I seemed only slightly farther than when I had started. My dad, an Eagle scout himself, kept on me to get the rank, but he also gave me words of wisdom. He told me of how being an Eagle Scout had changed his life, and that “once an Eagle, always an Eagle.” I can now proudly say that I am an Eagle Scout, and truly my father’s son. Where other’s may have let me slide, my dad kept on me knowing I would thank him later. From teaching me to accept who I am, to realizing the importance of responsibilities, and to keeping me motivated and working, my dad has always been the moral compass of my ship-- he has yet to steer me wrong.

When the entire world seems to be against you or you must face a daunting decision, we all need a source of light to guide us. This light can take many forms, including some unexpected. Lennie needed the guidance of George to survive and eventually live at ease, and George surprisingly found a helping hand in the skinner Slim once his world was decimated. Frodo wouldn’t have even made it to the gates of Mordor if it had not been for the aid of his ally Sam. Especially in the real world, a person cannot survive without the help of a guiding hand, which, for me, is my father. There are few staples a person must have, and one of them comes from that psychological need for social relations, and from those relations there is the crucial need of camaraderie.

Samuel Gillespie, Tenth Grade Teacher: Colleen Jenssen Nipomo High School; LMUSD

Living Art “I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I just wanted to be a poem.”

- Jaime Gil De Biedma Throughout a day, many thoughts circulate in my head. I observe the world around me and my place within it. Though I view my surroundings from many perspectives, I find it difficult to express myself through speech. My outlet is poetry. I write down my thoughts with words I find beautiful, words that resonate with my feelings. Sometimes it is difficult for me to know exactly how I feel. I get conflicted; I become ambivalent and confuse my perspectives, mixing them life watercolors. After finishing a piece, I analyze it to uncover my initial emotion. Poetry becomes my truth.

I have recently discovered the four reasons why people stay alive: for the responsibility to others, for passion, for love, or for beauty. Not so long after that, I discovered my purpose in life - the pursuit and appreciation of beauty. The job of the artist is to portray the world through their eyes and mind to create something beautiful. Art may not be aesthetically pleasing or in the carefree style of French Rococo, where the aristocrats and bourgeoisie adorned their homes with lavish decoration and complacent paintings. Beauty can be disturbing or sad. Sometimes it lies in the meaning behind the paint or the words. It can be an idea.

Writing poetry, I create this beauty. As an artist, I play a god role. I assemble and construct a city of words. This city lives and breathes as people read my work...but where am I? I am in the top of the tallest building, alone, as the city expands around me, growing higher. Yet I am not a part of my own world. Does God look down on his creations envying the beauty his hands can mold but his own face cannot reflect? I do.

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I realized I did not want to exist only as a window to the outside world, the glass of a snow globe, the lens of a microscope looking into the walls of a cell, a microcosm of the universe. I want to be a work of art. I want poetry to crawl across my skin; I want to be a figure model and have my form copied into a hundred different drawings. I do not just want to observe beauty - I lust to be it.

Alexandra Houlis, Eleventh Grade Teacher: Cathleen Rockstad San Luis Obispo High School; SLCUSD When Christ Hands You a Cookie Just imagine, waking up in the middle of the night to the sight of Jesus, or whatever your deity may be, standing not ten feet away. And not only that, but they’re offering you a tasty platter of snacks and conversing with you as if you’re an old friend. Sounds like the beginning of a joke, right?

At first I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or contemplate this very scenario that Stephen Dunn creates in his poem “Testimony.” Dunn makes the audience think about religion, not religious questions such as: does God exist? No, that’s been done. Instead, Dunn makes us consider the problems of mixing morality and religion. He uses a concept like taking an extra cookie to show how the average person thinks about morality. After looking over this poem, filled with casual dialogue and simple phrases, it’s easy to see that Dunn considers basing morality on foolish things like cookies is ridiculous, and he shares these feelings with his audience with satirical lines and one humorous scenario.

The first stanza of the poem starts with the statement “The Lord woke me in the middle of the night,/and there stood Jesus with a huge tray” (1-2). No lead up or back-story, just the son of God standing in your room. The poems nearly catches us as off-guard as we would be if we saw the Lord in our bedroom. The intro doesn’t even say “maybe I saw Jesus...;” there is no indecision or questioning involved. Stephen most certainly saw Jesus. And this is what happened. So pay attention all you readers out there, for you’re in for quite the tale. Because of this, Dunn grabs the attention of his audience and intrigues them enough that they read on. As we continue reading we come to the line “and He said, Stephen, have a cookie,” (4). Yes, that is Jesus talking to Mr. Dunn as if they were old buddies. This immediately lets the audience know that they’re in for a whole different type of sermon then they would ever receive in church.

In the second stanza, his tone differs so drastically from what is expected of a poem regarding religion. He speaks with a childish sarcasm with phrases such as “real deal” and “man of all men” giving the easy-going impression of a friend discussing an ordinary occurrence with their buddy, not somebody re-telling their divine experience. These simply stated words take away any hint of seriousness in the poem and the reader can kick back and enjoy the story. The easy-to-understand poem makes more of a simple storyline that is likely to hold the attention of readers who can comprehend Dunn’s language and want to hear the end of the story, like a classroom of small children holding their breath until the last word of their classmate’s epic adventure of climbing a tree. By using a tone familiar to everybody, Dunn takes something as massive as a visit from the Lord and shrinks it down to the size of a casual encounter.

The end of his second stanza and into his third he writes “I was thinking about cookies, Vanilla Wafers/to be exact, and there were two” (8-9). Now think about this: how often in life, or even in the bible, do people get EXACTLY what they wanted from God? The occurrences can be counted on one fingerless hand. Why? Because God doesn’t work that way, or so I’m told. All gifts are delivered in some other form that somehow betters the life of the prayer, yet happen to be far from what they actually wanted. In my experience with the topic at least. So, when Dunn describes his gift from the Lord, he makes a point to say that he not only got what he wanted, but he got two times what he wanted, not to mention many other goodies.

The fourth stanza continues with Jesus taking a single Wafer off of the tray and placing it into Stephen’s mouth “as if He was giving me/communication, or whatever they call it.” (14-15). As a boy, Stephen was raised in a family of practicing Catholics. Now, considering that tidbit of information and reading the first couple lines of his poem, one might think that he’s a pretty religious fellow who may be preaching the words of God. But wait- wouldn’t a practicing Catholic know that the ceremony performed in church is known as “communion” not “communication?” After a bit of closer Page 23

evaluation of his beliefs, I discovered a quote from an interview Stephen did, where he states “while I have enormous respect for spirituality, I have only some respect for religion” (Poet of Restraint).

To me, that means that he respects others’ choice to believe in what they choose, but he personally doesn’t look deeply into many religions besides for the spiritual aspect. The knowledge that Dunn doesn’t look too highly on religion supports the argument that he sees a few loopholes in it, such as its influence on what we see as being morally right and wrong. It’s even possible that these loopholes are the very thing keeping him from being able to totally commit himself to religion. So, this wasn’t an accidental, Tom Sawyer-like mix up of words, Dunn purposefully switched “communion” with “communication” to let the audience know that he is not only non-religious, but that he also has an easy-going “whatever” mentality when it comes to religious discussion.

The last stanza says it all. “i/refused, because I knew it was a test/to see if I was a Christian, which means/a man like Christ, not a big ole hog.” (17-20). To restate what is going on, Jesus was offering Stephen the second Vanilla Wafer, which our poet had admitted to wanting a few stanzas ago, but Dunn declines, as taking a second cookie would make him a bad Christian, a hog even. Now, have you seen a Vanilla Water? It’s probably the tiniest, simplest cookie made in America. Taking one more little cookie is not the sort of thing that will send you to a lifetime of damnation. It’s this overstatement that taking an extra cookie is so morally wrong that makes Dunn’s point shine through. He sees the way that most of society decides on what is morally right and wrong as ridiculous, especially when it is based on religious belief. The idea that somebody following the Christian faith closely wouldn’t take a small treat that was offered to them as it is not “Christ-like,” but feel like it’s their obligation to start holy wars and exclude others because of sexual orientation is laughable.

Dunn proposes in a humorous way that an askew morality is a serious issue in our society. In fact, people with moral compasses that don’t quite point North might be what’s really wrong with this world. We are a population that puts far more money into war and the killing of countless people then to help the poor and starving. How can anybody consider that morally acceptable? Now, I’m not really worried about spending my afterlife in Hell, but I’d rather not spend my life in a society so morally confused that they might be considered demons themselves. Dunn’s poem argues that religion is one of the major things holding us back from making our own decisions of what is correct and what is not. He’s not saying to abandon all faith, he’s just pointing out that maybe a few things should be re-evaluated, like how “wrong” it is to eat one more cookie that’s being offered by God himself.

We need this extreme example to help us realize how twisted we have let our decision making. If God has given us free will, don’t you think it’s about time we use it? So go ahead, take the cookie that you’ve been fantasizing about, and if that’s really morally wrong, I guess I’ll see you in Hell.

Hannah Imrem, Eleventh Grade Teacher: Eldra Avery San Luis Obsipo High School; SLCUSD

Finding Meaning Among the Absurd: An Analysis of Existential Philosophies in Groundhog Day

I suspect I am not the first teenager to wonder: “What is is all for?” In his film, Groundhog Day, Harold Ramis speaks directly to this essential human question. Like all of us, Phil Connors faces the repetitious drudgery of reality, yet with motifs in nature, attention to mundane detail, and elements of irony, Harold Ramis transforms the hero into a synecdoche that stands for every human being and their individual suffering. Through his film, Ramis provides an existential commentary on the absurdity of the human condition, along with the connotation that selfless giving and love of our fellow man will ward off the looming illness of human suffering that seems to characterize human existence.

The plight that befalls Connors begins, significantly, with a blizzard. An act of nature traps Connors in the town that he is trying to arrogantly escape, since he feels he is above such a small and seemingly insignificant town. This Naturalistic warning against human pride and indifference is especially interesting considering that Phil Connors is a weatherman. Phil Connors’s inability to predict Page 24

the enormous events that shape his life reflects the nature of everyone’s life-changing experiences.

Harold Ramis expresses his opinion that nobody is able to escape the storms that rage in our lives, not even the wisest of men. Instead, we are to take advantage of the situation that nature has brought upon us. Phil Connors is trapped in Punxsutawney and believes that he has been cursed as he says, “I hate this place. I stayed here two years ago. I was miserable.” In existential terms, he is inauthentic. To Connors, life is simply a string of physical actions, chemical reactions, anatomic sensations, and nothing more. “Don’t forget your booties because it’s cold out there today. It’s cold out there everyday.”

This narrow-minded perspective of the world is the stem of his misery. Like the theorized evolution of a microorganism to the modern man, the auteur of Groundhog Day takes the elementary and underdeveloped Phil Connors and molds him into a sight for sore eyes. From a clump of nihilism who sees no meaning to the supernatural repetition of February 1st, Connors shapes into a man who sees the importance of living an existentialist life. The audience watches this occur as he transforms from a man who feels nothing into a man who lusts for women, but does not yet love them. As time passes, Connors finally realizes the meaning that his character seeks when he falls in love with Rita, “If I ever could, I swear I would love you for the rest of my life.” It is not until he completely forsakes his own desires and devotes himself completely to Rita that February 1st ceases to repeat itself. So it is with every other human on this crazy planet. The only way for our days to stop feeling like a broken record playing the same musical phrase over and over again is to find the beauty that lies in love. According to Harold Ramis, we must become our brother’s keeper if we ever want our record to continue on to the wonderful music we’ve been waiting for.

Punxsutawney’s tradition of determining the length of the year’s winter based on the actions of a single groundhog may most unveil that Ramis’s Groundhog Day is indeed an existential film. The absurd tradition engulfs the entire movie; it is in the title and it persists throughout the story. Harold Ramis states with this holiday that our lives and this world are absurd. It is absolutely impossible to make heads or tails of human nature. The French, 20th century existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre wrote, “Everything has been figured out, except how to live.” Sartre believed that the world we live in is absurd, impossible to understand, and was not created with any purpose. Like Harold Ramis Sartre, too, believed that although the world is absurd, purpose and happiness can be created by humans for their own benefit. Although the tradition of celebrating Groundhog Day is an absurd idea, it brings joy to those who take advantage of it. Families come together and parties are had on the holiday no matter how ridiculous and meaningless. Ramis demonstrates this idea with a scene that pans through thousands of Punxsutawney’s citizens as they laugh and play in the town square at the Groundhog Day celebration. Groundhog Day itself was used in the film to illustrate that meaning and happiness can be created in this almost impossible world.

With the right attitude, Phil Connors converts his curse into a blessing. Phil spends his time in Punxsutawney in a way that would make existentialists, like Albert Camus, very proud. Connors discovered the fulfillment found in mastering skills such as the piano and the French language. He then applies these skills in his attempt to win the heart of the woman he loves. While he is searching deep inside himself to completely love one woman, Connors discovers a love for mankind that shows to be expansive and vastly powerful. He eventually spends his days comforting the homeless, saving children, and working hard to assist the elderly. Phil Connors does not experience true joy until he serves others, and so it is with us. Ramis expresses that the metaphorical storms that bombard us everyday can be transfigured into opportunities to indulge in true joy when we love and serve others.

After heartache, blood, sweat, and tears Phil Connors transformed “I hate this place” to “It’s so beautiful! Let’s live here!” Finally, he understands the message that is sung to him every morning by Sonny and Cher.

Phil Connors awakes everyday in his eternal state of déjà vu to the absurdly 70s song “I got you Babe,” which ironically presents the answer to his quest of finding meaning in life. The Sonny and Cher duo sing, “There ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb...I got you babe,” exhibiting the existential philosophy that the void that trials and heartache dig can be filled with compassion and active love. Instead of taking the time to ponder the message of the 60s hit single blasting from the radio, Phil Connors smashes the radio: multiple times. This act symbolizes humanity’s tendency to reject truth that places itself directly in front of those seeking it. As Robert M. Pirsig writes in his work, Zen and the art of Motorcycle Maintenance “The truth knocks on the door and you say ‘go away, I’m looking for the truth’ and so it goes away.” Harold Ramis uses this particular element of his Mise-en-Scene to show that the first step in acquiring meaning and joy in human existence is to note Page 25

the meaning and joy that is around us everyday. For Phil Connors, the meaning and joy that is around us everyday. For Phil Connors, the meaning that is knocking at his door is a woman; a woman named Rita.

The film Groundhog Day is a direct adaptation of the existentialist philosophy. In an attempt to show us the light, Harold Ramis guides us through the story of Phil Connors’s path to love and happiness. After simply watching a 101-minute movie, a young man like myself can finally find hope.

Repetition is one of the defining characteristics of teenage existence. We undergo the same work everyday, but this does not have to bring despair. It allows us to practice being authentic and determined so that one day, we might complete the metamorphosis that overtook Phil Connors. We endure the hardships of the absurd so that one day, we can create meaning and happiness.

Alex Delbar, Twelfth Grade Teacher: Aaron Cantrell Paso Robles High School; PRJUSD Our Cell

What has happened to education? Where are the days when school was a treasured gift, a privilege; when learning was a gift in its own right? Those days have slowly but surely disappeared, as over the years, education has become less and less about expanding our horizons, and more about mindlessly programming ourselves to take our place as cogs in the corporate machine. Money is the greatest evil to our education system; it built the machine and corroded the foundations of learning at the same time. And it has gotten to the point where we no longer can tell the difference between our own ambitions and the schemes of the system. Henry M. Levin’s and Cecilia E. Rouse’s “The True Cost of High School Dropouts,” proves to us how money has forced the real ideals of education into the background; and they perfectly (or perhaps horribly) exemplify the sadly paradoxical mentality of American society toward its own education system.

Levin and Rouse argue that our greatest priority in repairing our education system, should be the lower the rate of high school dropouts. They begin with the common “hard facts” approach through the first couple paragraphs, starting with the opening line: “Only 21 states require students to attend high school until they graduate or turn 18.” These pointedly unsoftened words sound rather accusatory; and coupled with the comparisons to other high-achieving nations, they create the perfect mixture of defensiveness and patriotic competition to make us open to any solution the authors may have to fix our newly-realized inferiority. And they follow up perfectly by building their argument around that competitive patriotism. In explaining why we need lower high school dropout rates, they comment, “While our economic competitors are rapidly increasing graduation rate sat both levels, we continue to fall behind. Educated workers are the basis of economic growth.” The rest of their argument centers around this “more-college-education-equals-better-economy-equals-stronger-nation” idea, using primarily hard data to back it all up conclusively, at least in the mind of the reader.

And therein lies the problem. The fact that Levin and Rouse are able to logically convince us that the “true cost of high school dropouts” is a less-than-completely-dominant economy, shows how sadly overrun the real ideals of education have become in this country. They, just like the rest of America, have fallen into the trap of having the right idea on what to fix with our schools, but for all the wrong reasons. At one point, before they give their evidence, the authors state that the relief programs “sound expensive...but in fact the costs of inaction are far greater.” He’s right of course.

High high school dropout rates are terrible and saddening; all those kids are deprived of the chance to learn so much more; the chance to learn things that could’ve easily changed who they were and how they saw life. But there is no mention of that cost in Levin and Fouse’s article; no, they think only of the economic kickback. “Educated workers are the basis of economic growth.” By that view (which is now the common one), education is viewed only as a commodity for corporate interest. No one cares about the students anymore; only the number they represent, and the money that generates.

This mindset becomes increasingly apparent with lines like, “If we could reduce the current number of dropouts by just half, we would yield almost 700,000 new graduates a year, and it would more than pay for itself.” Apparently we put kids through school only if we think they will eventually “pay us back,” by appropriately sacrificing their lives to corporate America. They even almost directly call students “investments:” “When the costs of investment to produce a new graduate are taken Page 26

into account, there is a return of $1.45 to $3.55 for every dollar of investment.” The corporate machine seems to seep from phrases like “produce a new graduate.” We are never expected to learn for our own sake anymore, for our own personal betterment. We are expected to learn what we need in order to get a good job and make a lot of money and revitalize the national economy.

And the sad thing is, with this theory of educaiton (which by now has become so embedded in our society that we all accept it as, really, the only theory of education) we seem to think that expectation is natural. We are prone to believing that this is how learning was meant to be controlled, and think it’s right. At one point, Levin and Rouse comment, “increased education does, indeed, improve skill levels and help individuals to lead healthier and more productive lives.” Seeing this line sit among others that basically called students “financial assets,” it’s hard not to believe that they see “healthy and productive” as “healthy enough to work for us” and “productive enough to justify our taxpayers’ dollars”.

But then again, what are we supposed to think “healthy and productive” mean? We are raised in a society where money really means everything; nothing is possible without money these days, so we are taught to lead our lives according to how we may have the greatest chance to make money.

That’s just the way things are; and that’s why I don’t really hold it against Rouse and Levin personally, because they are really only trying to help people in a world where we are all trapped by a system that most of us hate; a system that seems to work against a man, rather than give him opportunity for fulfillment. Capitalism certainly has destroyed what education should be in this country, and has corrupted the nature of learning to suit its purposes. So I don’t blame this country when it calls me an investment, rather than a student; or an asset, rather than a person. I don’t blame them because I know we are all trapped by the sam cell bars; and I know how sad it makes me, when I think of all the dreams I compromise to keep them there...hoping to be let out on good behavior.

Mason Harper, Twelfth Grade Teacher: James Bruce San Luis Obispo High School; SLCUSD

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Why the Arts Matter Students with high amounts of arts education and training were more likely to go on to college, regardless of their socio-economic status. The arts reach many students who are not successful in the traditional school model by addressing different styles of learning, perspectives, cultures, and imagination.

(The Arts and Achievement in At-Risk Youth)

Imaginative Narrative

Why the Arts Matter The arts are uniquely positioned to engage students who might otherwise drop out of school. Quality arts education is an essential component of a complete educational experience for every student.

(The California Alliance for Arts Education)

Fred the Spider

There once was a spider. His name was Fred. Fred was the size of a grape. He was white with ten black eyes. Fred lived in Bugtown inside a birdhouse. He had bug friends, but he was still a sad spider. Fred was the only spider in Bugtown.

On a winter day, Fred decided he would leave Bugtown to search for a spider friend. He packed his bugpack with a fly sandwich, a map, and a black widow webbed blacked to keep him warm. It was snowing outside, but he hardly noticed. He was so excited to meet some eight legged friends.

After a few hours of walking, his eight legs grew very tired. The chilly air made him shiver.

Soon, he had icicles hanging from his nose. Fred needed to find shelter. He noticed a house nearby.

There were lights glowing from the windows.

Fred knew that people would not like a spider in their house, but he had no choice. He ran to the door and squeezed through a small crack. The house was toasty and warm. Fred quickly ran and hid under a chair. The chair let out a squeak! That’s when he noticed two giant, stinky feet. Oh no!

There was a person sitting in this chair!

Fred was terrified. He started running, but he wasn’t watching where he was going. He ran smack into a giant shoe. Fred let out a spider scream! The bottom of a shoe is a spider’s worst enemy!

Just then, he heard a scream…then footsteps.

The giant man grabbed the show and began chasing him. Fred was fast and luckily the giant man was slow and clumsy. Fred dashed up the wall and made it safely to the ceiling high above.

The giant man left the room and returned carrying a vacuum cleaner. Vroom! Fred hung on for dear life but the suction was too strong! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Fred banged around the vacuum house down, down, down in the vacuum’s belly.

Then, there was silence. Fred opened his 10 eyes and looked around. There were hundreds of eyes peering back at him. How could Fred have gotten so lucky? It was a spider town!

There were big spiders and little spiders and all different colored spiders too!

Fred made many friends, but he missed his friends at home. He invited all the of Spider town to come live with him in Bugtown. His friends said yes! Fred was the happiest spider in the world!

Noah Bombardieri, First Grade Teacher: Michelle Brown Templeton Home School; TUSD Monkey Gets Caught

One day monkey was playing tag in the trees. Then monkey accidentally tagged jaguar.

Jaguar “ROARED” at him. Next monkey said “Everybody run or climb up trees! Do not stop!”

Monkey yelled, “Jaguar is coming! Everybody run and do not Stop! He’s going to eat us! Faster!

Faster! He’s going to scratch us! He’s going to catch us!”

Suddenly jaguar ran close up to monkey and it became quiet. Then Jaguar lifted his paw and… tagged monkey! Jaguar said, “Tag, you are it! Ha, ha, ha, I tricked you.” He ran off.

Mattea Gallon, First Grade Teacher: Jennifer Jenison and Andres Guardado Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD How the Peacock Got Her Colors

Once there lived a lonely peacock that only had six plain white feathers. One day a duck named Lucky stopped by and asked the peacock if she would help paint her nest. Of course peacock said yes because she was helpful to her friends.

The next morning she went over to duck’s nest to paint, and when she got there she set up her ladder and mixed the paint. She set her paint on top of the ladder. When the climbed the ladder, she got wobbly and some of the paint splashed all over her feathers. All of her friends told her how wonderful she looked with her new colored feathers. That is how the peacock got her colors!

Mariah Giovannazi, Second Grade Teacher: Donita Wright Grover Heights Elementary; LMUSD Page 28

How the Cheetah Learned To Be Fast

When the world just stated, the cheetah was as slow as a snail minus a hare. When all the animals teased him he felt sad. Then he got an idea! He ran to a magician’s house, but still as slow as a turtle minus an antelope. When he got to the magician’s house he told him his problem. “That is easy”, the magician said. He got his magic wand and POOF! The cheetah suddenly felt as if he was perfect for speed! He ran. At first he stumbled a little bit. Then he sped at top speed which was sixty miles per hour. He ran through the plains always surprising other animals. The end.

Carlos Leiva, Second Grade Teacher: Kathy Metcalf Branch Elementary; LMUSD

Ole the Anole

Once there was a little green lizard named Ole. He is a green Anole who lives in a cage set up like a tropical rainforest. The temperature was always 80 to 90 degrees. Rocks, plants, and little trees were his furniture. He had all the crickets and mealworms he wanted. Life was good.

One day a little girl was hold Ole outside and he got away. Ole scampered off into the Los Padres Forest. Ole was now on his own. All around him were huge crooked oak trees. It was really hot out. Ole decided to climb up a fallen tree and hunt for bugs. When the sun went down, it got cold.

Ole was not used to the night. He had never been so cold and scared. In the morning Ole came out to try and soak in sun and drink dew drops. Ole had turned brown. When the mom saw him, she quickly grabbed him and put him back in his warm tropical cage. Life was good again.

Kyle Littler, Second Grade Teacher: Marcia Richards Branch Elementary; LMUSD

Beetle Bug

Once upon a time there was a bug under the dirt. The bug’s name is Beetle Bug. Beetle Bug loved sleeping. One day a kid named Max was kicking the dirt. Beetle Bug heard something coming. He knew it was coming so he dug up out of the dirt. He looked up and he saw this kid kicking the dirt.

Beetle Bug said, “Stop, Stop.”

But Max didn’t hear anything. Beetle Bug came up to Max. Beetle Bug was biting him on the cheek. Max was crying so he got the bug. He took Beetle Bug home.

He said to Beetle Bug, “I will take you to my school.”

Now Beetle Bug was sleeping in a jar with dirt. Max woke up and took Beetle Bug to his classroom.

Everybody was scared because Beetle Bug was brown. Max got Beetle Bug out of the jar. He put Beetle Bug on his hand. Beetle Bug jumped on the teacher’s head. Max was laughing.

The teacher, Miss Cobby said, “Do something!”

Max was trying to get Beetle Bug. Everybody was screaming because Beetle Bug was jumping everywhere. Max finally got Beetle Bug in his jar.

The teacher said, “Never bring that bug here!”

Max went home. He took Beetle Bug to his home in the dirt. Max opened the jar. Beetle Bug was so happy to get out of the jar. Beetle Bug went to his home under the dirt. Max went to his home.

Beetle Bug went to bed, and so did Max. Alycia Garcia, Third Grade Teacher: Ann Elliott Dorothea Lange Elementary; LMUSD Page 29

How to Hatch a Dragon

What pet comes in blue, purple, red, green, orange, and yellow and can sometimes have a puffy belly like a marshmallow? That would be a dragon. If you would like to know how to hatch a dragon keep on reading.

Nature Dragon

My favorite dragon is the Nature Dragon because I love having the power of the plants. Once you get your Nature Dragon egg you have to bury it in the flower bed and water it every day. You have to plant the egg with the type of flower you want it to have the traits of. It will have the protection and look of that flower. For example, if you plant it with a rose it will be beautiful and have thorns to protect it. If you plant it with an oak tree, it will be fairly large with thick hide and very strong wings. Be careful not to plant it with weeds or else it will eat all your stuff and be cranky – so watch out!

Lava Dragon

Another type of dragon is the Lava Dragon. They have really dark red spots, are about 6 ft tall, and have super-sized tummies. When you get the egg in the mail you will need to hold it very carefully with over mitts because the egg will be very hot. Place it gently in a pot of boiling water for 5 hours a day for four days. As it starts to crack open, sulfur steam will pour out everywhere, and you have to be careful when you burp it because they spit fire. This is why it is important to fireproof your house before considering a Fire dragon otherwise you may all go down in flames.

Frost Dragon

If you happen to get a Frost Dragon which is very rare, you will need to put him in your freezer for two weeks. Lower the temperature as far as it will go. Be sure to check on your Frost Dragon daily because if they hatch early they have been known to eat all the coldest foods just as if they were in their natural habitat. The foods that are at the most risk are your ice-cream, chicken pot pies, and frozen peas. The advantage of having a Frost Dragon is they spit up snow cones when burped. They also can turn anything into ice which is great if you want to ice-skate in the summer.

Overall there are many different kinds of dragons but that is for a different person to write on a different day. Before you pick up a dragon, or order one online from Dragonsrus.com, you need to know your personality and how your family works to get a good fit then you and your new pet will be one happy dragon family.

Maddison Maddaleno, Third Grade Teacher: Andrea Jacobs Harloe Elementary; LMUSD

The Voyage of Sickness

On October 21, 1854 I traveled with Florence Nightingale across the English Channel to France.

My job was to be a nurse. I was friendly with Florence because she was kind, and a good influence.

While we were sailing I started to learn how to clean and wrap a soldier’s wound, and how to give the right amount of medicine.

It was a long ride, but I learned a lot from Florence. When we got to The Black Sea hospital everyone was dying of disease. We helped the soldiers by cleaning the water and giving them healthy food. However, something terrible was happening and only Florence and I finally discovered it. The drains under people’s beds were clogged and the gases were causing them to die. We fixed it quickly.

Then we decided to change the hospital. We made other nurses from the area learn to actually heal the ill, raising standards, insisting on healthy food and taught the nurses their duties.

It was hard to say goodbye to the hospital but when I got home if felt much better. I didn’t feel as guilty about not saving the soldiers. I was happy that I had saved most of the soldiers and knew that others had died before I could see them.

Solara S., Third Grade Home School Page 30

The Princess Who Refused to Marry Once upon a time there lived a king. This king was very worried. His daughter needed a husband, but she refused to get married. “I must do something about this,” the king said. Days drifted by and the princess still wasn’t a Mrs. yet. The king took away her favorite food. He took away her favorite cable channel. He even took away her new pet pony. But still the princess refused to get married.

“That’s it!” the king shouted. “I’m through with this I tell you.” And with that, the king stomped off into the castle garden for some “alone” time. He took a key from around his neck and stuck it into a bush. He turned it slowly and the rocky floor turned into a marble staircase. The staircase was dark and spooky, but the king knew what he was doing. The king walked down the stairs one-by-one into a dim lair. “Great Sorcerous,” said the king, “where are you?”

“Oh, my king!” said a high-pitched squeaky voice from the darkness. A light flickered on, and a plump little witch with wrinkles all over and long gray hair stood up from a wooden chair holding a lantern. “My King, what are you doing here?” asked the little lady.

“My darling princess needs a husband dearly,” answered the king with a gleam in his eye.

The witch didn’t answer but she led the king down a rocky underground path into a little room with mud walls. “This is where my great loyal sorcerous keeps all her secret ingredients?” asked the king. “I thought it might be a tad bigger.”

“No silly. This is where I get my snacks,’ answered the witch. “I always make better potions on a full stomach!” She opened a mud window leading to a bug fridge full of great junk-food snacks.

“No offense, but you need to go on a diet,” said the king as he saw and heard the witch’s enormous growly belly.

“Hhhmmm,” whispered the witch as she looked through her refrigerator. Then she took out a squashed bag of potato chips and popped one into her mouth then…crunched.

“Excuse me, can we get down to business so my daughter will get married please?” growled the king as he stated to lose his temper.

“Oh, of course, my King, anything for you,” The witch answered coolly while giving her gray poufy hair a flip. She scurried like a mouse over to a huge room with multicolored potions and machines with made-up words on them. The king was amazed. He stared at everything in the room.

The witch however, looked puzzled.

“I put it right HERE,” she said mashing her teeth together. The witch skittered around the room muttering stuff like… “I didn’t put it here and it’s not by the rotten egg potion.” Suddenly the witch stopped in front of a cabinet. Then the witch turned to the king and said, “I found it!”

The king was now puzzled, but he looked at the cabinet too. The witch put her hand to her ear and waited. “Listen,” whispered the witch. The king listened. “Do you hear that?” asked the witch.

“Awkward silence?” said the king with a confused look on his face.

“No, silly, the sound of…victory!” answered the witch.

“Just open the cabinet door!” shouted the king.

The witch immediately shot open the cabinet door and there sat the potion the king had been looking for. It was bubbling all over the floor, and when the king tried to pick it up, he burned his fingers.

“It’s too hot!’ he said.

“Put the potion in a drink the princess likes,” said the witch “and when she drinks it, she will talk a lot about marriage. Then, she will want to get married.”

That is just what I need!” snickered the king rubbing his hands together.

“We must waste no time. Go to your daughter and give her the magic drink. Go! Now!” shouted the witch, “Go!” “Hey, I give the orders,” said the king. And with that the king bounced out of the room, ran up the stairs, and into the garden once more. The king never knew that the witch had given him the wrong potion because she was truly evil.

Sometime later, the princess came into the garden to greet her father, “Um, Dad, I’ve been thinking…” but the interrupted her.

“Let’s have some…tea,” he said.

So the two of them went inside and sat down. They got some tea and while the princess wasn’t looking, the king poured a teaspoon of the bubbly potion into the tea cup. “Here you go, my dear.” The king said.

The princess took a deep sip. “Do you feel…slightly…different?” asked the king mysteriously.

The princess looked puzzled. Then she looked like she might throw-up. She shrank a size, then another, then another! She was now the size of a pig. Then she turned into a pig!!! “Oink! Why Page 31

did you, oink, do this Daddy?”

“The potion must have gone wrong,” said the puzzled king.

“Oink. What potion?” shouted the princess.

“Please forgive me!” said the king. At that moment the king realized how important love was. He realized how important his daughter was to him. He realized it didn’t matter if she got married or not…it only mattered that your family was with you. The king grew very dramatic and hugged his pig-daughter very tight. “I just want my beautiful-not-getting-married-princess back!” He said.

Just then the princess grew up a size, then another, then another. Finally she was back to normal.

The king was amazed and instantly hugged his daughter again. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” answered the princess. And they lived happily ever after. As for the witch she was put in prison for harming the princess and doesn’t even get to come out during the celebration feast.

Hannah Stephens, Third Grade Teacher: Jamie Andree Hawthorne Elementary; SLCUSD

French Fries vs. Hamburgers In the year 2025, a war happened between French fries and hamburgers. It all started when a French fry name Alexander crossed the border into Hamburgerland. The hamburgers didn’t know what was going on at first. Then it hit them that possibly the French Fries had sent a spy. The Hamburgers locked up Alexander to interrogate him. The French Fries heard about Alexander being jailed and sent General Bonappetite to help get him out.

Instead what happened was General Bonappetite got caught and was locked up. The French Fries brought out their tank of awesomeness, which was a tank that shot hot deep fried grease. The Hamburgers brought out their air bomber grill. It dropped hot metal mini grenade grills with explosive kamikaze beef patties.

The French Fries marched to the border that divided the two cities. The Hamburgers flew to the border that divided the two cities. When the prisoner guards weren’t paying attention the two French Fries escaped. Before the hot grease start flying and the grill grenades started dropping, the Beef Patty President and General Bonappetite met for a peace summit. They decided if they joined forces that they could make a million dollar combo serving French fries with hamburgers. They sold their idea to Burger King and the rest is history.

Tevin Archie, Fourth Grade Teacher: Jill Zamek Oceano Elementary; LMUSD

Ice Skating It was a cold afternoon in Washington, D.C. Saydie went ice skating. At first, she got her balance, and then she wobbled and fell on her back. She went crawling to the side of the ice skating rink and took off her ice skates and put on her shoes. She thought for a minute. “I got it,” said Saydie, in a proud voice. “I think I will try roller skating first. She tried roller skates. She tried on the grass, then started roller skating on the nearest sidewalk. It was harder than she thought. She got a big fat stick and used it for ten minutes and then let go of the stick. She roller skated for ten more minutes. After, she got the hang of it. “I got it!” she screamed in a loud and proud voice. She was happy that she could both roller skate and ice skate. “I love ice skating,” she said.

Seven years later, she was a pro ice skater. She was chosen for a big scene. She was getting ready.

She went out there and started ice skating. She was a princess. She had a small dress on. Everyone loved her ice skating moves. She was in another big scene because they loved her delicate moves a lot that she went traveling around the world for some big scene. They interviewed her. “How did you learn how to ice skate?” said one of the people.

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“I used roller skates first, then I went ice skating.”

“Wow,” said of the people.

Melanie Castillo, Fourth Grade Teacher: Jodi Rorden Hawthorne Elementary; SLCUSD Moving Around with the Holidays It was a quiet morning and, all I could hear were the cows chewing their cud. The squirrels were peering out from the trees. When the sun was shining on them, the red, brown and yellow leaves looked like diamonds after the cold winter night. To the left there were some trees standing naked in the bitter winter morning. The hens were chattering another way than they usually did. It sounded like they had seen a ghost. I walked over to them and asked, “Why are you so upset?”

“Haven’t you heard the news?” they chimed. I gazed at them quizzically.

“What news? There hasn’t been any news since I was a little chick.”

“When Mr. Macdonald came to pick up eggs, we heard him talk with Mrs. Macdonald about Thanksgiving,” she snapped after her breath. “They are going to have turkey,” she said in a quiet voice. My heart hopped up in my throat, and I couldn’t say a word because my tongue wouldn’t move. I swallowed, slowly dragging my feet back to my little cold corner.

The next morning I went over to my friend the Easter Bunny. I knocked on the door and the Easter Bunny opened up a crack and said, “What are you doing? I’m on vacation.”

“You gotta help me,” I begged. “I want to be able to celebrate Christmas, but I’m afraid I won’t be alive by then. I’m pretty sure that I won’t be surviving Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, my! Come inside then, and I will tell you what to do.” Inside, the rabbit hole was warm and cozy. The Easter Bunny told me that he knew somebody who could help me. The reindeer had connections to Rudolf who could fly me to Greenland. I was hoping to hear if Santa Claus could move Christmas to an earlier date, that is, before Thanksgiving.

When I woke up that morning, the Easter Bunny and I went out to the forest and found a deer. I asked him, “Do you know Rudolf?”

He answered proudly, “Yeah, we’re friends on Facebook.”

Can you ask him to come?”

Sure.” Then he wrote a message: Dear Rudolf,

Could you please come over to California, more specifically, the forest by Templeton? Ted the Turkey needs your help.

He sent the message and said, “Make sure to come at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. We thanked him and went back to the Easter Bunny’s house. Tomorrow, Rudolf will come and pick me up. Then I will meet Santa Claus for the first time! I felt pretty satisfied with myself.

In the morning, I ran over to the forest. It was almost nine o’clock. When I reached my goal, I just sat down on the ground and waited for Rudolf to come. After what seemed to me to be hours, I saw a red light blinking in the sky. It was Rudolf’s nose, and it came closer and closer. Then he landed. He was the biggest reindeer I had ever seen. He had big antlers reaching for sky. I jumped on his back and we flew up into the sky. There was complete silence all the way from America to Greenland. I just had to say, “It’s so pretty,” and that was it, but he didn’t answer. If felt like I could touch the candy floss pink and yellow clouds, and the beautiful sun that was rising in the eastern sky. When we landed on the cold snowy ground, I was so tired I could almost sleep, but I was too excited.

Rudolf said, “Follow the yellow brick road and then you will arrive at Santa Claus’s castle.” I could see the castle at the end of the road, and I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. When I came to the great castle, my eyes were almost popping out of my face, and my beak was wide open. It looked like it was taken out of a fairytale, but it was covered in ribbons, lights in different colors, and ornaments with all kinds of patterns. When I think about it, it looked just like a big Christmas tree. But then, I remembered that I didn’t have much time. I mustered up some courage and l knocked on the big door. My beak was shaking and I needed to swallow many times. The door opened, and standing there, was a big fat man wearing a red and white coat and a hat with the same colors. He also had a big white beard and a nice smile.

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When I came inside the castle, it looked like a big factory full of elves, package and toys. I found out that the big fat man was Santa Claus, and we talked about my problem. He said that it was impossible to move Christmas because it was Jesus’ birthday, and furthermore, they could never be done in such short time. That made me feel really bad and I asked, “Do you know another way?” He scratched his long snow white beard and mumbled something Greenlandic. After some time he said, “there is one way.”“What is it?” I asked desperately.

“If you help me until thanksgiving is over.”

“Hmm, okay. But I’m not sure I know how to help you.”

“Ho ho ho,” he laughed and said, “you can take out the trash and clean out the reindeer stalls.”

“Okay,” I said. It was of course a matter of life or death.

Christmas came and passed. I had helped pass our presents around the whole world, but only for kids who had been nice all year – so watch out! But it was time to go home to Old MacDonald’s farm.

Rudolf brought me home to the farm, and it was good to be back. But then I thought, “What about next year?!” I shouted, but no one answered.

Michaela Frismodt, Fifth Grade Teacher: Lisa Delgadillo Vineyard Elementary; TUSD La Calabaza Que Habla

-Solemente escoge una calabaza, -repitió mi madre cuando abrió la puerta de madera astillada del campo de calabazas. El viento de otoño sopló hojas de muchos colores alrededor de mis zapatos. ¡Mira a las calabazas, hay millones! Exclamó mi hermano, Caesar. Él estaba en lo correcto. Todas las calabazas tenían una cosa diferente una de la otra. Unas eran grandes como elefantes y otras pesaban menos de una libra. Los colores variaban desde el blanco perla hasta los anaranjados oscuros. Cuando mi familia estaba comprando calabazas. La madera podria me decía que había sido abandonado hace mucho tiempo. Los anaqueles estaban vacíos, con la excepción de que tenían poop de pájaro.

-Hola,- grité en el cuarto de almacenaje antiguo. Nadie respondía. Solamente escuchaba oír el débil silbido de los pájaros en la distancia. Cuando intenté salir, una voz suave de una mujer me susurró.

-¿Por qué necesitas irte?

-Perdón, señora, yo no la ví a usted. ¿Dónde está?- pregunté.

-Aquí- dijo la voz.

Corrí en la dirección de la voz hasta llegar a un lugar sin salida. No ví a una mujer ni a una persona. Mi cuerpo se sacudió y me senté en una banca metálica. En este momento, una calabaza se apareció de repente al lado de mi, redonda y anaranjada. También, se me occurrió a mí que tenia una cara con sus ojos viéndome. Su boca movió sus labios y dijo una sola palabra que casi me hizo desmayar:

-¡Supresa!

-¡Aagh!- grité y cuando estaba en el proceso de corer, me caí.

-No te preocupes, yo soy inofensiva.- explicó la calabaza encantada. –No tenga manos o pies como tú.

Yo mire la calabaza con cautela. No cada día puedes ver una calabaza mágica.

-¿Por qué hablas, calabaza?- pregunté finalmente.

-Todas las plantas hablan, pero solo cuando quieren hablan.- respondío.

-¿Por qué hablas conmigo?- le contesté yo.

-Hace uno año, mis raíces fueron plantadas en la tierra por una razón: para ser alimento. Yo era las mas pequeña de mis hermanas- dijo con tristeza.- Los granjeros sacaron todas las calabazas y me dejaron a mí. Una día, una niña entró en el campo de calabazas. Cuando yo hablé con ella sobre mi vida, pusó toda mi planta en este cuarto de almacenaje para salvarme.- terminó la calabaza.

-¡Maya, Maya!- gritó mi papa.

-Necesito irme- dije.

-¿Puedes hacerme un favor, amiga?- responsió la calabaza.

-SíNo le digas a nadie que yo estoy aquí.- dijo –Ahora, vete.Encontré a mis padres y les expliqué que no había buenas calabazas. Mi hermano llevaba cinco calabazas en sus brazos.

-No voy a esculpir las calabazas.- dijé yo.

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-¿Por qué no?- preguntó mi hermano.

-Todas las plantas tienen sentimientos.Maya Holifield, Fifth Grade Teacher: Carol Del Toro Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD Trapped

Cecile opened the door to the mysterious room cautiously. She could feel a chill of curisoutiy and fear run down her back. As she stepped into the dark room, Cecile heard faint rustles of creatures moving about. The wooden floorboards beneath her feet groaned and creaked every time she took a step. There were dark, gloomy corners watching Cecile. Dust was scattered all over the floor which made Cecile sneeze. Cobwebs hung from the rotting ceiling like decorations for a Halloween party. The room smelled of rat scat. Ceclie turned to go, but found the door was locked! When she turned around, she saw a pair of red eyes glaring at her from the shadows of a corner.

Cecile was frozen with fear. She immediately started searching for a source of light, a tool, something! She grabbed a candle and some matches from a dusty drawer and lit the candle quickly.

A voice which belonged to the eyes cackled with an evil delight. A bloody hand with finger nails that had been ripped straight off reached for Cecile. She tried to scream, but nothing came from her mouth. The hand snatched the candle and pulled it closer, slowly showing itself.

It was a horrible creature who had all the happiness sucked out of it. The face alone was a man’s worst nightmare. It had one ear, dangling by a little piece from its head. The beast no eye-lids, for they had been torn off. The monster had sharp teeth that could bite through metal. This thing had cuts on its legs, arms, stomach, and back. It had claws that could crush steel. Thankfully, the monster was chained to boxes and balls that weighed hundreds of pounds.

“Clearly I am a demon ruled by the devil himself. I know I’m not pretty, but I used to be, believe it or not.” The demon’s voice screeched like nails against chalkboard. “Now! You’re probably wanting to go aren’t you? Well that’s not going to happen any time soon! Ha,ha,ha!” Cecile wished she’d never come.

Cecile walked slowly backward. “You’ll never escape, darling!” sneered the demon. Cecile was caught, trapped! Her head was spinning. Her eyes began to lose focus. A swarm of darkness surrounded Cecile. She fainted as quickly as a fly drops dead.

“Good Morning!” Cecile opened her eyes. It was the demon. She prayed silently to herself. She couldn’t stand another minute with this terrible creature! “Did you have a good nap?” sneered the demon.

“Of course not,” said Cecile quietly. The demon looked even uglier than before. There were more cuts and scrapes on the demon’s body. Puss was oozing from the monster’s scabby, cut up head. A spider was crawling up Cecile’s body. Cecile was scared to death of spiders before, but now they were nothing, now that she was stuck in a room with a demon. The spider was now perched on top of Cecile’s ear. The spider’s legs danced on her ear and made Cecile twitch and giggle. The demon had its back turned to Cecile while the spider worked on something in secret. “I can help you.”

Cecile heard a whisper. “Over here!” Cecile felt the legs on her ear again.

The spider crept from Cecile’s ear all the way to Cecile’s nose. “I know I’m small, but I can help you! I know the weakness of the kind of demon you are dealing with! Please don’t flick me off of your nose!” cried the spider.

“Don’t worry! I won’t!” whispered Cecile.

The spider told Cecile that she must let her bite Cecile because the spider had a power that could kill a demon. “Will it hurt when you bite me?”

“No but you might feel a little pinch. I’m going to bite you now!”

“Ok! Cecile said, even though she wasn’t ready. What if it was a trick? Cecile would be doomed!

The spider took hold of Cecile’s nose and pierced it with its tiny mouth. The pinch came. Light burst out of the puncture from the bite. It burned on the outside, but on the inside it felt warm and happy.

The demon screeched at the light. What pain! He clawed the air, cutting and tearing at the brightness.

The demon shriveled up. It was too powerful!! “Nooo! Nooo!” The demon screamed bloody murder.

Cecile was recovering from the bite as the light disappeared. The demon was crouched on the ground, obviously burned. He turned around toward Cecile with eyes full of hatred. His eyes were Page 35

bleeding and looked scarier than before. “You!” The demon pointed a boney finger at Cecile. “You are, are, destroying me! You’ll pay the price little girl!” The demon stood up and crept toward Cecile. His claw curled around Cecile’s throat. “When it comes to this, there’s no mercy!” Cecile gasped for air.

The spider whispered in Cecile’s ear. “The nail! Pull the nail out of his neck!” Cecile felt her body go numb. Her hands kept moving toward the demon’s neck as his merciless fingers pressed into Cecile’s neck even harder. Cecile though, “I must pull out the nail!”

Sweat beaded her brow. Cecile grabbed the nail, pulling it out centimeter by centimeter. The nail was much longer than she had expected – it kept emerging from the hold it had long inhabited.

The strangling grip of the demon prevented Cecile from breathing. Time stopped. Slowly the last of the nail emerged from the neck. A tiny space between the tip of the nail and the empty hold caught Cecile’s attention. Cecile was failing and everything went dark.

When she woke up, as she opened her eyes, Cecile was confused. The demon also fell and squashed the spider and the demon had melted into a puddle. “Was this a dream?” thought Cecile.

She shook her head, “No, it wasn’t.” She could breathe normally again. Cecile yawned and went to the door only to discover that it was still locked. She sat down on the old wood floor contemplating the events that occurred and thought, “I’ve seen scary things, but never have I actually experienced something that scary!”

As Cecile’s nerves were calming, she noticed that the spider was on the floor struggling to stay alive. She crawled over the help the spider and cupped it in her hand. As the spider was dying, Cecile was saddened but realized that the spider not only saved her life, it helped her overcome her fears.

This emotional rollercoaster seemed to be coming to an end. The final reality was that Cecile was still locked in the room, trapped, in the old dilapidated house.

Roselina Luera, Fifth Grade Teacher: Jillian Jaeger Kermit King Elementary; PRUSD The Mysterious Box

It was October 22; my friends and I went outside to play. It was cloudy outside and very windy. You could feel a slight mist on any uncovered skin, but we still wanted to go make army base and have a war in my backyard. Max, Clayton, Bret, and I were all geared up. I was in camouflage brown, and Max was in brush color. Bret had camouflage green, and Clayton had a ninja costume.

We picked our teams; it was Max and I versus Clayton and Bret.

First, we needed to have cover for the battle so Max and I stated digging a trench on the side of my parents’ house. Clayton and Bret were gathering tree limbs for their bunker. It was a big hole buried with sticks and leaves on a ledge. When Max and I were almost done, I threw my shovel in the dirt for one more dig and CRACK! Max exclaimed, “Uhhhh, what was that?”

I said, “It’s a big wooden box, I think!” So when we pulled it out we noticed it had a big giant skull and cross bones on it!

Max and I looked at each other and said almost at the exact same time, “Let’s go get Bret and Clayton.” We ran and got them and told them, “We have something you’ve gotta see.” We ran back to the hole where the box was, and the box was already open. Nothing was inside but some cob webs and dirt. We all looked for signs of what could have been in the box. There was nothing! We searched the yard, the neighbor’s yard, and the field behind my house. There was nothing to be seen.

We decided we would just seal the box up, put it back in the hole and bury it again. We made a pact to never speak of it again…. A few months later we had a sleepover and told my parents about the box in the backyard. When we went to dig it up to show them, the box wasn’t there. To this day all four of us know there was a box there, but nobody believes us. So we will never know what was in the “mysterious box” in my backyard.

Eythan McGauley, Fifth Grade Teacher: Dorwyne Johnson Vineyard Elementary; TUSD Page 36

A Nightmare Within a Dream I lugged my heavy board out of the back of Daddy’s crisp white Ford F250. Miranda was doing the same. Careful not to scratch the diesel truck, I hopped over the side into the bed. I helped Miranda lower the rest of her board on to the ground. We started down the trail to the beach. The sand burned the bottom of my feet.

“Zoe!” Miranda called, tossing my flip-flops down in front of me. I slipped into them and the burning sensation died away. Liz, our four year old boxer, barked from the back of the truck as Daddy drove away. After a while the loud grumble of the engine faded.

“Race ya!” Miranda called. Sis is really competitive. I sprinted by the bright yellow NO TRESPASSING-DANGEROUS SURF sign, my surf board tucked under my arm. A few feet from the water’s edge I kicked off my flip-flops. Miranda had beat me, she always does. To her the board was lighter than a pebble. To me it was like carrying a refrigerator. She is sixteen and I am only twelve.

With that and the fact that my wet suit was too small three years ago, she always had the upper-hand.

Without my board and wet suit though, I could beat her any day of the week.

The feeling that my feet were going to melt returned. I took off towards the water in a brisk sprint. Something tugged on my ankle and I felt a falling sensation. Next thing I knew I was flat on my face in the sand.

“Forgot about the stupid surf board,” I muttered. I pulled myself up, tingling all over. Every tiny grain burned. I grabbed my board and headed out to the water.

The water was as cold as ice. Maybe even colder. The waves sprayed me, the cool refreshing water tumbling over my head as I went under. I kicked and paddled hard to catch up to Miranda.

Struggling to keep up I called, “Look at that island! Can we check it out?” Her wet hair whipped back and forth, and I knew the answer was no.

A big wave crashed over my head. Duck-diving was not my specialty. Humongous, was my first thought as I saw the next wave. I spun my board around and began to paddle. As the wave approached behind me, I pushed myself up and stood on my board, veered to the right, and had the same thought I always have: Well, here goes nothing.

I love the sense of power I feel when riding a wave. Like you’re on top of the world, and never want to leave. Peering into the wave next to you, seeing the tiny fish swim beside you…

It is the most beautiful thing ever. The best thing life can offer.

I lost my balance when a smaller wave collided with the one I was riding. As I felt the water swallow me, I slightly opened my eyes. I saw trillions of tiny bubbles lifting me towards the surface.

Right before I closed my eyes and pushed towards the air, I saw a quick flash of grey.

I figured it was just an immense fish. I turned and saw a giant wave swelling up behind me. To my right Miranda was already paddling, trying to catch it. Gliding through the water I quickly pushed myself to my feet. Calmly riding, I put my hand in the wave, the cool water gently spraying me. Then I saw it.

A huge grey dorsal fin rose out of the water. Panicking, I looked all around me. Shore was too far away. Miranda hadn’t noticed the shark yet. Then my mind sparked.

“ZOE!” the sound pierced my ears. I looked; she was thrashing in the water. The shark was circling Sis, the circles getting smaller and smaller. The shark moved in, about to attack. Sis must have sensed it to, because when the shark stuck, it got a mouthful of surfboard.

Miranda saw her chance; she grabbed what left of her board and kicked hard. She propelled through the water, the shark still trying to swallow the chunk of surfboard. She came over to me, her eyes full of questions.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“How am I supposed to know? You’re the older one!”

“Well you’re the smart one!”

“Yeah, right!”

“You are too!”

“Just stop! We are running out of time. The shark isn’t going to be satisfied with a hunk of wood.

Shore is too far out; we have no chance of getting there, I say we go to the little island I spotted earlier.” So she couldn’t argue I pushed off in the direction of the island.

“I told you, you are the smart one,” I heard her mutter as she followed behind me. The island came into sight, but so did the shark. After what seemed like hours of paddling as fast as we could, we arrived at the shore of the island. The shark circled the island and we just waited, not having any clue on what to do. I felt myself drift off to sleep…

When I awoke a loud humming sound filled my ears. I looked around, not remembering anything.

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Miranda was sitting in a bench above me, sipping a glass of water. Daddy was next to her, his face stained with tears. Where am I? I thought.

When I finally built up the strength to ask, it came out as only a whisper, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, “Where am I”? I asked, breaking the silence. Daddy kneeled down next to me and helped me sit up.

“We found you on the island. We are in a helicopter and head home. I am so glad nobody got hurt.” I looked up at the huge smile on his face, and knew I was finally safe.

Taylor Joller, Sixth Grade Teacher: Jennifer Dawkins Baywood; SLCUSD Iisan the Samurai “Samurai must not work as warlords. They fight with immeasurable honor, not hate.” It began with the forging of samurai that served the Emperor of Japan. However, this time of peace did not last very long. The evil prime warlord Kamokita mastered in power, causing Emperor Rule to collapse. The Emperor still had rule over Kyoto, but Kamokita started rule over many other areas. But there was still hope… Iisan, a professional shogun, a master in martial arts, once sealed away the evil shogun and defeated him. Iisan had an Asian look, brown eyes, black hair, and bamboo armor that protected him during the horrid time when Kamokita returned. But before I can tell you THAT story, I have to tell you THIS story. Yoritomo no Minamoto was an evil shogun in Kamakura. The stronghold, however, was under siege by Iisan and an army of Kyoto samurai. The attackers rose victorious, killing Yoritomo in the process. Iisan and his partner, Kenji, freed the villagers. Iisan said to Kenji, “Warlords are practically in every village, taking them as strongholds.” Kenji said, “Dear goodness! It just never stops! Shoguns have forgotten their place! They are supposed to serve, not kill or take over.” They went to Kyoto to talk to the Emperor. The Emperor was sick and told them about how he no longer was powerful, but weak from a shogun’s sheer power. This shogun also made him sad, because his daughter was kidnapped by the shogun’s dark samurai. This shogun’s name is Iyeusu Tokugawa. Iyeusu Tokugawa sat in his throne at Edo palace, as the samurai warriors pulled the shackled and chained Princess Raicheru before him. The samurai cheered, as Princess Raicheru stood there, humiliated. “You won’t get away with this, ugly!” she said. Iyeusu threw her aside as the samurai roared with delight. “Long have we waited! Long have we SUFFERED! But soon, our master will return, giving a new age of power for the samurai, and we shall have our revenge!” Back at Kyoto, the two shoguns went to Edo, which is now Tokyo, to confront shogun Tokugawa. After a huge showdown, however, a portal opens, sending Prime warlord Kamokita and thousands of sealed away samurai to Japan. Kamokita remained in the palace as 10,000 samurai warriors were sent to numerous villages in Japan to terrorize. Kenji and Iisan split up; Kenji fought Shogun Tokugawa while Iisan fought Kamokita. Iisan tried to fight the evil warlord, but Kamokita was going to kill Princess Raicheru if Iisan interfered with his chance to rule Japan. At that exact same moment, Raicheru grabbed a knife and stabbed Kamokita. Kamokita than challenged both of them, and was hiding a musket behind his back. It was learned that strongholds were already being taken by the samurai army, it was already too late. Meanwhile, Kenji and Iyeusu Tokugawa were struggling to defeat one or the other, and then, without missing a beat, Shogun Tokygawa knocked the sword out of Kenji’s hands. Kenji was then knocked to the castle’s weapons rack, and fell on him was a Japanese musket, and Kenji immediately pumped Iyeusu with so much lead he would be using his finger for a pencil, so to speak. The musket ball pierced its way through the sword, and went right into the Shogun that caused most of this, killing him. Back at the fight, Kamokita was on the higher side of the seesaw battle, and than was right about to shoot his musket when Kenji handed the one he used a few minutes ago to Iisan. Iisan shot it right away, causing huge shrapnel to kill Kamokita. To prevent the evil samurai from ruling Japan, they closed the portal operating them, and the samurai were sealed away once more. Iisan, Kenji and Raicheru were back at Kyoto when the mess from the evil samurai was cleaned up. Raicheru and Iisan married, and Japan was given a new age of peace and happiness.

Ethan A. McNeil, Sixth Grade Teacher: Kim E. King Templeton Middle School; TUSD Page 38

The Homecoming “Incoming! 12 o’clock!” screamed the sergeant. A grenade flew overhead landing a few yards form the men crouched behind the rock and exploded sending debris in all directions. Ralph Emmerat, 19, sprinted though the field of battle. Commander Smith was leading the battalion of soldiers against the enemy troops, ruthless terrorist with a thirst for blood. His best friend Carl Bass, also 19, was beside him. It was their first real battle since they’d signed up; their first time hearing the enemy, dodging their fire. The battalion spread out as machine-guns spat bullets.

“I’m going to that wall!” Ralph shouted to Carl, pointing at a yellowed, broken brick wall.

“I’ll cover you!” Carl shouted back, firing off some rounds.

Ralph sprinted to the wall and crouched behind it looking for possible snipers. Somewhere in one of the five broken-down buildings along the sides of the sandy battlefield, Fernando Larsican, the terrorist leader, was hiding. Just then, Ralph heard Carl shout out. He turned around and saw Carl on his back, a red splash on his chest.

“Carl! No!” he cried and jolted awake, his face sweaty. He looked around him wildly. Civilians were staring back at him. He was in a train compartment and it took him a few moments realize he’d been dreaming. A ticket conductor stood in front of him, one hand on Ralph’s shoulder.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asked concernedly.

“Yes, I’m fine… thank you.” Ralph wiped the sweat off his brow and looked again at the passengers.

Most of them were still looking at him curiously, then glanced away hastily, almost embarrassed.

Do you have your ticket?” the conductor asked. Ralph bought his gaze back to the conductor, fumbled though his bag with his left hand and removed the slip of paper. He handed it to the man who clipped it and walked on.

Ralph leaned back in his seat and stared out, unseeing, at the scenery that whipped by. He was going home. Carl should be here as well, he thought. He leaned back against his seat and rubbed eyes. He glanced at his watch and noted the time. Another 4 hours and he’d be home. But there was still lots of time left. As much as he despised it, the moment he closed his eyes, he knew the memories would come flooding back just as it had done these past two months while he recovered at the army hospital.

He did not want to go back to that dreadful day. He smiled grimly as he remembered when he and Carl had been couple of fun-loving guys, just out of high school, growing up in a small town in Iowa, not wanting to be corn farmers like their dads and uncles. They had taken the bus to the next town, signed up at the recruiting station, passed the fitness tests and got accepted into the army. Here was a chance for excitement in their dull lives; their plan to come back war heroes. The difficult part had been telling their parents.

Ralph’s eyelids felt heavy as sleep and beckoned.

Carl groaned as he tried to get up. He managed to get on his hands and knees and began crawling towards the wall, his hand against the wound. Ralph ran toward Carl, tripping on the rocks and spraying a cloud of dust. He grabbed onto Carl, slung him over his back and ran back to the safety of the wall. They both slumped down behind it. Enemy fire ripped the air around them. Parts of the yellowed wall were getting chipped off.

“Ow…that hurts,” Carl said. He took his hand away from the wound. There was a small red patch on his chest.

“You’re going to be alright. Hang on a second. Medic! We need a medic ASAP!” Ralph shouted over the enemy’s gunshots. Carl groaned as Ralph reached into one of his vest pockets and removed a first aid kit.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Carl laughed as Ralph zipped open the kit with fumbling hands and set it to the side.

“This will only take a second,” said Ralph as he turned Carl over. To his horror, there was an even bigger patch of blood on his back. The bullet had gone through. He grabbed a roll of gauze and unraveled a long, thick length and wrapped it around Carl’s body, covering the bullet entry and exit wounds. He straightened Carl back onto the wall.

“Hang on,” he told Carl. He turned around back to face his fellow soldiers.

“Medic! Medic!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

He turned back to Carl. “You’re going to be all rig-“ he stopped in mid sentence as he realized that Carl was still staring at him with the same faint smile he always wore.

“Carl?” Ralph hissed, shaking him.

“Carl!” he screamed in frustration.

“CARL! NOOO!” he shouted at the sky.

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Then train had stopped to pick up more passengers. Another two hours before he reached home.

Would anyone be waiting for him at the station? His family would, of course. They’d been upset at first but finally accepted and respected his decision. And Carl’s parents? How would they feel? They had promised their parents they would look out for each other. Ralph had failed. He would carry that guilt with him forever.

Two medics arrived and checked Carl’s vitals. One of them put his hand on Ralph’s arm and shook his head. It was over for Carl. Ralph felt rage course through his body. He grabbed Carl’s gun and snatched up his own so he was wielding both weapons. Fueled by rage and rage alone, he charged into the battlefield…

Lunch was announced over the speakers and people were either placing their orders with the stewardess or heading to the cafeteria. Ralph ordered a sandwich. As she left, he wondered what it would be like when he got home. He was nervous, his stomach twisted in knots. He wondered if everyone would stare at him, disgusted by the way he had let his friend die. Tears welled up in his eyes. The battle had changed his life forever. Only twenty, he felt he’d aged another twenty years.

The stewardess finally arrived, smiling as she handed him a sandwich. Ralph absently put his mouth around the sandwich and bit as his thoughts went back to that fateful day.

Ralph sprinted through the battlefield and noticed a group of terrorist ready to flee the scene. He and a few of his comrades chased them into an alley and a gunfight ensued. Ralph remembered taking some of the terrorists down before he was hit in the right arm. Then Ralph’s view of the world faded away.

When he awoke, he was in a hospital bed surrounded by different monitors. He saw a nurse walk by and lifted his right arm to get her attention. Except he couldn’t. He didn’t have his arm.

The train made its final stop. He had arrived home. The stewardess helped him with his luggage as Ralph got out of his seat.

“Thank you for your service to our country, sir,” she said sweetly as Ralph stepped outside into the bright sunlight. A loud commotion drowned his thanks. The whole town was waiting on the platform carry huge placards and signs with his name. A banner stung between two trees read ‘Welcome Home, Ralph!’

Ralph felt tears come to his eyes as everyone came forward to greet him. A couple rushed up to envelope him in hugs, and it took him only second to recognize his dad and mom. His little brother Steve, who was seven, rushed over and Ralph picked him up with his good arm, crying with joy.

Carl’s parents were there too, smiling at him.

He walked over and saluted them. “I’m so sorry about Carl. I’m sorry I could not save him. I…” he babbled before Carl’s dad held up one hand and spoke.

“No, Ralph. Please don’t blame yourself. I wanted to share this letter Carl wrote to us the night before he died.

Ralph took the letter and read it.

‘Dear Mom and Dad, It looks like we will see some action tomorrow. Ralph and I are looking out for each other but tomorrow brings new challenges. If anything happens to me, please don’t blame Ralph as I hope Ralphs parents wouldn’t blame me, were something to happen to him. I am doing this for my country, to make a safer future for you. This is what I was always meant to do. I love you both. Your son, Carl.’

Ralph closed his eyes. Carl was looking out for him even in death. The burden felt lighter. He was going to be alright.

Ethan Carroll, Seventh Grade Teacher: Laura Schuberg Los Osos Middle School; SLCUSD The Business Plan

In a small town in Ohio, on top of Snowflake Hill, lived a 12 year old boy named David. His best friend (and partner in crime) Mark lived right across the street from him. It was December 18, 1960 during winter break from Roberts Jr. High School. David’s mom had gone to the grocery store, and David was left home alone and bored; a very dangerous combination! Mark was also bored and annoyed by his little sister Kristina who would constantly bug him. Mark decided to go over to David’s house without any warning. David heard the front door open, and then slam shut. He was so Page 40

scared, he ran to the bathroom and stood on top of the toilet with the baseball bat that he had recently gotten for his birthday. David heard a voice call his name and footsteps coming his way. David could see a pair of shoes underneath the bathroom door.”Hey David, it’s me, Mark!” shouted Mark.

“Phew, you had my heart rate going there for a minute!” David sighed in relief as Mark just laughed.

David and Mark settled down to watch a new T.V. show called Bat Masterson. The show was so boring; the boys actually fell asleep half way through it. David woke up and told Mark “I don’t want this to be just another ordinary winter break like we always have. How about we get off our lazy butts and do something exciting?”

“You mean…outside in the cold?” Mark said with a puzzled look on his face.

On the Bat Masterson show, there was a kid running a lemonade stand and making money.

That’s when David’s eyes grew big and a huge smile appeared on his face. David had an idea! He jumped up in excitement and shouted “Let’s try to make some money this winter break so we can afford that new Joko Loco Man comic book we’ve been wanting; on for each of us!” Mark’s face lit up. “I like what I am hearing, but how can we make money without a job? No one is going to hire a couple of 12 year olds,” questioned Mark. David had an evil grin on his face, and you can tell that his mind was racing 100 miles an hour.

“Out of all the mischievous things we have thought of, I’ve got the best one yet! Follow me and I will explain…” David said confidently. The boys bundled up and rushed outside into the freezing cold. David points to the bottom of Snowflake Hill (which really wasn’t much of a hill at all). “We live on a hill, we have access to a hose and water, and it’s literally freezing outside. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked David.

“Um…Hot Chocolate?” chattered Mark.

“Not even close!” David laughed. “Let’s keep water running down one side of the road so that it freezes up. Then we’ll offer to push cars up the hill for a nickel, but since we know where the unfrozen area will be, we’ll just push the cars to that spot and it’ll be easy money!” As usual, Mark was unsure of David’s plan.

“I guess we would be doing our community a service, right? I mean…kind of, right?”

Mark hesitated.

“Sure Mark, whatever you say.” David said unconvincingly.

The boys turned on the hose and let the water trickle down the hill. Layer after layer of ice built up on the road, and because temperatures had dropped well below 30 degrees, icing over the road didn’t take very long at all. The boys were all bundled up, and waiting patiently at the bottom of the hill for customers to arrive. “Get ready, here come the first car!” shouted David. It was their little old neighbor Mrs. Wilson. Here tires began to spin, and the car began to slide. “She’s not going anywhere fast,” snickered David under his breath. The boys rushed over to her car. “Hey there Mrs. Wilson, looks like you could use a push, and it just so happens to be that we are offering our car pushing services today for only one nickel!” David spoke like a true businessman. Mark just stood there with a shivering fake smile hoping Mrs. Wilson wouldn’t figure out their scam.

“I’m sorry boy but I don’t have any change on me. Can I still get a push, and I promise to pay you a nickel later?” pleaded Mrs. Wilson. The boys pushed her car onto the un-iced area and Mrs. Wilson took off waving goodbye out of her window “Thank you boys!” The first car was a bust. They didn’t make any money. Shortly after that though, car after car kept getting stuck, and would pay the boys a nickel to push them up the hill.

It started getting dark outside and David could hear his mom calling them for dinner. They quickly counted up the change in their pockets to see how much they had made. “35, plus 45, equals 80 cents! We did it Mark, we did it! We have enough to get 2 copies of the new Joko Loco Man comic book, and maybe even some candy too!” David could hardly contain his excitement. The boys ran up the hill to the house and washed up for dinner.

“Thanks for having me over for dinner Mrs. Todd,” said Mark politely.

“Oh, you know you’re welcome over here anytime Mark,” said Mrs. Todd kindly with a smile.

Just as they all got seated at the table for dinner, the doorbell rings. “You boys start eating, and I’ll get the door,” said Mrs. Todd. She opens the door and is surprised to see her little old neighbor Mrs. Wilson. “Mrs. Wilson, what are you doing out in the cold at this hour?”

“I just came by to pay the boys the nickel I owe them for pushing my car up the hill earlier today; such little angels they are,” replies Mrs. Wilson.

“Well Mrs. Wilson, the last time I checked, angles work out of the kindness of their heart, so you just put that nickel back in your purse, and get indoors before you freeze!” said Mrs. Todd. She knew right then and there that the boys had been up to no good. “BOYS!!!” shouted Mrs. Todd. “That was Page 41

Mrs. Wilson at the door.” From the tone of her voice, the boys knew they were busted! They quickly slouched into their chairs, making it even more obvious that they were guilty of something. Mrs. Todd looked the boys dead in the eyes and said in a stern voice, “I don’t know exactly what you boys were up to today, but I have a feeling it wasn’t anything good, and it certainly wasn’t angelic! So, for good measure, tomorrow you boys are to shovel the snow off the sidewalk of every single neighbor that paid you today for pushing their care up the hill. Do you understand me?” The boys eyes grew fearfully big, and they quickly nodded their heads yes.

“Some winter break this is turning out to be,” Mark whispered to David very pathetically.

“Well,” said David, “you know what they say…when life gives you lemons, make lemonade…and during spring break, that’s just what we’ll do!”

Jenna Zoblisien, Seventh Grade Teacher: Emily Green Paulding; LMUSD The Third Floor Bedroom

It all began when someone left the window open. The sound of paper crinkling softly whispered through the room. The wallpaper was covered with white doves and twirling vines. With no one to see, the doves cautiously peeled off the wall to float in the breeze. One by one, they silently glided out the open window.

The girl walked down the shaded driveway on her way to school. The 13 year-old child, named Jane, had golden hair that cascaded past her shoulders. She loved being surrounded by the luscious trees whose leaves had begun to change color. As she reached the end of the neighborhood, she saw the familiar dirt path that led through a small forest to her school. Jane strolled through the woods, feeling at home, until she heard the noise. A rustle from a bush, she wasn’t sure which one. Jane heard a thump and froze. Am I being followed? Should I turn around? She decided that she would on three.

One…she felt adrenaline heat up her chest. Two…she never got to three, for all thoughts ended when she felt pressure on the base of her neck, and she crumpled to the forest floor.

The doves landed on the rough branch of the tree. Most mornings, they waited here until the girl arrived at school. Over the years, they had learned her morning routine: she would get ready for school and take the dirt path through the trees. Their small, black eyes would watch for her little figure to emerge from the forest every morning to make sure she made it to school safe. They usually couldn’t leave her room, which was frustrating, but this morning, the girl had forgotten to close her window after getting a breath of fresh air. If anything bad ever happened to her, they believed that they would know. But how? They weren’t exactly sure, but with the other children, they had known.

They would always know. The leader of the doves suddenly lurched as if it was going to fall off the branch. It made a low chirp, and the flock of birds lowered their heads in understanding. The girl was in danger. A higher pitched chirp sent the birds off the branch. They had been sent to watch over her, and they would not fail.

A fire burned inside Jane’s head. She allowed a groan to pass her lips until it was abruptly cut off by her realization; she was trapped. Panic fluttered in her chest as her eyes squeeze shut. Worry spread across her young face as she struggled to stand up only to come crashing back down when her head hit the low ceiling. She lay on her back, confused about her surroundings. What has happened to me? she thought. The darkness was suffocating. She wasted time waiting for her eyes to adjust. There was no light in this evil place. Her thoughts were frantic as she leapt up, careful to keep her head low this time, in order to find a wall. She stretched one hand in front of her and waved it as if it were a metal detector. Her foot kicked something, and it skidded across the cold stone floor in a series of metallic scrapes. Her breath caught. Could it be a potential weapon against my enemy? She picked up the long metal bar, letting it rest in both hands. She looked towards where she thought the door might be.

Although she was young, she was not naive. She knew that in order to escape with her life, she would need a plan. The idea of trying to escape scared, her but captivity made her terrified. Walking forward once more, she found the wooden door and with one hand, ran her fingers over the divots in the wood. She let out a sigh and positioned herself behind the door...poised to strike.

They flew in a V-formation like a squadron of fighter planes. All eyes were on look out, and all ears were alert and listening. The birds were silent and determined. A gut feeling had led them to speed to a house that had been in a state of disrepair for many years, no one willing to salvage it. It was old Page 42

with a small basement and few windows, perfect for hiding. The birds circled overhead and then dove into the crumbling brick chimney. They funneled out of the fireplace in a vortex, finally seeing their target. Jane’s captor had just opened the wooden door. Jane was so startled by the doves’ arrival that she hesitated before swinging the metal pipe at the kidnapper. Not paying attention to the birds, the man ducked away from the attack, shoving Jane to the floor. She crashed to the floor, unconscious.

Seeing this, the snow-white birds came together and their formation seemed to coil up like a snake preparing to strike. They flung themselves forward, concentrating their attack at the man’s chest as he turned around. He tumbled backwards and was pummeled into the wall as bird after bird careened into him until he was unconscious.

The girl woke up mere minutes later; her hazel eyes saw pure white birds everywhere: on the fireplace, the backs of chairs, side tables, open doors, and near her feet. Their stormy eyes studied her and then looked at the man slumped against the wall. She turned her aching body towards him and looked closer. His hair was a mess; his eyes were closed, and his head slumped to the side. His black shirt was in shreds, and his chest was cut and severely bruised. Startled, Jane looked back at the birds.

They were staring at her again curiously; their eyes pleading to know she was okay. She nodded to the one closest to her, and it seemed to relax. It tugged on her leg with its beak and left through the chimney as quickly as it had entered. The others followed like a column of smoke, and the room was empty once more. Mystified, the girl walked through the house and found the front door. She ran outside and was in a neighborhood that she recognized. Turning to her right, she ran to the next-door neighbor’s door. A woman answered when she knocked.

“I need to use your telephone,” She tried to sound sophisticated as she spoke to the woman.

“Whatever for, dear?”

“It’s an emergency.”

She called the police, gave them the address of the abandoned house and hung up. The woman offered her a ride home, and Jane accepted. Jane wanted to visit her room. Those birds had strangely reminded her of her wallpaper, but she couldn’t be sure.

When she was home, she ran straight to her room and was welcomed by her simple furniture, bed, and the window she had opened for a breath of fresh air but forgot to close. She looked at her wallpaper; her walls were no longer decorated with birds and gently curved vines. There were only vines left. She worried that the birds might never come back. She wanted to thank them. A noise outside her window caused her to run and look out. On the horizon, she saw a flock of white doves headed towards her house. She stepped back as they started to come through the small window, and they swirled around her like a tornado. She spread her arms and tipped her head back, happy to be home and safe. She suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to close the window that morning. A smile spread across her lips as she whispered to herself, “I’ll have to get a breath of fresh air more often.”

Kate Miller, Eighth Grade Teacher: Sandra Delmartini Laguna; SLCUSD Summer Swim I bounce over our tan stepping stone patio and slide onto the first round stair of our pool, my little pink feet squirming as the millions of tiny circular pebbles press into their yielding flesh. The sun shines overhead like a blazing oven, and the cool waters are irresistible. Slowly I creep deeper into the water, the surface reaching up to my knees, my thighs, my waist, and finally almost submerging me in a fourfoot deep mass. I duck my head under and feel the chill of the icy water creep though my scalp like hundreds of tiny spiders. I open my eyes slowly and peer though the murky water. To my left is a shallow end with a sweet little step, its mirror image to the right. Straight in front of me I know the base of the pool curves steeply downward toward the deep end where I have no doubt sea monsters and other menacing evils lie hidden. Gloomy and shadowy, the bottomless depths stretch down endlessly. The water seems to drop several degrees and fear creeps over me like a dense fog. I twist viciously around and kick back towards the four round steps in the shallow end, afraid of the deep dark pit that seems to suck me into its grasp. I climb out of the water slowly; my feet sloshing and cascades of water falling like bursting fireworks. I turn back at the very edge of the tan concrete sidewalk and look across the perfect square of the pool. My pink one-piece clings to me like liquid glue and tiny water drops fall softly to the pavement and then explode noiselessly into round wet circles. The glassy surface has gone Page 43

still, like a mirror, reflecting the blue-gray sky swirled white with clouds.

The hot pavement bakes my sensitive skin like a frying pan. As I leap into the shallow end the pool folds around me like a colossal blanket, and my flat feet hit the pebble bottom soundly, causing my knees to buckle under the weight. The bumpy stones press into my skin like tiny pricks of needles, and shine like rainbows of brilliant light. My hands cut through the clear smooth water like sparkling tuna as I swim the length of one side, around thirty feet. I peer over into the deep end and take quick breaths, panting from effort. From atop the surface, the deep pit seems now like a mere corner that I can conquer, and I can make out the round bottom and little circular black drain. My body gives into the pool as I make my way until I am directly over the dreaded area, fear creeping up on me like a shark slicing through the water. Willing myself not to back down, I dive deep and am pulled under into the unfathomable crater.

My hands flail about wildly and suddenly strike the stones with a hollow sound, pulling the rest of my body in. I lie still on the very bottom of the deepest part of my pool. My breath is giving way and I am weak. I must get to the surface. Suddenly, as if a light were switched off, the water becomes dark and inky, the clouds cover the sun, and the area dissolves in shadow. The pebbles are now shades of black and grey, and it seems as if they ripple with dark energy. I surface and blow air like a whale, stunned. My hair whips around me like flailing tree branches, and my skin tingles with cold and goose bumps. The water becomes choppy like the ocean as I duck under to keep remotely warm. The murky navy water stings my eyes and everything becomes blurry and dim and sinister. The deep end is almost black, and the ringing of the wind and water is haunting and deadly. I feel as if I’m a tiny sardine fish on the edge of the Continental Rise, staring down into the endless Abyss.

The tan pool cover bounces creakily with the wind on the far edge, spraying water over the bullnose tile and onto the concrete. Tiny water drops scream down from the sky and blur the edge of the surface and the air. I feel lost in a tunnel of wind and rain, but underneath the surface the storm shrieks and magnifies against the square rock walls. My limbs feel like they are being crushed by large masses as I paddle my arms through the solid heavy water. The water dripping like icicles slowly from the edges of the pool look like long, slender fingers sliding back into the water. The wind roars and whistles the rain splatters, and the surface roils carelessly as the whole pool seems to shake and churn with waves. The moving water smells like the inside of my mom’s bathroom cabinet, and tastes bitter and unpleasant in my throat, burning like I’ve swallowed fire. The air is so hazy that the pool seems like a live sea monster, thrashing and kicking to break free. I clamber out of the evil sea and turn back only because the urge is too great.

Suddenly, the water stills, becoming clear and crystalline again. The sun peeks its face out and shines light on the entire pool. There is no wind, only the sound of tiny waves lapping the sides. The pebble bottom shines, colorful again, and the pool appears shallow and inviting once more. Even the dark deep corner illuminates its bottom through the transparent water, and seems no more frightening than the other three corners. I stand shocked, wondering why the raging giant at last fell into a slumber. I do not feel afraid anymore, as if the hot sun has evaporated my terror like I myself am made of water. I look up and see my mother’s round smiling face at the window, appearing pleased that I am having a ‘nice swim’. Her face conveys no signs of anxiety, oblivious to my bizarre encounter.

The malicious sea storm never stirred again. I do not expect its return to my pool, but several neighbors that summer swapped out their backyard pools for basketball courts.

Sienna S., Eighth Grade Home School; SLO An Act of Selfishness The streets were empty as trash swirled in circles along the cracked asphalt road. The children were not allowed outside in fear of getting kidnapped, and the criminals were working in secret in fear of getting caught. Alizia felt out of place in this trashed part of town as she drove through it on the way home. Graffiti was sprawled across every surface, as hazy smog loomed down and clouded the vision of anyone living in this wretched place. The smell was repulsive, the scenery was repulsive and anything that could have had potential in beauty was crushed by the heavy spirit of the depressed town and became repulsive like the rest.

Normally, Alizia would travel a different route to get home from work, but that street was under construction, and, to her frustration, she had to put herself in danger to get home. She was terrified having Page 44

heard all the rumors of what happens to those who venture out here alone. She was a rabbit sniffing out danger, fidgeting at every unexpected noise she heard. Her eyes shifted every few seconds to her only defense: the locked doors. Trying to calm her nerves, she lit a cigarette and rolled down the windows the slightest amount to keep the smoke from filling up the car.

Unwinding from her tension, Alizia turned on the radio, allowing the music to relax her. She began to see the terrifying street as any normal, old, rundown place. She gazed out the window, watching for something beautiful for her to occupy her mind. She found none. Giving up on the environment outside, she spent her time humming to all the songs on the radio and half singing whenever she knew the words well.

She abruptly sat upright in her chair and leaned to her right to get a better view. Hidden amongst the garbage, trash and debris, she saw a small child huddled on the ground Alizia stopped her car quickly, remembering to put out her cigarette and lock the doors before running closer. Spying from behind a mound of garbage, she peered at the child who was rocking, clutching her knees, and sobbing into her small, gaunt legs. The girl’s shoulders clenched in time with her loud sobs, as she muttered words under her breath. She was wearing what seemed to be either a shirt, or gown, that now looked like scraps of cloth glued to her body with sweat, dirt, and blood. Her eyes were swollen red, and tears flowed in rivulets down her dirt encrusted cheeks. Every patch of visible skin was covered in splotches of deep red blood and scratches, and her ribs bulged from the rips in her clothing.

Greatly grieved by this dreadful sight, Alizia’s eyes pooled with water, and one small tear careened down her pale cheeks. Inching forward, she was able to hear what the girl was mumbling to herself. “They’re gonna find me!” she whimpered “Gonna take me back!”

Not understanding how to react to this child’s torment, Alizia shuffled a few yards away and contemplated what she should do with the girl. Can I leave really her here after witnessing what I just saw? I really don’t want to inconvenience myself. She’ll be fine. Yes! She’ll be fine. And with a nod to reassure her decision, she walked back to her car, attempting to push out the image of the weeping child.

She lifted herself into her car and carried on with what she was doing before interrupted by the girl, lighting another cigarette for good measure, and pretending that she never saw anything but giant mounds of garbage on her ride home.

Arriving at her small apartment late at night, Alizia yawned and rose up the steps to her door.

Unlocking it, she threw her keys on a nearby table and fixed herself something to eat in the kitchen.

While reading a few chapters of a book, she glided warm noodles into her mouth, which instantly filled her with warmth. Sliding into bed, the covers felt cold at first but soon gained warmth. She fell asleep, without thinking about the day’s events, and not once drifting into thoughts of the poor child.

Forcing herself to wake up, Alizia took a shower enjoying the hot water caressing her aching back and got dressed. She grabbed a cup of hot coffee for breakfast and descended the steps to her car.

She watched as the magnificent trees blended into the harsh worn down buildings on the ragged scumfilled road. Without realizing what she was doing, Alizia stopped the car and locked the doors near where she saw the child the day before. She just sat there not knowing what to think until the scene of the stranded child replayed itself in her mind. “Oh! What a terrible thing I have done.” she whispered, baffled by her selfrealization. “I am so selfish!” she sat there for a few minutes crying into her hands.

I can still fix this! Alizia thought.

Determined, she got out of her car, forgetting to lock the doors, and waked to where she had last seen the child. She could see the look of appreciation and longing that she would see in the girl’s eyes once she approached her. She could feel the child’s thin, trembling body against hers as she held her tight, protecting her from whatever intended to harm her. But what she saw wasn’t what she had imagined.

A few scuff marks torn across the hard, brutal ground, as if a small being had been dragged away, were the only signs that she had ever been there.

Maegan Daniels, Ninth Grade Teacher: Suzanne Hogan Atascadero High School; AUSD Marching Down to See Charon Midmorning. The sky was cloudy and dim. General John Hofstadter leaned closer to his mirror, carefully shaving with his hunting blade. It was his prized beard, but he was ridding himself of it. Today he would battle for a new world, and what better way to start a new world than with new beginnings?

Around him, the soldiers were readying with an enthusiasm unlike any other, their shouts mingling with the melodious songs of the birds.

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“General,” A man approached from his left.

John spared the man a fleeting glance. “What is it, Deputy?” he asked, sliding his mouth to the left to get a better angle.

“Scouts have spotted their army.”

John dunked the lower half of his face into the frigid river water and came up shaking like a dog.

“And? How brutally are we going to crush them?” he asked with a mild grin, drying off his face with a ragged towel.

“We won’t.”

John stopped. “What?” he asked, turning around to look at the other man.

“It will be more the other way around.” He paused, glancing at the General’s thunderous expression and hurried on. “It’s nothing like we expected, General. Millions upon millions. We have no chance.”

The General threw away the towel with disgust and moved towards his tent. “Of course we do, Smith,” he replied neutrally. “We have everything, better training, and superior weapons. We’ll be fine.”

Deputy Arthur Smith hurried after, shaking his head. “No, sir, that’s just it. I saw two handed staff blades coming in. Sir, they’re trained well enough for two handed weapons.” His voice had become frantic, almost pleading.

“So?” John asked grudgingly.

“So, I propose we retreat. Temporary peace treaty or--” The General whipped around and jabbed his finger into the other man’s face. “No! We’ve risked too much. It’s not worth it to go back now. Do you hear me?”

“But sir--” “No.” Smith stared back into flinty gray eyes with a failing will and a fright he didn’t know often. “At least tell the men what they’re in for?”

“No. I can’t have deserters.” The General backed up and turned around, picking things up and putting them down elsewhere, rearranging the uniform on his thin cot.

“But sir, think of the--” “I’m thinking of the country, Smith.” John replied coldly. “I’m thinking of the millions of civilians relying on us right now.” He paused. “Go rally the men. We march at noon.”

Smith hesitated at the tent’s threshold, his mouth open as if to speak. But no words came, and he bowed his head, turned, and left.

“Stand ready, stand strong!” Hofstadter’s voice bellowed out over the crowd, falling into every man’s numb ears with all the force that a fly might have on an apple. But inside, at the hearts and cores of every soldier present, the words struck like a knife through frightened butter.

A small man named Steven stood somewhere among the sweaty ranks, hand on his sword and the sweat rolling down from his face in quarts and gallons. He seemed like any other soldier, with his cap strapped tight onto his graying brown hair and all his buckles shined so they would be easier to clean later, whoever may clean them next. No one knew, except Steven himself, what he may have been thinking of, be it family or strategy or the crushing loneliness that may have awaited him at home, and to be honest, no one else could bear his weight along with their own.

The plain was deadly silent. It was the sort of silence when the grasses are whispering and the birds and squirrels are screeching at one another, but you can’t hear a lick of it. It was the kind of moment when everything seems to race on by while you stand in your own crystal, silent bubble. If any man there had to put a scene to the quiet before the storm, that short eternity would have been every answer.

Randall stood as straight as he could, back straight and hands at his side. The man beside him was sniffling and, as far as he could tell without looking, fumbling for something in his pockets. Wearing a neutral expression, Randall looked down at his neighbor. By now, the dark--haired man had gotten a picture out of his pocket and had managed to drop it onto the dusty ground. Without hesitating, perhaps without thinking, Randall stooped to retrieve the photo (which looked like someone blonde sitting next to Cousin Itt at a first glance) and returned it to its owner, who enfolded it into white-knuckled grasp. “My wife,” the man said and flashed a grateful smile. Randall smiled back and remembered how good it felt to stretch his lips again.

The rumbling came slowly, somewhere in the distance. The general shouted something, but he may as well have been warning the potatoes that a storm was coming. No one was listening anymore, unless it involved the word ‘charge.’ Every soldier, the ones with names starting with S and A and all Page 46

the rest of the letters, along with the the ones with black hair or brown or blonde or red, and yes, even the ones with sweaty palms and racing hearts readied themselves as one.

Bloodied bodies and screaming men littered the plains where there had once been nothing but grass. Up in sardonically cheerful skies, the sun was hanging low to the horizon. It had been hours now.

The little river to the west ran red with blood, and on the bank, the stony eyes of General John Hofstadter stared up at the skies. Lying in the shallows where the current wasn’t strong enough to carry away anything heavier than a leaf was the tattered picture of a blonde haired woman and her matching shaggy blonde dog.

Leandre Ravatt, Ninth Grade Teacher: Suzanne Hogan Atascadero High School; AUSD Fructosies – God of Sugar Sugar is a wonderful component; however no one knows exactly where the tasty treat came from.

Some people say the sugar cane originated in the 6th century B.C. in Polynesia. Others say it was discovered in the Gupta Dynasty around 350 A.D., so it is difficult to know exactly where it came from.

However, one extremely old man swears he saw, with his own eyes, the sugar god.

When this elder man told the tales of Fructosies, the god of sugar, people were baffled. No one believed a word he uttered. He used to say that all the sugar in this world was from the magical sugar cane, Fructosies held. Once he described the god as a golden man, who had a licorice halo, and a gummy worm belt.

When he reached the part mentioning the marshmallow slippers, citizens became interested.

When this elder man told the tales of Fructosies, the god of sugar, people were baffled. No one believed a word he uttered. He used to say that all the sugar in this world was from the magical sugar cane, Fructosies held. Once he described the god as a golden man, who had a licorice halo, and a gummy worm belt.

When he reached the part mentioning the marshmallow slippers, citzens became interested.

People of all ages came from every town and village just to hear the elder man talk about the sugar god.

Even if people didn’t believe him, they wanted to listen to the folktale explaining where sugar originated from. Telling the story from the beginning the elder described the birth of the legendary sugar god.

Fructosies was once just a regular man, who was walking through the forest one afternoon and stumbled upon a stick, of which he had never seen before. Once he grasped the stick, which was actually a sugar cane, he acquired a power like no other, the power to produce sugar.

The tale continued, as the old man babbled on about the sugar god. When Fructosies traveled the earth, he brought joy to every country he visited. Everyone everywhere became addicted to sugar.

When the sugar god waved his golden cane through the air, cupcakes and lollipops appeared. Candy canes grew out of the ground and clouds transformed into fluffy marshmallows. Every sweet condiment imaginable was formed. Skittles, candy bars, donuts, peanut butter cups, and so much more.

Whenever Fructosies created sugar filled treats citizens praised his name.

The elder man continued the folktale about Frutosies and people’s eyes gazed upon him. Having never tasted sugar before, Fructosies had an extremely good idea what the people desired. Everyone couldn’t wait until Fructosies arose again, because they were tremendously addicted to sugar. So, Fructosies thought of an idea to make the people of the world pleased every day of the year.

Sadly, Fructosies disappeared from the earth one day. People in all places were extremely disappointed; however the sugar god created enough sugar for the citizens of the world to enjoy forever.

He created fields among fields of sugar canes, and produced enough bees in the world to make decadent honey. To this day no one knows where the god of sugar vanished to, but they thank him every day for inventing the exquisite sugar cane.

As a result, Fructosies was honored by being name after fructose corn syrup, also known as sugar.

Even though people were devastated that Fructosies wasn’t alive, they still enjoy the sweet and sour treats that he left them. The tale of Fructosies was passed on from the old man, to many generations after that. When anybody enjoys the delicious confection that the god of sugar left them, they recognize the sugar god for his golden sugar cane and his supernatural and mouthwatering powers.

Isabella Robertson-Cooper, Tenth Grade Teacher: Ellen di Cristina Arroyo Grande High School; LMUSD Page 47

Hide and Seek Alone What is Hide-And-Alone? Well, contrary to what the name suggests, a person doesn’t play “alone.” Through “magic,” a player summons a spirit to the world of the living and places the spirit within a doll. Together, player and “spirit” play a game of hide and seek with a valuable prize at stake: the player’s body. Should the player be found by the spirit, he loses both the game and his body, taking the spirit’s place in the realm of the dead. It’s a very amusing concept, isn’t it?

However, I have no interest in playing make-believe or listening to crazy Hide-and-Seek-Alone stories.

I don’t really care for stores and superstitions; ghosts aren’t real. Although I admit its fun to entertain the idea, it’s also ridiculous to do so. After all, anyone who thinks ghosts exist is – to put it bluntly – crazy.

“Prove it!” my friend had challenged me, “prove ghosts don’t exist!” He bet me twenty dollars that a ghost would appear and scare me witless if I played Hide-and-See-Alone. He knew that once he bet money I couldn’t say no. So one night, I went about setting up for the game, following strict instructions from my friend.

The requirements are a little strange: I needed to cut open a doll, remove the stuffing, fill the doll with rice and a piece of myself, such as hair or a fingernail, and then re-sew the doll and wrap it with red thread. Then I needed to name the doll. Finally, I needed a “weapon” to start the game and some saltwater to end the game. I decided to use my old teddy bear from when I was young. It was a small, brown bear about as big as my hand, with beady, marble eyes, and a bell tied around its neck. I cut it open, filled it with rice, placed in one of my fingernails, and closed it up again. I didn’t want to put too much though into its name so I named the doll “Bob.” I prepared a bottle of saltwater; apparently I would need to spray it on the doll to force the spirit out and win the game. For a “weapon,” I chose to use a pencil. With everything prepared, I was ready to begin. It was ten at night when I began. I went into my bathroom and set the doll in the sink, placing the bottle nearby.

“For the start of the game, I am it,” I chanted three times. After I finished, I ran out into the hallway. I went down my left to my room where I locked the windows and turned out the lights.

Leaving my room, I went down the hall, past the bathroom, and into the den and kitchen. I locked the doors and windows like I did in my room. I shut off the TV which I had left at a blaringly loud volume. I grabbed a sharpened pencil from beside a bottle of soda on the kitchen counter and made my way back to the bathroom. I took the pencil and plunged it deep into the doll. Game start.

“Now, Bob is it!” I chanted once, twice, three times, and then I quickly and quietly fled to my room. I shut the door and locked it before opening my closet door and diving in. My friend insisted that the game must start in the bathroom so I couldn’t hide there. Since I didn’t really want to hide under the bed or in cupboards in the kitchen, I found myself hiding in my closet, positioned across the room from the door leading to the hallway. I sat, with my knees up to my chest, in the corner of the closet and waited, listening intently for anything.

After a few minutes, I heard the sound of the TV blaring outside. Wait, didn’t I turn that off? Or maybe I didn’t? I considered going outside to turn it off again, but I decided I shouldn’t go outside if I wanted to stay hidden. Hold on, why was I taking this silly game so seriously? Mentally slapping myself for my unreasonable caution, I was pulling myself up to open the closet door when I heard something that stopped me cold. Quietly, yet somehow surrounding me, I heard the sound of laughing. It was light and childish, but ethereal and cold. Frozen in place, I listened quietly and with fear to the ghostly laugh. Ghostly? I laughed mockingly at myself. Ghostly? No, it’s probably just the TV outside making noise.

Suddenly, I heard the door to my room open. I heard it click and creak, swinging open slowly. I held my breath; I locked my door didn’t I? Didn’t I? Plus, there’s no key for my bedroom door. How could it open? Did I forget to close the door? Is it just opening on its own? No, I closed the door and I locked it. Did the ghost unlock the door? No, ghosts can go through walls, can’t they? Oh, but the doll can’t go through walls. No! Ghosts don’t exist! Then, who opened the door? Maybe someone picked the lock? Then, that means I’m being robbed!

Panic shot through me as these scattered thoughts went through my mind; I had to stop this intruder. I slammed open the closet door, and as I did, I heard the soft chime of a small bell mixed with soft laughter. Standing by the door was the teddy bear. Though it was dark, I could see the thread wrapped around it and the sharp pencil it held in its arms. I felt its gaze, and in my mind I heard a voice that wasn’t my own chanting gleefully over and over: “Found you!”

It wasn’t possible. Ghosts shouldn’t exist! The doll took a step forward. I was terrified. Did I lose? No, I haven’t lost yet! The saltwater! I looked in the closet: where was the saltwater? I heard the doll coming closer, the bell becoming louder. Was the saltwater outside? I needed to get past the doll first. I ran, leaping over the doll, and ran out into the hall. Despite the dim light, I saw the Page 48

saltwater bottle on the kitchen counter. I tried running to it, but I felt weak, as if my life was quickly leaving me. I passed the bathroom quickly, but soon my movements became slow and sluggish. As I struggled down the hall, the voice kept teasing me.

“No cheating!” it said, “You’ve already lost!”

“Shut up!” I screamed, “You haven’t won yet!”

I reached the kitchen counter. By then, I was close to collapsing, and my breathing came in shallow gasps. My soul was being drained away. However, fear pushed me to action. I picked up the bottle and opened it, but as I did, my strength to stand left me. I buckled, spilling the bottle contents on the floor. Sitting up, I turned around to look down the hall. The doll was five feet away, walking slowly towards me. Terror almost froze me in place, but I used what strength I still had to pick up the bottle; there was still enough saltwater to spit on the doll and draw the spirit out, ending the game. “It’s useless,” the voice teased as the doll inched closer, “you lose.”

Not yet, I thought. I titled the bottle into my mouth. Immediately, I noticed something strange: there was no salty taste to the water. I spewed the saltwater out onto the doll, but nothing happened.

Looking at the bottle, disgust washed over me as I realized what had happened. I had mistaken this bottle to have saltwater, but I had actually set the saltwater bottle down in the bathroom. What I had just used to spray on the doll was just soda.

Drained of all hope, I could only watch as the doll walked closer towards me, pencil posed to strike.

It stopped just beside my ankle, and brought its arm down. I’d lost and I hadn’t lost just twenty dollars or my sanity. I’d lost everything – my body, my future, my life – in some stupid game. I prayed that perhaps my next destination would be heaven, just as I blacked out. When I awoke, I couldn’t move anything except my eyes. Looking down, I saw that I was wrapped in red thread, my body was made of some plush material, and I small bell hung from my neck. I was inside my teddy bear. I looked up and saw my body, my original body, staring down at me triumphantly and mockingly. When it open its mouth to speak, I didn’t hear my voice. I heard the voice of the ghost who spoke in my head. He said only two words before he picked me up and threw me in the closet: “You lose.”

Timothy Losbog, Eleventh Grade Teacher: David Muff Atascadero High School; AUSD My Diary Date: 10/5/2012, Sunny.

Happy everyday!!!

I remembered that someone said that beauty is everywhere in this world. For our eyes, it is not lack of beauty, it is lack of the attitude to look for beauty. It is the same as the study of people. For our world, it is not lack of specialness; it is lack of the angle to search for the specialness. Today, I know a person who is special for me to study. His name is Atticus Finch, which is the main character in “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee. He is the father of brother Jem and sister Scout and lived in a small and old town which is named Maycomb County. He is a calm, wise, and brave lawyer. He is also well-respected by everyone, including the very poor. He is my new idol right now; not only he is handsome, but he taught me a lesson through Scout. He said, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” It is a great philosophy. As my mother told me, in this society, we always work in groups. It is an important living skill, a key to success, and the way to the podium. I am really excited to learn more about him. “Dear, you should go to sleep right now, it is too late. Come on!” Mom is calling me. Darn it, all right, I do want to make that “tigress” mad at me, Brrr! I will read more tomorrow. Good night!

Date: 10/9/2012, Sunny. :)Smiles to everyday!!!

Night. It is so quiet. The moonlight spreads on the floor like the sliver river, so beautiful. Looking at “To Kill a Mockingbird”, there comes a sense of injustice, a smell of tragedy, and a feeling of anger. It is about the case of Tom Robinson. According to Calpurnia, Tom is a nice man but with a “black body”. Tom is charged with raping a white girl Mayella. Most white people believe that Tom is not innocent because of the word “black nigger”. It makes me feel so disappointed. But there is a slight hope-Atticus. He is the only one who stands up for Tom. He is like the balance which always stands for the justice. He protects Tom from the attack of the “emotional” mob and works hard to defend Torn. He is the knight who protects the “princess”. Wow! What a handsome hero! I love him more and more. Oh, my hero! It is getting late; time to get to bed; have a good dream!

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Date: 10/20/2012, Rainy.

Always look forward!!!

Life is not going to be so easy. It is like the curved road around the mountain. It is not always straight and flat, but it is not always twisted and rough too. A major lesson that “To Kill a Mockingbird” teaches me is that some setbacks will help people grow up, as long as we have courage to face it ,see it in the eyes, and then find a way to beat it. Atticus helps his children to overcome lots of problems. He plays with them (not football), reads to them, and listens to them with patience. He is the model of fathers. He teaches them what is compromise, what is real courage, and what is the real meaning behind killing a mockingbird. I really hope that my father could be like him. This morning, my father is really mad at me, because he thought I broke the glass bottle. I was trying to explain to him that I did not break it. How come that his non-stopping blame makes me crushed before I tell him the truth. He is so rude. At that time, I was thinking “Oh! God! Send me a father like Atticus!! And then, he found the truth. This time, it is me who is mad at him. I can be that because I did not learn compromise, so I said I will forgive him if he bought me an iPhone. We made the deal. Thanks to my hero! Hope tomorrow will be a luck day like today. Bye bye! My diary, See you someday!

Yong He, Twelfth Grade Teacher: Heather Stover Paso Robles High; PRUSD My Life Café

As I entered My Life Café to the sound of a low beep counting the number of people just passing through, I was affronted by a decidedly notable scent. Neither offensive, nor pleasant, the scent lingered tauntingly in the air like the remaining tendrils of smoke drifting skyward from a smothered bonfire. My companion and I wordlessly took our seats at a booth by the window and opened our separate menus. I admired the clean lines and charming designs that graced the front of the small, laminated menu, rubbing at a spot that appeared to be a stain, but was, in fact, a portion of the ink that was smudged.

I had just closed my menu when a man who was of average height, average build, and rather unremarkable in every way strolled up to our table.

“Hello, my name is Life, I’ll be your server today. What can I get for you?” he said, smiling amicably at my companion.

“Yes, I’ll have the flambe, thanks,” she said, returning the grin and handing him her menu.

“And for you?” He asked, turning to me.

“The ham sandwich please.”

“Very good,” he replied, taking my menu, “I’ll be right back with those.”

My companion and I waited patiently for Life to return with our lunch. I fiddled with the corner of the napkin, hoping she might say something to disperse the awkward silence, but when I glanced up at her face, she seemed confused, with her eyes squinted and her head tilted to one side as if she couldn’t quite make out my appearance or had forgotten who I was. I sighed, resigning to wait in silence until our food arrived.

When our waiter finally did return, he arrived with a large tray held aloft by one hand above his head.

“One flambe,” he said, placing the plate before my companion on the table. She immediately gasped with joy and excitement as he lit the dessert aflame before her very eyes.

“And one ham sandwich,” he stated, dropping my plate on the table and turning to leave.

Oh, God, I thought, What is this?

I stared down, horrified, at the fat yellow fruit with its obnoxious coloring and it bumpy, waxy skin.

Disgusting.

I could feel the panic rising up like bile in my throat. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. I quickly grabbed Life’s arm before he could run away.

“Is this some sick joke?” I demanded. My companion, eating generous spoon fulls of her flambe, leaned across the table to me, “Oh! I know! You can just, you know, make lemonade.”

“Lemonade? Lemonade! I have neither water, nor sugar, and you expect me to make lemonade?

That lemonade would taste terrible! You’re a fool if you think it would be anything less than a blight on humanity!” I exclaimed, spewing the words into her face, “I will not make lemonade. I don’t have to stand for this. I demand to see Life’s manager!” She looked at me blankly for a moment, then proceeded to shrug her shoulders noncommittally and continue eating. The nerve of some people.

I flipped the plate of her flambe, sending it careening into the air and landing onto the floor with a splat.

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A sound of utter outrage escaped her lips as she looked back and forth between me and her ruined dessert.

“Why!? Why would you do such a thing!?” she yelled.

“Because you are an uncultured swine who orders flambe for lunch!” I retorted. My companion stood from the table dramatically and stormed out of the cafe with a huff, leaving a trail of flambe and tears in her wake. Good Riddance.

“Is this some sick joke?” I demanded. My companion, eating generous spoon fulls of her flambe, leaned across the table to me, “Oh! I know! You can just, you know, make lemonade.”

“Lemonade? Lemonade! I have neither water, nor sugar, and you expect me to make lemonade?

That lemonade would taste terrible! You’re a fool if you think it would be anything less than a blight on humanity!” I exclaimed, spewing the words into her face, “I will not make lemonade. I don’t have to stand for this. I demand to see Life’s manager!” She looked at me blankly for a moment, then proceeded to shrug her shoulders noncommittally and continue eating. The nerve of some people.

I flipped the plate of her flambe, sending it careening into the air and landing onto the floor with a splat. A sound of utter outrage escaped her lips as she looked back and forth between me and her ruined dessert.

“Why!? Why would you do such a thing!?” she yelled.

“Because you are an uncultured swine who orders flambe for lunch!” I retorted. My companion stood from the table dramatically and stormed out of the cafe with a huff, leaving a trail of flambe and tears in her wake. Good Riddance. I turned my attention back to Life. “I demand to see your manager!”

I stated, my face the very definition of “no-nonsense.”

“I’m the manager,” he replied smiling softly. I wanted to slap the smile strait off his face. Why was he smiling? What sick enjoyment was he receiving from tormenting me? All I’d ever asked for was a ham sandwich. What was so wrong with bequeathing unto me the ham sandwich I so justly deserved?

I quickly stood up, poking my finger into Life’s chest as though it was a stiletto aimed at his heart.

“How dare you serve me a lemon, Life! How dare you!” I brushed past him and burst out the door onto the sidewalk, absently noting the low beep sound again made by my exit before noticing that the sky had suddenly grown dark. How long had I been in My Life? I was greeted only by the sound of silence, as if the night was rebuking me for my poor behavior. I turned back to look at My Life. The electric “OPEN” sign switched to “CLOSED” and the lights went out in an insignificant, wordless moment. My life was a dark room, tilled with empty chairs.

I suddenly experienced renewed anger and clenched my fists in a bout of rage, when I realized that the lemon was still gripped in my palm. The juice oozed through my fingers and dripped to the pavement. I couldn’t get it away from me fast enough as I hurled the pulverized abomination at the bright “CLOSED” sign, causing the sign to flicker and die, leaving me in total darkness. I felt alone, bereft.

Life slipped out of the front door, flashlight in hand, and locked the cafe behind him. He slowly sauntered up next to me, the subtly smile still playing on his lips as if it was a song he’d listened to a thousand times, but never bothered to learn the lyrics to.

“This is entirely your fault, you know? I never asked for a lemon. I never wanted one.”

“And when has placing blame and finding fault for your petty sense of justice ever retracted the lemon that you were served?” he replied, staring pointedly at the spattered lemon against the window.

“What does that matter?” I asked, feeling defeated.

“It matters. It matters because right here, right now, in this moment, this is your life, and everything matters. You were served a lemon. It had nothing to do with justice or fault or redemption, and you were given one nonetheless. You were received by this world in the very same way.” Life turned to face me, placing his palm cupped around a small yellow fruit between us. “I am not what you have asked for. I am not what you can expect. Yet, you will slip this lemon into your pocket and feel the shape and weight of it with you wherever you wander, and you will continue on.”

The anger I had felt before like a raging fire had dispersed to reveal the slab of ice that filled my lungs and clogged my throat. I grasped the lemon from his hand into my own, studied it, transferring the fruit from one hand to the other.

I slipped it in my pocket.

I felt the weight and shape of it against me.

I continued on.

Aubrey Rossi, Twelfth Grade Teacher: Mary Corey Atascadero High School, AUSD Page 51

Personal Experience

Why the Arts Matter Extensive research has demonstrated that arts education engages students in learning, contributes to higher test scores and reduces truancy and dropout rates.

(The California Alliance for Arts Education)

My Family

My baby sister Hannah is three months old now! Her toes are really cute, they’re squishy and tiny. Her pinky is so small you almost can’t see it! Her nose is really cute too!

My sister is really silly. She turns the Zhu Zhu Pets upside down. She also likes to play with the vacuum cleaner. When my daddy turns it on, she jumps over it when it’s about to come after her.

My daddy is cute, but sometimes he’s grumpy in the morning. He’s also a corn eating machine.

He also spanks bottoms, so you better watch out!

My mommy is fun; she’s the queen of laughing. One time my daddy was playing man-bear-pig and my mommy laughed so hard, I thought her ears were popping out.

I am really funny. I play hide and seek with Kylie, my sister, and go looking for her. When I find her I sneak up on her. Then when I get close to her, I jump out and say...”Boo!” Katelyn Johnson, First Grade Teacher: Donnia Callahan Templeton Home Schol; TUSD Las Vegas

I went to Las Vegas. On the second day we went to Circus Circus, me and my sister went on the waterslide. It was BIG!! It had a long dark tunnel. On the third day I went to M&M World and we saw a movie called “I lost my ‘m’ in Vegas” It was funny. The last day we went bowling. I got to bowl with the big kids. I like Las Vegas, I miss it.

Liliana Pille, First Grade Teacher: Nancy Easland Fairgrove Elementary; LMUSD My Disneyland Trip

It was like I was falling off the earth when I went in the teacups. They spun like tornados! After that I went on Thunder Mountain. It went so fast that it was like I was falling out of the sky! When I got off I was so dizzy I almost fell over! The next ride I went on was Space Mountain. It lit up my skirt like a lantern. When I got on it counted down. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Blast off! It went so fast it was like I was in outer space!

When I got off I went on the Tower of Terror. It was so fast I was screaming! It was an amazing trip!

Ava Szytel, First Grade Teacher: Rebecca Wallstrum Bellevue Santa Fe; SLCUSD Monterey Bay Aquarium

We went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. My mom, my Uncle, my cousin, my sister Janyva, my baby sister Jozie, and my cousin were all in the car. It was a long drive. My uncle forgot my cousins shoes and he had to wear his slippers.

We saw Jellyfish. We saw sharks. There was a shark that could camouflage in the sand. We saw starfish that we could pick up. We learned that they have eyes on all of their arms. Ooooo creepy. We saw Cucumber fish, they were weird and smooth. We learned about Seahorses too. They have at least 30 babies. The daddies’ take care of the babies. We learned about the baby whales, they drink 5000 bottles of milk. The last fish we saw was Nemo.

We left the aquarium, went and ate Mexican food and went home. It was a long drive.

Gizel Mendoza, Second Grade Teacher: Diane Dolden Fairgrove Elementary; LMUSD Page 52

My Dead Fish

Oh, dead fish! I really miss you. If you were still alive, I would feed you morning and night. I really love you.

You made me feel good when I got to just stand there and watch you. You were one of my favorite colors, orange. I loved it when I got to help my mom clean your dish. I would keep you safe all the time. I loved your name, Fish. It was so cute.

Whenever I got to see you, it made me smile very hard. I was really sad when you died. When you died, I cried a lot.

I love you and miss you, Fish. I love you.

Lilyana Sczbecki, Second Grade Teacher: Joan Fedewa-Scicchitano Harloe Elementary; LMUSD

When Bilbo Died

It was only an ordinary day in the summer when my family got home from shopping and we noticed something strange. We thought that our dog was asleep so we went outside to check, but he was dead and we all started to cry. His name was Bilbo and he was sixteen years old. We worked together to dig a hole so we could bury him. In an hour the hole was done and we all wrote cards and threw them into the hole. Mine said, “I love you because you make me laugh and you love to have fun.” Everyone read their cards to Bilbo and put them in the hole. When we were done saying goodbye we filled the hole with dirt. Everyone felt sad about losing him. I was sad about losing Bilbo for a very long time and I still get sad today.

It has been three and a half years since Bilbo died. I never thought that I could love another dog again, but I was wrong. Now I have Zeus. He is almost three years old. He is a Great Dane and he is as tall as I am. Bilbo was the first dog I ever had and I will never forget him.

Hunter Chavez, Third Grade Teacher: Kathy Beacock Branch Elementary; LMUSD My Sister’s “Birthday”

The day my baby sister was born was the best day of my life! My younger sister, my older brother, and I got to go with my parents to the hospital. It was a Thursday in January on a winter night when my mom, Charissa, had a feeling she was going to have the baby soon. So, we all headed for the hospital, but my dad had forgotten his phone.

Then, we headed back to the house for my dad’s phone so that we could call my Nana. Now for the second time, we were finally all set. While traveling on Calendar Road my mom’s water broke and we had to pull over. That’s when my dad, Sean, went to the back of the car and got a towel. My mom got out and took the towel from my dad and put it on the seat. After that, we were definitely all heading for the hospital.

When we arrived at the hospital we all had jobs to do. My dad ran in and told the person at the front to get a wheelchair. My sister and brother and I all got the suitcases out of the car, there were enough bags for a month. At last a guy came out of the hospital with a wheelchair, a towel, and even a blanket.

After this fiasco we were finally headed for the room. We even got a ride in an elevator that you go in one door and exit out another door out the backdoor. We all got for the room 305. Then my Page 53

mom had to be hooked up to these machines and my Nana didn’t want us to see. Cole and I went to the waiting room, but my sister stayed and hid behind the curtains.

It wasn’t very long before my Nana came in and said, “She’s here!” and I was so surprised. I came running down to my mom’s room. When I came in I saw my baby sister being held by my mom.

She was really cute and so tiny.

Then I saw the doctor cut the umbilical cord which wasn’t so pretty. Next they put my baby sister under the heat lamp. She got to hold my finger and suck on my finger, I loved her the moment I saw her. After that my Grandma and my Pappy and Teetee all came to the hospital. I went back and forth from the waiting room and my mom’s room.

We got to stay at the hospital until 1:30 A.M. My dad and I got to wear Sierra Vista shirts. It was a very exciting adventure the day my sister was born. Our family left my mom and baby sister at the hospital, they stayed until the next night. Samantha’s birthday is a day that I will never forget.

Madison Kier, Third Grade Teacher: Janet Stein Fairgrove Elementary; SLCUSD My First Hurricane

“Hurricane!” my brother yelled. There’s no hurricane in this small town. I told my mom, “I’m going to play outside.” My mom yelled, “NO!!!” She yelled so loud she thre me to the ground and I felt like my body was inside out. “CHEZZ WIZ!” I said.

I opened the door and I took a step outside. The strong wind blew off my new shoe. I ran back inside slamming the door. WRESH! THUMP! I quickly changed my shoe and got close to the front door again. I got my jacket on and took a deep breath. “HHH”

I opened the door. I could hear the wind whirling for help. Everything was so dark it looked like it was nighttime at 2:00 pm. Outside people were blowing away by the strong wing down the street. I was fighting the wind to walk past my aunt’s house.

I got to the door. I said, “YES!” out loud. I opened the door and got blown to the wall. THUMP! I hit the wall harder than a rock. I got the wind knocked out of me. I told my aunt, “GET OUT!”

When I got outside again I could hear the water splashing toward me. From far way I saw the water coming from the ocean. My heart kept beating fast. Suddenly it stopped. My mouth dropped it could almost touch the floor. I stood still. Then I started to run as fast as I could to my house. The water kept coming closer and closer.

Finally I felt the door handle and I pulled myself inside. It seemed like hours later I took a step outside. Everything was ruined. I began to feel shakey. Suddenly I woke up. It was a bad dream.

What a nightmare. Then I thought if this was a real hurricane and I would be ready for it but I hoped there never will be one.

Guillermo Martinez, Third Grade Teacher: Cindy Stiles Baywood Elementary; SLCUSD The Nutcracker Last December, I was in the play The Nutcracker. I auditioned in September and got the part of a bonbon. I went to all of the practices and met the other bon-bons. Counting me, there were eight of us.

Three of the other actors were about my age, while the other four were older. Everyone was friendly and we had a very nice director. At practice, the older bon-bons would push the younger ones, including me, onto the stage in a big box. Then we would jump out of the box and do a dance together.

We practiced for a long time. Finally we got our costumes. The costumes had a black and white top Page 54

with a skirt attatched. The skirt had little pom-poms hanging off of it. All of the girl bon-bons were supposed to tie their hair into buns.

When the time finally came for the show, everyone was so excited. When we were doing our dances in front of the audience, I was in a whole new world! The decorations on the stage were gorgeous! At the final bow, all of the dancers came out. It was like a huge swirl of color dancing around me. It was wonderful to be up on the stage in the show. When it was over, I felt proud. It was one of the best experiences that I have ever had. We performed the show three more times. After our last performance it was time to leave. I was sad to leave, but I think the production of The Nutcracker will show up again sometime in the future and for now it will be in my dreams.

Phoebe Mitchem, Third Grade Teacher: Ericka Timer Ocean View Elementary; LMUSD

My Dog and Me

I loved my dog.

When I got her for the first time, I was proud of myself. I ran and grabbed her, and felt her soft white fur. I put her next to my cheek.

I had the perfect name. It was Luna. It was her first Christmas, and my mom got her a polkadot dress that was colored pink. She looked super cute.

After two months, it was her first birthday. We gave her a lot of treats, and I let her chew my toy. She really chewed it! My toy didn’t have a face anymore. I wasn’t mad. I laughed, and then I let her keep my toy.

She was kind to me a lot, and I was happy. She gave me a lot of kisses. When she was sad, and I was sad, she would lay down with me. Six months later after my birthday, she died in a car accident, and we buried her in my backyard. I cried all night, and I couldn’t sleep. I still feel and miss her. Luna was a really good dog.

Isaac Garcia, Fourth Grade Teacher: Susan Fassiotto and Marlene Vega Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD Almost Asleep

I lived in L.A. My mom had a job interview and her friend was going to watch my brother and me. My brother didn’t know her, and didn’t like her, but I did. He only wanted me. He didn’t want anything to do with her. Bam! He fiercely burst out with sobs and he looked miserable. So I picked him up. He didn’t even let me put him down because if I did, he would just burst out with sobs again.

I cradled with him in my arms and only minutes later he was almost asleep. I felt like the luckiest big sister in the world. I was smiling ear to ear. Usually, he only wanted my mom. But now he wanted me! I could hear his soft, rapid breathing. His skin felt soft, like velvet, and it made me feel like I was in the most wonderful dream. His beautiful cocoa, coffee brown eyes were closed. His bittersweet pink lips were slightly open and his chestnut brown hair and was unbelievably soft, long, and curly.

His salmon cheeks were plump like a healthy baby’s should be. Right after that, I knew I’d never forget this moment as long as I lived. Not ever.

Liliana Moliné, Fourth Grade Teacher: Jodi Rorden Hawthorne Elementary; SLCUSD Page 55

The Toilet Bowl

There are a lot of people who say, “Oh, The Toilet Bowl at the Ravine Water Park is so much fun!” Yea right! I do not believe one word they say! All you do is go down a big tube then the next thing you know, you’re in a big toilet bowl spinning around and around very fast. You get super scared because when you look down, there is a big hole in it. Then you spin one more time and... SPLASH!!!

One day it was my friend Zoe’s birthday party and we were going to the awesome Ravine. I went on almost every ride when Zoe wanted me to go on The Toilet Bowl! So I said that I don’t like The Toilet Bowl. But she convinced me by telling me things like, “It’s not as scary as it looks”. So I started to walk up all of the high stairs! When I was at the very top, there was Zoe standing in line with like a million other people standing there waiting for their turn. Then, finally, it was my turn! I looked back and there were more people behind me! So I let the people behind me go first. But then it was my turn again! I looked back one more time but nobody was there! This was it for me! I sat down, crossed my arms and legs. I leaned back...and...fall!!! I started to slide faster and faster! I could not see one thing! I felt like my head was spinning! I was very dizzy. I opened my eyes and I was spinning!

Everything was going so fast and everything was super colorful!

SPLASH!!!

I tried to plug my nose but I was directly under the gushing water! I almost opened my eyes but everything was pitch black! Then it was blurry. All I could see was bubbles. Was I going crazy? I bumped my head on something that looked red! Was it my blood?

“Am I alive?” I thought to myself. But the weird thing is that it was very hard! So I just went around it. I was finally out of the water! And the thing that I hit my head on was the lifeguard’s huge life saver!

“Skyler! Skyler! Skyler! you did it! You went down the toilet bowl!” screamed Zoe. “I did? I mean I did! I did! I went down the toilet bowl,” I said with a confused look on my face.

“And you’re still alive!”

“Yea, I am!”

“So did you like it!?!? Huh? Huh? Did you? Did you? Ooooh you had to have liked it! It is awesome! Well? Well? Come on, say it! Just spit it out!” My friends put pressure on me to tell them if I liked The Toilet Bowl or not.

“Ok! Ok! Cut it out you guys!”

As I started to think about it, I realized that it was not so bad! I thought that it would be much worse! I never thought I would see the day to say I lu- lu- lu- vvv- vvv- I love the toilet bowl! After that, I felt the urge to ride again and again! I can not believe this! I love the toilet bowl so much! Wait one minute! Just wait until my mom and dad hear about this! They will never believe me!

“So did you like it, Skye?” Zoe asked me again.

“Sorry, but I didn’t like it...”

“WHAT?”

“I loved it with all my heart!!!”... “Hey can I go again?”

Skyler Muir, Fourth Grade Teacher: Katie Peters Sinsheimer Elementary; SLCUSD

My Gift

It was a normal day like most days, that is until my dad came home. He had a small box with him.

I asked my dad, “Dad, what’s in the box?”

With a grin he replied, “Nothing.”

He sat on a chair and set the box down and he opened it. In it was a bag filled with water, and then I saw it, I couldn’t believe it. There was a small fish swimming around. A fish as blue as the sea!

My mom brought over a fish bowl and my dad gently set him in the bowl with a tiny plop. The water rippled as he swam. Then, my dad took out a smaller bag out of his pocket that was filled with tiny flakes that smelled like fish and sprinkled a couple over the top.

My dad looked at me and asked, “Do you like him?”

Immediately I replied with an enthusiastic, “Yes!” I had always wanted a fish, I added, “He’s Page 56

as tiny as a pebble but as fast as a cheetah!”

My dad smiled and said, “Well, this little guy is for you.”

I was so happy with my new friend. I took him over to the table and set him down in the center carefully, then I sat cross-legged on a chair and watched it all day. Night came and my mom told me to brush my teeth and go to bed, so I did.

The next morning I woke up bright and early to feed it. I tapped the glass and he swam around in circles with great speed. My mom told me we were going out and that I needed to get ready. We got home later after a long but fun day. I had missed my fish so I ran to see it. He was still in the bowl safe and sound. My mom told me that just as much as I worried about my fish my dad and her worried about me.

She then said, “If you would always like to have him with you we could take pictures.”

I thought it was a great idea. We took five pictures and I chose the best one to carry around with me where ever I went. I was the happiest boy on earth.

I told my parents, “Mom and dad, I will feed the fish and clean the fish bowl and I will take great care of my friend like you guys have done with me.” And because of my little friend I learned to be responsible.

Arturo Rojas, Fourth Grade Teacher: Liz Johnson Branch Elementary; LMUSD

The Forest of Arcata

In Arcata there are massive trees with thick trunks with hundreds of branches supporting tons of green leaves. The vast land of ferns, streams, and of logs is a truly beautiful site. I followed my friends through the forest. I felt like a brave explorer lost in the dark forest, glad for the company of my friends. I ducked through thick fields of large plants as big as my chest. I felt the moist dew on my body as I brushed against the plants.

Our dog trotted along behind us, her feet caked with mud. The land was uneven and headed downhill quite steeply. I stumbled over logs thrown all over like a broken tower of building blocks. A little stream trickled through a narrow path in the vegetation. A rotten log lay across the stream like a bridge over a river. I climbed on and began my journey across. I slowly scooted along. The bank on the other side was muddy and wet. I was careful to keep my feet out of the muck. The ground was partly flooded and had turned a nauseating yet fascinating shade of orange. With a stick, I began poking and stirring the rancid glop. I pushed down on the stick and it snapped. I toppled into the mud. It was really gross.

We ran through the forest laughing and shouting, trying to hide in the undergrowth. we started to head toward higher ground. Here there were fewer green plants and more tall pine trees with dead brown leaves.

I gaped at large scratch makes in an unfortunate tree. My friend told me they were from a bear.

I ran my fingers over the deep claw marks in the tree’s bark.

We were at the edge of the forest. I stepped into the bright sun. I covered my eyes. I had become accustomed to the darkness of the forest. We were standing on my friend’s front lawn. I grinned now my in adventures in Arcata could continue...

Dexter Knudsen, Fifth Grade Teacher: Kimberly Kelly Teach Elementary; SLCUSD

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Nuts About Noodles!!!

Rich, gooey cheese melting on noodles may be the most delicious thing that has passed through my mouth. Have you ever savored flavorful Italian pasta before? Every morsel is absolutely delish!!! Three of the most luscious include Chicken Alfredo, ravioli, and lasagna.

My all-time, hands down favorite pasta has to be my mom’s homemade Chicken Alfredo.

Every nibble is breathtaking. Inhaling the fragrance of the appealing, creamy Alfredo sauce makes my mouth water. The bite of the garlic is tantalizing and the chicken chunks are phenomenal. I bet your mouth is watering thinking of my mom’s homemade Chicken Alfredo!!!

Thick pillows of cheese blanketed with tomato sauce is another type of pasta that makes my taste buds say, “Look out stomach, here it comes!!!” Ravioli is made with a filling sealed between two layers of thin egg noodles. Cheese or meat, it does not matter, both are delectable and make my mouth water.

Layers, layers, and layers of appetizing ground beef, onions, mozzarella, ricotta, and parmesan cheese is one Italian dish that is so scrumptious. Lasagna can be made many different ways with various types of sauce. Mrs. Hjerrild, my ELL teacher, likes it with veggies, cheese, and white Alfredo sauce. As for me, I like it with meat and tomato sauce. Either way, we both agree, layered noodles with cheese are the bomb!!!

Without a doubt, you can see that I am nuts about noodles!!! Flavorful Italian pastas are enticing, and the best of the best are Chicken Alfredo, ravioli, and lasagna. I bet you’re drooling just thinking about all that rich, gooey cheese and noodles!!! I don’t know about you, but I’m heading to Olive Garden tonight.

Sabine Sandoval-Farias, Fifth Grade Teacher: Harriet Willis Vineyard Elementary; TUSD My Most Exciting Day

One sunny day I was playing with a little girl when suddenly the door slammed. My nanny told me to go to the office. Uh Oh, I think I’m in trouble. I count my way up stairs and the eighty-six steps to the manager’s office. I wish there were a hundred steps or a thousand steps cause I’m sure I am in trouble for something. When I get to her office I sit and wait until she calls my name. For some reason she had a sad face. I wondered why she was so sad. Then she tells me the news. I am getting adopted! I didn’t quite understand what she meant the first time. Then she explained to me what she mean by “being adopted.” It means that finally, I am getting my own family. Five kids in my orphanage have already been adopted and now I am going to be adopted too. All of a sudden I burst with laughter and shouted “Yea, I’m getting adopted!” “Not that soon,” the manager said. We have to wait and see what happens. We need to contact them first. When the manager was finished talking with me I skipped my way back to my room and down the eighty-six stairs.

When I got to my room five girls were sitting on my bed. “Did you get in trouble?” one of the girls asked. “No, it is better then you think.” I said. “It is?” said one of the girls sitting on my bed.

Then all the girls looked at each other and then back to me. “So, what is it then?” one girl said. Before I could start my sentence my Nanny came into the room and said, “Pick up your mess.” I turned to the girls and said “I will tell you later.” “What do you need to tell them?” my nanny inquired. “I am getting adopted!” I said with a big smile and laugh. “WHAT???” everyone said at the same time. “I don’t want you to go.” my friend said. “Good for you.” said my nanny. “I am going to miss you.” another girl said. One girl didn’t say anything. My nanny then said, “Jewl, go pick up your mess.” This time she said it nicer than usual. I was too busy thinking about all the fun I was going to have with my new family and in America to worry about the mess I needed to pick up.

Just like my nanny, everyone started being much nicer to me because they new I was getting adopted and I was going to live in America with my new family. The cooks gave me extra food to keep Page 58

me healthy and strong too. I waited, waited and waited for my adoption day. I waited so long that I got sick of waiting. One day I was eating lunch and my nanny called me to come to her. I noticed her face was smiling. I thought it was time for me to leave for my adoption. Instead, I got a package that was from my new mom and dad. Inside my package I found a stuffed bear, photo album, blanket and lots of other things. That night I started sleeping with my new bear.

Three months passed and then a cake and another package came from my family. I was so excited to eat some of my cake. But first I had to have my nanny take a picture of me with the cake before I could have a piece. Finally I got a piece of cake and it was so delicious and tasted like strawberry. The sweet taste was so wonderful! My stomach was crying, “I want more, I want more!” But, I did not get another piece of that delicious cake. Then I started waiting again. One sunny day, I was eating some nuts on the porch. I didn’t know I was allergic to them and my stomach started to hurt badly.

My head started to spin, I couldn’t think straight and I became sick for two weeks. During this time, when I was getting a drink of water from the drinking faucet, one of my nannies teased me. She said that my mom was not going to come to China to get me. I was not going to be adopted or have a family. I felt a tear from my eye slide down my face. I ran back to my room and cried and cried. I couldn’t stop crying to thinking about what the nanny had just said to me. I was scared that my family would not come to China and take me away from this miserable life.

About one week after my illness, when I was feeling much better, my nanny told me that I would be going to Guangzhou the next day and that I should prepare for my adoption. I was so excited that I could not sleep that night. In the morning, after I had said my goodbyes to all my friends and nannies, my nanny and I got on the bus heading for Guangzhou. We sat on that bus for eight hours. I was so bored. Finally the bus stopped and got in a taxi and drove to our hotel. My nanny said, “Tomorrow you are going to meet your new family!” I was so excited that It took me almost the whole night to fall asleep.

In the morning I woke up feeling really anxious. After breakfast of congee, which is rice soup, my nanny and I took another cab. We drove to a big building where I would meet my family for the first time. When we walked inside the building I could hear my heart beating like a drum. My Nanny sent me into a room where there were lots of kids waiting to be adopted. About five minutes later, they called me to come out. There was my family! I hugged my mom and she cried and cried. This scared me a little bit. I said “Mom” for the first time and she cried even more! When we were done meeting and signing paperwork, we got in a van and went to another hotel. This hotel was the biggest and best hotel I had ever seen. That night I had dinner and got ot know my new mom and dad and played with my new sister. We played together until we fell asleep. This day was my most exciting day!

After 12 days of living with my family in a beautiful new hotel, my mom told me that we were finally going to leave China and go home to America! I was a little bit sad because I knew that I would miss my friends, Nannies and China. When we got onto the airplane, they had TV and good food!

It took a whole night and day to get to America. When we got off the plane I saw a lady that I recognized but did not know. This was my mom’s sister and my Aunt. She greeted me and gave me an American flag, balloons and a doll. Then we got into our car and drove home. It was a long ride home and when I finally got home I stayed up all night exploring my room and all my new things. My mom said I was fluttering around like a beautiful bird. I’ll never forget how I felt that evening being home with my mom, dad, and sister. I love my family and I love America.

Julia Voss, Fifth Grade Teacher: JoEd Sennes Bellevue Santa Fe; SLCUSD

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What to Do

Decisions are made often. Sometimes we make them without thinking about it. Difficult decisions are another story. We spend lots of time making difficult decisions because we want to pick the choice for the best outcome. In the end, people should make the moral decision, but sometimes they don’t. Sadly, people don’t choose the moral decision. As a child, the decisions we make are minor. In this story, the decision I made was minor, but moral.

It was just another day at school. It was hot, as usual, and the playground felt like fire. I was walking around with my best friend, Aliana. She said that she needed to go to the bathroom, so we walked over there. While I was waiting for her, I fixed my hair. All of a sudden, a little girl bursts into the bathroom covered in woodchips. She was crying. At that same moment, Aliana came out of the bathroom and started giggling at the girl because she thought it was funny how she basically had a layer of woodchips on her side sticking to her. I could only stare at Aliana. What was so funny about being covered in woodchips? I decided to help the little girl wash off her leg and dust of the woodchips on her clothes. Aliana stopped laughing and she gave me a rude look. She seemed annoyed with me. When the woodchips were off the little girl, I helped her get to a supervisor. Because I helped the little girl, I was sent to the principal’s office to get a “Harmony Heart.” When I got back, Aliana laughed at me as I held my Harmony Heart with pride. Aliana started calling me a “goodiegoodie.” I ignored her as much as I could. Who cares about what she thinks? I knew I did the right thing.

The choice I made was to help the little girl, even though I didn’t know her. The outcome of my decision is that I got recognized for doing something nice. I also got rewarded for my action. Although there were many positive effects, there was a negative effect too. Aliana doesn’t hang out with me anymore. She said that she’d rather hang out with someone who got detention every day, than hang out with me. I laughed to myself as she said that. The way she said it reminded me of a cheesy movie. I also thought it was a little ironic. How can you hang out with someone who always has detention? I didn’t care about what she said though because I don’t need a friend who likes to get into trouble.

If I hadn’t helped that little girl, she probably would have been very hurt. She could have possibly gotten infected, with an open wound. If I hadn’t helped her, Aliana would still be my friend. I thought about my decision and realized, I know what I needed to do, so why ignore it? I am glad I helped that girl because in that act, I realized that Aliana was not a true friend. True friends don’t call each other names. I would never think twice about my decision. I saw the little girl one day and she ran up to me and gave me a big hug. She said, “Thank you for helping me, if you didn’t help me. I would have had so much red on me!” I laughed and I assured her that she would be alright. The idea of her covered in “red,” seemed so unrealistic.

Difficult decisions make people wiser and stronger because they learn to make the right decision, no matter how inviting the other choice may have been. Sometimes, the line between right and wrong is blurred. We should still be able to decipher the difference. Even though people know the consequences of their actions later, they still choose the choice that has a positive effect currently.

People get mentally stronger after making difficult decisions because they learn to not let others change them, and they stay true to themselves. Difficult decisions make us much wiser. Even if we fail to choose the right decision, we still learn from them. A wise man once said, “We learn from our mistakes.”

Difficult decisions make us well rounded people. They make us think about the right thing to do. Difficult decisions should be based on what is moral. They shouldn’t be based on petty things like what clothes to buy. Difficult decisions make us more responsible. Obviously, everyone knows right from wrong. We also know the difference between the moral decision and the unmoral decision. We just have to do what is right.

Julienne Damm, Sixth Grade Teacher: Colette Reyes Dana Elementary; LMUSD Page 60

STRINGS

Life is a tangle of strings. It’s like an intricate spider web. Certain strings meet in certain places.

I believe when strings meet, it’s for a reason.When I met my first grade teacher something clicked.

Mrs. Toner, in my family she is known as the best teacher ever.I had her fist and third grade.

She made my world a better place for me, and helped me realize things I couldn’t have without her.

We were strings meant to meet.

Sometimes, dew drops land on the spider web of life. Most of the time they’re bad and disastrous, but in my case the dew drop is my saint. All though, when one hit, I thought it was the end of the world.

The sky was gray and clouded. The sun didn’t shine. A cool march breeze swam through the air, as flowers poked their heads out to see if it was spring. People still wore winter jackets with fluffy down feathers. I didn’t suspect a thing. I was doing my usual arguing with Miss Popularity Amanda Allan. She had a way of always making herself look innocent. She has long frizzy brown hair, which looked particularly like dread locks on this day. Her droopy boy shorts weren’t doing much for her either. I didn’t say that though. Our yells probably made the cold assfualt beneath our feet tremble.

“At least I’m smart,” Amanda was saying. “Ya, well at least I don’t dress like a tom boy just to seem cool,” I shot back. This fight wouldn’t go unnoticed. Amanda kept on talking. But, I was Mrs. Toner bounding our way. Oh No! Immediately I shut up. She grabbed my purple underarmer jacket and dragged me away.

I knew she always meant well, but I was scared. What is going to happen? Her favorite little black dress matched the high black boots she wore. I couldn’t help but notice her wispy blonde hair was up in a clip the way she always had it. Ms. Toner’s pale blue eyes were like daggers, as her stern crinkled face stared me down. At the time she didn’t know it, but she was about to break my little nine year old heart. The quant third grade classroom with its sandy tan tables now seemed to be spinning. I was panicking! What is she going to do to me? Will I be in trouble? Well, I should have known Mrs. Toner; she did none of the above.

She let out a deep breath. “Anna,” she started, “I know you’re a good kid. You know that too, but you have to show everyone else.” CRACK; one piece of my heart gone. “When you write a book someday, people will see it and say ‘that girl was mean to me in elementary school.’” BOOM! My heart was shattered. Tears washed down my cheeks like they were a storm drain. I sobbed all day long. I didn’t know it at first, but she was right. If you can’t be nice to everyone, don’t be mean instead. Two sentences changed how I see things. She changed me. We were meant to meet.

Life is a tangle of strings. It’s like an intricate spider web. Sometimes, certain strings meet in certain places. When strings meet, it’s for a reason. Because I crossed paths with Mrs. Toner, I learned an unforgettable lesson about kindness. I know sometimes strings knot, and sometimes they break.

But when they meet in the middle someone’s life is bound to change.

Anna Goldberg, Sixth Grade Teacher: Lynnly Sainsbury C.L. Smith Elementary; SLCUSD “El columpio de llanta”

Otoño. ¡Cómo me encantaba esta estación! El zacate es a punto de camiar a ser café, y lost días en Oklahoma son perfectos para escalar un árbol o hacer un columpio de llanta. Corrí hacia el gran árbol de olmo con una soga fuerte sobre mi hombro. Mi abuelo, papá, mamá, y abuela seguían detrás de mí con la llanta vieja. Pasamos caballos mirando al horizonte después de comer paja y zacate debajo del sol caliente de Oklahoma todo el día. Finalmente, llegamos al olmo perfecto para el columpio de llanta. Me senté en el suelo para pensar. Hmmm... pensé. ¿Cómo puedo lanzar esta soga la rama? ¡Lightbulb!

“Abuelo, ¿puedes ayudarme?” pregunté.

“Sí,” respondió, los perros siguiéndolo hacia el árbol. Usando la fuerza que todos los abuelos tiene, lanzó la soga sobre la rama más fuerte justo cuando mi papá, mamá, hermano, y abuela llegaban con la llanta. Amarramos un nudo muy fuerte alrededor de la llanta, y de pronto, cuando estábamos cien por ciento seguros que se iba a quedar, salté en la llanta antes que mi hermano mayor pudiera hacerlo. Por un momento, quería escalar abajo y correr hacia la casa, pero sabía que la llanta Page 61

era segura, y no iba a morir. Agarré la soga con toda mi fuerza, preparando para volar.

“¿Lista?” preguntó mi papá.

“¡Sí!” exclamé. Mi papá jaló la llanta para atrás, y lanzó la llanta fuera de sus manos fuertes.

¡La sensación era increbíble! Me había subido a un columpio de llanta antes, pero esta vez, yo había ayudado a construirlo. Cerré mis ojos azules, y traté de enfocarme en oler la paja, los caballos, y las flores cerca de mí. Mis botas cafés tocaban la llanta suavemente, y mis manos sudosas agarraban la soga fuertemente. Abri mis ojos, y miré a mi familia, sonriendo hacia mí, y mi corazón empezaba a latear rápidamente. Cuando escalé abajo, estaba sonriendo de oreja a oreja.

“¿Te gustó?” preguntó mi mamá.

“¡Si!” exclamé, mis zapatos crujiendo en el alto zacate.

Mi abuelo y abuela no viven en esta casa ahora, pero vendieron la casa a un matriomonio que tienen treinta dos nietos, y tengo un sentido que ellos están felices con nuestro columpio de llanta.

Lily Hasley, Sixth Grade Teacher: Mary Irion and Brian Deutsch Pancheo Elementary; SLCUSD

The First Tree

Can you imagine a warm house that smells like cookies, hot coco, and with a loving family?

Well I can. It was a frosty December day and my brothers and I went outside to play. As we played we could hear the sound of sweet dry crunchy leafs being crunched by a shine blue truck, we went to investigate. When we got to the car my Dad was wearing a Santa hat and said he had a surprise.

As we ran to see what our surprise was I felt so delighted to see that our surprise was a huge, fat, and dazzling Christmas tree, a lot of decorations, and some things to make cookies and hot coco.

We jumped up and down with joy, we couldn’t wait to decorate our first tree.

We helped bring our tree and the rest of the thing in and got ready to make our delicious cookies and hot coco. When we finished making our enchanting cookies, putting them in the oven, and making our hot coco we went to set up our tree. We tore open the decorations from their boxes. We hung up candy canes, angels, variety spheres, amazing snowflakes, and much more. We jumped with joy, laughed, and even screamed for more joy.

At the end we had an immense, cheerful, green Christmas tree. It had gorgeous lights that hung around it like colorful angels flying around it, beautiful spheres that looked like amazing balloons, candy canes that smelled like the most wonderful candies in the world, and a stunning silver star that was on top and shinned like the fiery glowing sun. We ran around the house turning off every light in the house and closing all the curtains to light up our tree. When we turned on our tree, our eyes where the size of the Earth when we saw our first magical Christmas tree. After that we sat down and my whole family eat our outstanding cookies, drank our hot coco, and watched The Grinch. As we watched The Grinch I could not keep my eyes off our first enchanting Christmas tree.

Valeria Mora, Seventh Grade Teacher: Brian Farrell Pleasant Valley Elementary; PVJEUSD Bad Advice

I sit on the torturous school bus wondering how long I’ve been in this taunting yellow panic box. The mangling noise of all the people around me chattering like chimps and the foul stench of sweat and gum - old gum - under the school bus seats causes my head to throb. Scared to death, my mind’s broken record playing Calista’s words through my head, “Your stop’s right after mine, just get on the bus with me!” She had been riding school busses for years now. How could she be wrong?

Corroding pain from being famished takes control of my mind while I sweat, with each drop sprouting a new worry. No food. Out of water. Nowhere to go. How wrong she was. I resort to staring out the window at this barren land I knew not existed. We keep driving through land that resembles a Page 62

crumpled blank piece of paper.

The bus finally stops. A cloud of gagging hot dry dust travels through the doors and decides to join me on this torturous adventure. When I peer out the window, I spy a barn, an old barn with nothing else in it radius for miles. No Calista, this is not my house. This is the stop after yours, but this is not my house. I watch the interesting barn disappear as we continue on with the nauseating road. Left turn. Right turn. Over and over again. We travel in between the face of a cliff and a crumbling rocky steep ledge.

I can tell some of the people on the bus know something is wrong. I keep receiving concerned glances from them. I know I will stand out from the crowd. Me. In fourth grade. Me in a sea of intimidating high-schoolers. Something to add to the list of ongoing things that are wrong about this whole catastrophe is that the boy I am frightened of sits right behind me. Him and his dyed hair, piercings and chains. Right behind me.

Something I hear from a few rows back persistently nudges its way into my mind. “Oh, this is the Carizza Plains.” This is definitely a place I’ve never heard of.

“Krzrzz.”

All that means is that I am far from home in a puzzling place I’ve never heard of surrounded by people I don’t know. I know I can never work up the courage to say something to the bus driver.

She looks nice, of course, but being the shy girl I am I just sit there and wait for a much needed miracle.

“Krztsr...Liana.. grtz.”

All I want is to be in my comforting home with Mom, Laura, my dog Jake, and my cat Mrs. Betty Lou Jenkins, having my bowl of satisfying afternoon cereal, doing my homework and even listening to the same annoying country songs as we eat dinner. At least have the comfort of the staticky radio that plays all the same sickening songs and more.

“Zlttsssz. Lilianna Root....trssszk.”

My name.

My name on the stammering intercom has been so ignorantly rejected from my panicked thoughts. The driver on the other end of the walkie-talkie says, “We have some parents here not knowing the whereabouts of Lilianna Root.” I seem to be the only one to hear it. The bus driver is too absorbed in her tiring music station. Several times more my name is choked out of the speaker.

I don’t know what to do. I am starving, tired, hot, and scared so I decide to tell the bus driver that it is me being looked for. Congratulations, Lili, first time riding the school bus, you forget what bus to take and listen to your friend to take hers.

The bus pulls over to another weathered barn. This time there are cows and horses. When the doors open like arms showing the way to the girl stepping off the bus, I meekly tell the bus driver that is my name being said. Also I tell her this is my first time on a school bus and I have no clue where I am.

“Well where do you live? she asks me.

Embarrassed I reply, “....Atascadero...” I know I have just given her some extra work.

“This is Bus 9 and we found Lilianna Root. We’re in the Carizza Plains and she lives in Atascadero.”

Right away I hear, “We’re gonna send Steve out there to meet you.”

Finally my miracle has come! The meeting spot is too far away so a different bus is going to take me from this bus to Steve. I start explaining the story to the driver and it takes all my willpower to not start crying. When the bus pulls over to meet the first bus, the scary kid with all the piercings holds out his fist expectantly. I am astonished but I automaticaly fistbump him back.

“You’re one tough kid.”

I know he means it.

Lilianna Root, Seventh Grade Teacher: Debbie Martin Atascadero Jr. High; AUSD

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Dream of Soccer

My name is Hosanna and I am from Ethiopia. I love to play soccer. When I grow up I want to be a professional soccer player. I now live in America to pursue my goal of becoming a professional soccer player.

When I was living in Ethiopia I was playing Ethiopian soccer for the National Club team. One day my brother came home from work and he said, “There is one chance for you to be a professional soccer player.”

I asked him how I can be a pro soccer player.

He said, “You have to go to the United States of America.” He told me that there is a family who wanted to adopt a child. My brother then went to ask our mom if she would consider letting me go to America. My Mom told my brother that before she could say yes she would first have to ask me if I wanted to go to the United States of America; and if I was happy about my brother’s idea. I was sitting on the couch watching the television, which had the World Wrestling Entertainment on. She said she wanted to talk to me but I still wanted to watch the WWE. She smacked me on the shoulder to get my attention, and said, “I was talking to your brother and he said that you could have an opportunity to go live in America and play soccer there. Do you want to go?”

I said, “Yes.” I assured her I would be fine and I would be happy. Later when my brother came home from work our mom told him she will let me come to U.S.A. My brother said she had to go ahead and start everything to make it legal for me to go to the United States, things like going to court.

After a year a family said they would like to first adopt me; and that is how I got here. At first I was kind of sad and I missed everything about my own country. There were a lot of different changes coming to live with a new family.

Now I am happy to be here and I have a cool family and good friends. I am playing on the best soccer club team, Central Coast Condors. I am having a good time with my new family, friends, and my soccer team. I am learning a lot of new things some of the biggest challenges are learning to read and learning to speak better English.

Before I came to the United States I was as excited as a soccer player who won a championship.

When I was in Ethiopia I heard that the people in the United States lived as free birds. That is true in some ways, but I have had to get used to a different kind of freedom. I used to be able to do anything I wanted in Ethiopia, without anyone telling me what to do. In America I have to learn some of the rules and laws which are very difficult for me. In Ethiopia I felt as free as a wild lion in the savannah, in America I feel more like a lion in a cage at the zoo. Freedom is different, but I’m happy to have the opportunity and the experience to come to America. I still hope my dream will come true and I will play professional soccer some day.

Hosanna Cassidy, Eighth Grade Teacher: Barb Babka Judkins Middle School; LMUSD Grand Dad’s Office

I went into my Grand Dad’s office while I was playing a war game on my phone. My Grand Dad saw my game and started telling me how was is not a game. My grandfather told me how he was stationed in South Vietnam at Tam Quan. “I was an adviser for the South Vietnamese Navy, junk boat force. At that time the Vietnamese Navy only had junk ships. I was the only non Vietnamese there.”

One day my Grand Dad heard that the base he was stationed at was going to be overrun by the North Vietnamese, so he would have to walk out south to Qui Nhon, sixty miles through the jungle.

My Grandfather was an executive officer minesweeper in 1964. He spent most of his time in South Vietnam navigating through thick jungles. “I had to spend most of my time above deck in case we ended up near a North Vietnamese base,” he told me. “I spend about a week on board the junk ship then had to go back to the outpost to report what we found. The report was negative so I got sent back to America.”

“After getting back from South Vietnam I got stationed on an aircraft carrier as an engineer for a few years. It wasn’t an easy job. I had to know all of the parts. I also had to know all of the engines.

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A while after that I had to be a U.S. transport for the Navy. Transporting soldiers to different bases and also getting the injured from the battlefield.

“I was a transport in the Navy for a few years. I got ranked as a General in the U.S. Navy Corp a year after. I heard my friend David has been killed in a ship crash. David and me have have been in the military for years and have known each other since we were kids, and when I heard that he died I spent a lot of time telling the recruits that was is not a game.”

“As you can tell, I went through a lot of hard times in the war. In your games you do not go through these challenges. You do not get cold you do not starve and you do not have a chance for your life to end. In games you do not have these problems, but in war you face death every day. This is why I tell you now that was is truly not a game.”

Kenyon Clark, Eighth Grade Teacher: Sholly Von Stein Atascadero Jr. High; AUSD Goliath or The Story Where I Almost Peed my Pants Riding a Roller Coaster A TRUE BLUE TALE ***

I really, really enjoy roller coasters. The problem is, sometimes they’re pretty stinkin’ scary, even for a veteran thrill seeker like me.

This is a story about one of those stinkin’ scary, high-flyin’, ultra-frightening, monster of coaster that made a math test that you forgot to study for seem like a walk in the park. ***

“C’mon, Liam, pleeeeeeease ride this with ride with me,” my friend pleaded.

“No, Jordan,” I say, “I’m not riding Goliath. No way.” I was getting weak in the knees just thinking about it. “I’ve always been too scared to ride it, and that ain’t changin’ now.”

Goliath was a beast, plain and simple. I looked up and felt woozy gazing at that intimidating pile of orange and blue steel reaching into the high heavens, two hundred and fifty five feet up, with a first drop shooting into an underground tunnel, rocketing the train (and its poor passengers) to speeds of up to eighty miles per hour, and enough g-forces to make some riders black out.

Yikes. Who wouldn’t be scared of that?

Apparently, Jordan wasn’t. “Liam, please. It would mean the WORLD to me.”

I thought about that for a minute. The world is pretty big place...does this really mean that much to Jordan? I care about Jordan; he’s one of my closest friends, and I want to do something that would make him happy.

I felt a warm glow inside me, and realized I’d made my decision.

“Okay, Bro.” ***

We got in line for that killer machine. I looked at all the scenic extras that those kind park designers had in store for us; such as ginormous letters bearing the title “GOLIATH” that you have to walk through to get to the queue, or giant broken statues reminiscent of “Planet of the Apes,” and the general feeling (to me) that we were all going to die.

The atmosphere was slightly shattered by the Snickers ads sprinkled throughout the line. The contrast would’ve made me laugh, if I wasn’t so anxious about my survival.

Some time later, I turned and said, “Y’know, Jordan, I don’t feel as nervous as I thought I’d be.” We walked on for a few more minutes, making small conversation. “Y’know, I’m ‘not as scared as I thought I’d be,” I said again. More more walking, more small talk.

“Y’know...”

I’ve got to say, kudos for Jordan! I must have said those few words in my quivery, terrified voice a hundred or more times, Jordan have had to have wanted to get angry and frustrated at me, but he never did. Not even because of the fact that I was obviously lying.

We kept walking at the unbelievably slow pace amusement park lines tend to go, and we finally arrived at the station, where we could actually see the train we were about board. The station is up a flight of stairs, and I can’t remember whether or not it’s made of adobe or bamboo reeds, but either way the queue had that “Lost World” feel to it.

The train is pretty cool looking. It’s a bright orange and blue five-car speedster. Six seats per Page 65

car. The seat backs are upright, giving you the best posture possible while flying up out of your chair when you go over a hill.

There’s also a spacey, futuristic fin-type thing on the front of each car. I don’t know if it serves any purpose, but it looks mega-gnarly. And, while we’re talking about cool aesthetics, the grab bar, with its odd indented spot for holding on, is a nice touch.

We were waiting and waiting, watching the trains come in and out of the station before we got to go on. Oddly enough, the part of the line that feels the longest is wen you can actually see the train.

Or, even worse, when you know the train is right there but you can’t see it over the tons of heads towering over you. Jordan and I finally got to our seat: second car, right in the middle. The ride would feel as smooth as butter in this spot, even without the great views of the front.

On the side of the station, a passenger had placed a Homer Simpson doll that he must have won in a carnival game in another part of the park. Staring at the stuffed toy, I did a little soul-searching and found the most...most raw sentence I had said all night.

“I regret this.” ***

After a quick turn, we started going up that impossibly high hill. There are only two other rides in the park that are taller: an observation tower and a shuttle coaster. After what seemed like an hour, we reached the top.

One of the cruelest things roller coaster designers ever did to us was giving us lift hills like the one featured on Goliath. Once you reach the pinnacle, you slow down. You had been going about five miles per hour up the hill, now you’re going two.

And it’s just enough time to see exactly how high you are before plummeting to your doom. ***

We dropped.

We rushed down the huge hill. There was wind in my face squeezing tears out, never mind my eyes were shut tight. I felt the butterflies in my stomach you get while falling, even though I had braced myself against the seat’s side, holding the bars with fists clenched as hard as rocks. After what seemed like an eternity, I opened my eyes, thinking, Surely we must be at the bottom of the hill by now.

Boy, was I in for a surprise, for we had a good sixty feet more to go! I still remember my face on the picture screen after: eyes poppin’ out of my skull, mouth perfect O...I was the poster boy for the term SHOCK.

Then we rushed through the tunnel and came out the other side, people yellin’ and hollerin’, I realized something: This was fun!

Up the other hill, Jordan was shrieking with joy. I started shrieking too.

“WHEEEEEEE!!!”

Up and over, we flew through another hill and onto the twisty part of the ride. This was the ride that gave some riders tunnel vision. I was worried as heck; would I pass out? If I did, would I ever wake up?

Well, Jordan and I didn’t pass out, and kept on going through the ride, whooping the entire way. ***

We got off, both of us still shaky in the knees. I felt ready for anything, after riding that.

Jordan looked at me expectantly. “Well?” he asked.

I looked straight back at him. “That’s now my favorite ride.”

Liam Coppedge, Eighth Grade Teacher: Sue DiLucca Atascadero Jr. High; AUSD

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The Essence of the Violin

I gently take my beautiful dark violin out of its tattered plaid case, pull out the gracefully arching bow and lift it to my shoulder. I close my eyes and wait, then; the notes come to me weaving their way around my bedroom and me, in pure, velvet like form.

As I play, my thoughts are transformed into rich and full G’s, cheerful A’s, and downcast B minors. I am in trance as my violin sings in her powerful wooden voice, sweet and calming, but at the same time assertive and strong.

All my worries are plucked one - by - one out of my mind the harmonious fingers of the notes.

I realize my true love is the violin. We are drawn together by the powerful ropes of music that binds one’s soul to the violin.

My most true and faithful friend will always be the violin. She will always be there to comfort me, or share in my joy with her magical voice.

Amaya Dempsey, Eighth Grade Teacher: Althea Gibson Templeton Home School; TUSD

Strong

My name is Elizabeth Lopez. I was born on October 5, 1997 in Guadalajara, Mexico. When I was young, I didn’t get to see my father very often. We lived in Mexico. He used to come to the United States to work and earn enough money for our family. He went to visit us every six months. I remember I never wanted to talk to him every time he called my mom on the phone. To me, he was just another ordinary man; it was like if he wasn’t my father. When he came to visit I always ate under the dining table, because I was afraid of him. I didn’t feel comfortable around him. I can still remember the day we made something for our fathers in kindergarten, everyone’s dad was there, except mine.

That day I cried, I felt like I didn’t have a dad at all. When I was 7 years old, my family and I became Permanent Residents of the United States and everything changed.

We were not with my dad. We started living with my tia at Los Alamos, because we didn’t have a home yet. As time went by, we moved to Guadalupe, into an apartment. My parents had a rough economic year. My dad worked in the field and my mom didn’t work. I started school in second grade.

We lived there for seven and a half years, the most wonderful years of my life so far. During those years I made lots of friends. I met my cousin Yesenia. Yesenia has been with me in everything. I remember in fifth grade, when we found out that we were going to be in the same class, we were so happy and excited. On our eighth grade graduation we were partners and got to walk down the stairs together. We also sang a song together with some of our other friends. That is such a memorable day.

One day, my parents came home and told us that they were going to start constructing a house and we were going to move to Nipomo.

I completed my first high school semester at Righetti High School. That was such an awesome semester. I got to feel really close to my best friends and we made lots of awesome memories, which I will never forget. During winter break, I went to Mexico to visit my family. When I came back, I started second semester at Righetti, but as January 30th was getting closer and closer, I realized that my time was running out. Saying goodbye to all my friends was so hard. I was really sad to leave them.

When we moved to Nipomo, the first few days I cried a lot. I didn’t want to be here. I felt so miserable and lonely. I didn’t go out anywhere, because I didn’t know anyone here.

Now, I have been living here for more than a week. I don’t cry that often anymore. I’ve made new friends at Nipomo High, but I still miss my other friends. Nothing is the same anymore. My life entirely changed. I am not the same anymore. Before, I used to laugh and joke but now I don’t. I have realized that I can’t do anything about this anymore. I don’t want to be here, but I have to suck it up and be strong.

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Once I graduate high school, I am gong to leave this place. I will join the Army. My parents have always made big decisions for me in my life, but by joining the Army I will show them that they can’t do that anymore. They don’t want me to join the Army, but they won’t stop me. Nothing will stop me from joining the Army.

My life hasn’t been easy, but I can survive it and I will always be strong.

Elizabeth Lopez, Ninth Grade Teacher: Nathan Shields Nipomo High School; LMUSD

Isidro Diaz

A brown skinned man, with wrinkles upon his face light brown eyes, with the color blue around the iris of his eyes, a smile he managed to always have, even through the roughest times. This old man who people see walking on the streets of San Diego, is my grandpa. My Grandpa was like a father to me when I was a child, that’s why I cherish him more than anyone in my family. He raised me as his own, showed me how to keep calm when the going gets rough, but mostly taught me how to be independent.

I remember living in San Diego with my grandparents and sisters, in a decent size house enough for five to live in. My grandpa raised me as if I were his own. He used to dress me, brush my hair, and feed me each day. He took me on my first day of school, for six hours he would leave me in school to learn something new. He knew education was life’s first priority. I’m glad he cared enough to get me my education because now a day’s in other places getting into a school is hard. He supported me to push myself beyond my boundaries, to go somewhere in life to make him proud.

WhatI really love about my grandpa is when the going gets rough, he kept his cool. He wouldn’t frown or even raise the tone of his voice when others would. Others can go on and on trying to prove a point as he just stood there waiting to put his words in action. He never liked arguing, all he did was speak in the calmest voice and say what was on his mind. The last thing he wanted to do is hold a grudge against someone, he believed everyone would change at some point. From the way he took in things, I learned that people can say all they want and it won’t get to me.

When he needed something he wouldn’t ask anyone for it. My grandpa would work for what he wanted and accomplish it. If you wanted something really bad, you had to try your best to earn it. He never gave up on anything, he kept his word. My grandpa never got influenced by the actions of others or relied on others to maintain him. He had no authority but his own, leading the life you wanted is what he lived by and that’s the life I’m choosing to live. I have a long way to go but my grandpa has taught me a lot about growing up and taking control of my life.

My grandpa has become a huge impact in my life. I look up to him and thank him for raising me to be who I am today. I love him for every second of his life he dedicated to me, for every minute he spend seeing me grow up. I think him for being himself and teaching me about life. Time is slipping away, knowing that one day I will lose him is the hardest thing to accept. I don’t regret living my childhood with him because he was capable of loving me and seeing me as one of his own children.

My grandpa can never be replaced, when I look at him I don’t just see an old person staring back at me. I see the man who inspires me to make a difference in someone else’s life, like he did in my life.

Lucia Hernandez, Tenth Grade Teacher: Jennifer George Atascadero High School; AUSD

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Gone My mother stared at me in silence, as I sleepily dragged myself into my sunshine filled living room, on what seemed another normal morning. Trying to smooth down my curly, knotted mess of caramel colored hair, I caught her glance and even just being an oblivious, awkward, gangly ten year old, I could detect something was wrong by the worry displayed across her face. “Mom is a morning person,” I thought, “what makes this morning any different?” Taking me by the shoulders, she sat me down on our white, leather couches. The leather felt cool on my skin; I automatically wrapped my arms around my legs, afraid of getting goose bumps. While doing this I couldn’t help but notice how my mother never broke her stare from me, almost as to make sure I wasn’t going to run away. I sat there in still silence for a few moments, I had no idea as to what was going to come out of her mouth but I did know one thing: I was utterly terrified.

After a shadow haggard breath she slowly said, “Something happened last night.”

Without a word more, tears streamed down from her dark brown eyes and stopped at the seams of her smile lines. I instantly went into a panicked frenzy, I rarely saw my own mom cry on happy occasions- if at all- but this was a stark contrast. Not knowing what else to do in an unfamiliar moment, I began to weep with her.

“What?” I finally managed through the sobs.

Trying to recompose herself she just barley whispered, “It’s your sister honey.” *** It was a regular Tuesday night, around eight p.m. and my beautiful brunette, brown eyed, 19 year old sister sill wasn’t home from her late night Bible study in San Luis Obispo yet. Newly accepted to Cal Poly, it was the first year out of the house for her, but she came home as often as she could- probably out of guilt due to my short-lived episode of devastation when she moved out. Needless to say my “Sissy” was a huge part of my world. I have never thought of my sister without cracking a tooth filled smile on my face. Not only was she an amazing sibling, but my sister was one of those people you can almost swear is perfect. Growing up I constantly strived ot imitate her every move: she was the ultimate role model. My big sister was my definition of the girl every girl wanted to be: she was tall and slender, she was valedictorian of her class, she got voted prom and homecoming queen, but most importantly she had a kind heart. You could have asked her for the world and she would have tried to get it for you. She was just that kind of person.

During her high school years she was gone often, but never failed to be there when I needed her most.

I would hate to admit it to my parents, but throughout my childhood she was the family member I was closest to by a large margin. Ever since I can remember she was there to pick me up when I fell, pick me up from school, and maybe most importantly pick me up when I was afraid to trust anyone else to. As an infant, toddler, and a tween, I am positive my parents wasted their money on cribs and “big girl beds.” I rarely remembered a night I wasn’t wrapped in the safety of my big sister’s arms. So, on nights she did come home, I never passed up the opportunity to be already asleep in her old bed, always knowing she would be there when I woke up. As I lay down, turning off the lights, my dad poked his balding head in the door and asked if my sister was with me. Saying no, I could make out his forehead in the dark, but as he shut the door I dismissed it, thinking she simply forgot to call to say she was on her way home. *** There is nothing worse knowing something horrible happened to a loved one, than not knowing what happened at all. By the time I awoke to find myself alone, my mother knew where my sister was breathing and was going to be ok. But, pity her for the hours upon hours when she and my father had Page 69

gotten my sister’s voicemail over and over again, not knowing where she was or how she was doing. If they had known that in fact my sister was passed out on the side of a random road in Santa Maria, as a result of an assault and car hijacking in the first place it might have saved them ten years in appearance. In the earliest hours of the morning when no human should be awake, my mother, driven almost to insanity at this point, tried one last phone call in attempt of reaching my sister on her cell. This “one last chance” phone call somehow disturbed my sister from unconsciousness enough to wake her in the aftermath of mental and physical trauma, to answer her phone, giving what my mother calls now “the biggest relief of her life.” I have never known the next sequences due to never actually asking, I think I am almost too afraid myself to know the details of an actual crime committed against my sister. *** I knew this happened in real life. I had seen it happen to families on TV in shows such as “Law & Order” and “CSI.” But it was beyond my ten year old mind how this could have possibly happened to one of my actual family members: I just thought stuff like this was never going to happen to my family. *** To my dismay my mother has always been the worst person to bear horrific news; she gets a tone that’s often irritable to the listener and explains it all too unhurried. This leaves you to think the most awful things have occurred, every instant she pauses or leaves out significant details. Of course, I could only think of death when she finished one sentence with “hijacking” and another with “assault.” Beginning to understand all that had happened with the vocabulary out of my cerebral aptitude, it hit me like a truck; my sister was gone, actually gone. I had just turned ten, but reverted into back to childish hysteria repeating myself asking, “why her,” that is if anyone could hear me through my shrieking. I never got an answer, to a question like that, so I asked the last question I ever did about the situation, “When can I see her?” *** As I pressed my face against the cold glass of one of the windows in my house that faced the driveway, I couldn’t help but think, “I never appreciated her until I couldn’t hug her, ask her questions, or even fight with her.”

I felt guilty, like I had hit bottom; a feeling foreign to my knotted stomach. But just as I was about to cry for the hundredth time that morning, something silver reflected off the sun coming back towards the house.

It came to me; she wasn’t gone anymore. Climbing out of the GMC suburban and placing her feet on the black pavement of the driveway, my sister was where she belonged: home. I ripped my sore face from the smudged window and sprinted to the door, already trying to pry it open before I even wrapped my small fingers around the knob. Running towards her, I probably looked like a schizophrenic on her meds, but that was the last thing on my mind. I embraced my sister like I never touched her in my ten year of existence. I didn’t know when I was going to let her go or what she was going to say to me, but I didn’t care, she was alive, here, and never to be gone again.

Kara Kester, Tenth Grade Teacher: Cynthia B. Schroeder Paso Robles High School; PRJUSD

S/C/A/R/S Pressure It was all too much. Everything was going a mile a minute and I couldn’t take it anymore. How was I supposed to handle the exceedingly high expectations of me? I was supposed to be a straight A student- -Bs were a punishable offense to my parents. My dad wouldn’t even look at me if I didn’t do well at sports. I had to take care of my younger siblings at night while still finding time to study. On the weekends, I’d spend full days at the farm helping my father. I was the person who was supposed to handle everyone else’s problems. I wasn’t allowed to have my own; if I did I was weak and a failure.

Nobody considered if extraordinary. It was a requirement of me and I had to do it all at the same time without breaking stride. But that was impossible. I was a kid, not much younger than I am now but still years behind. Something was bound to give.

-I’m sorryPage 70

Self Loathing I’ve never liked myself. In fact, I hate every single thing about me. I’m fat and ugly. A nerd. A loser. A reject. I push away everyone I’ve ever cared about. I’m a douche. I’m a useless piece of shit and people don’t shy away from telling me. I’m a failure who can’t do anything right. Nobody believes in me, and quite frankly I don’t either. I don’t have any friends because I’m too much of a pussy to talk to anyone.

No matter what I dot I can’t seem to make my parents proud. I’m awkward, too feminine, have never been in a relationship, and shunned because of it. People call me a faggot and insult me to my face as if I had no feelings. But I do, and I’ve kept them bottled up ready to explode.

Broken Past Maybe I am where I am because of what happened in my past. I still can’t understand why things happened the way they did; not that it matters because they did happen and left me in the wreckage. In elementary school all the other hated me with a deep burning passion. Often times, a group of them beat me, not brutally, just enough to bruise so my parents wouldn’t notice. I had to keep everything a secret. I was scared that it would only get worse if I told anyone. As a kid growing up, I never really had my mother or father with me. Dad was overseas working and I only saw him twice a year and Mom came home at night when I was already sleep. Not having contact with them made me feel isolated and unloved, something I had carried ever since. One time, my family was starving and we had to result to killing my pet cow to survive. As dumb as it may seem, Moo was my best friend and the only one truly there for me, and suddenly he was gone. When we moved away from our old home I thought it would be different, but I was wrong. Bad experiences continued to follow me and the fresh start I had hoped for disappeared without ever coming. In 2008, my uncle threatened to kill me and my mother, verbally abusing us while holding us at knifepoint. I felt weak, helpless, and blamed myself for what was happening. It was as traumatic an experience as any I’ve ever been through. And while he never physically hurt either of us, the scars he left me that day have never healed and never will.

Numbness I can’t feel a thing anymore. Just as my luck began to turn around, any home I had of being happy was shot down. I started to live and rely on false happiness. My altered perceptions were my drug and facing the harsh realities of life made the fallout ever more hurtful. I was lied to by the people I loved most. The few that I had thought were different from the rest and I could trust turned out to be nothing but an illusion. Once again in my life, I had nobody. Just me, isolated in the dark recesses of my hollow mind. I had hit rock bottom and all the self-loathing and stress had reached a tipping point. Memories of my past burned the very fabric of my being. Suddenly, everything went blank. I had no sense of time or thinking. I had lost control of myself. Everything I had ever been through culminated into that one moment that I would regret for the rest of my life.

Awakening I couldn’t believe what I had done. The blade dropped to the floor with a loud crack but never broke the silence. My left forearm was stained a deep red, blood running down, dripping slowly onto the floor. Four wide self-inflicted cuts stared me in the face as if to mock me one more time. I felt weaker and more helpless than ever before. Tears flowed to no end. It clicked. Something had to change. I couldn’t continue wallowing about what is in the past. No more petty excuses. There was no use feeling sorry for myself, especially since I allowed others to shape who I am. It was time to rise, to be strong. Never again will I let myself fall to such stupidity. Never again.

Reflection Looking back on it now, it was probably the most stupid thing I’ve ever done. There was no reason to do it. It hasn’t been too long ago, just under six months, but I was still young. I did it because I thought that I had to. That it would help. That it would solve whatever problems I had. I was naive with no sense of the world around me. My perceptions were altered by teenage anxiety which I know now to be normal but was completely blind to in the past. I was curious. I didn’t think of the consequences.

These four scars on my arm will be with me until the end of time. They serve a reminder of what I once was and my struggle to rise above it. The four scars will always cast a shadow over my past, but after all, there would be no light without a bit of darkness.

-I still love youJerome Andres, Eleventh Grade Teacher: Ryan Mammarella Morro Bay High School; SLCUSD Page 71

Inspiration

Retard. The second I step onto campus, I hear this word thrown around without any conception the effect it has on others. I honestly have no tolerance or patience for anyone if they don’t have respect for others. It baffles me how a person could have no tolerance for bullying or racism, but turn right around and call someone “retarded.” The word “retard” is mostly used as an insult for a person who acts stupid or lame or for absolutely no reason at all; when in reality the word means slow or delayed progress or development. If we follow the true definition, we’re all a little retarded at something, and the people whose mouths have no filter are just a little retarded about the word “retard.” I believe that anyone would be beyond lucky to be compared to someone with special needs.

I know from experience how wonderful people with special needs are. When I think about them, I know how “retard” would be much more effective as a compliment. My Aunt Bridget has Down syndrome, and she is the most amazing woman I have ever met. She’s crazy. Some of the stories she makes up make me wonder why she hasn’t written a world famous book yet. She’s smart. She could outwit me any day. She’s manipulative. If she wants something, she will get it. She’s hilarious.

Not a day goes by that she isn’t cracking jokes and making me laugh. She’s friendly. If you see her walking around town, she will strike up a conversation with you, and immediately you are one of her friends. She’s sweet. Her heart is so big, Hallmark would be jealous on Valentine’s Day. She’s happy.

All of the time. I don’t think there’s a time when she isn’t smiling. She’s silly. Anyone who knows her is aware that she loves the center of attention, and she breaks out her dance moves at any party. Most importantly, she loves. She loves her family, friends, dog, exercising, soap operas, going to the movies, socializing downtown, money, and she loves herself. Anyone would be lucky to have half of these amazing qualities. When I think of my Aunt Bridget, I don’t think of one word disabling her. I think of all those positive words strengthening her. Every time I hear the word “retard” all I can think of is how lucky a person would be to be compared to my Aunt Bridget, but I know she would rise above them any day of the year.

Living with an aunt with Down syndrome hasn’t been easy, but it has really inspired me and shaped me into the person I am today. My Aunt Bridget has inspired me to be tolerant. She has inspired me to work with kids with special needs and coach a VIP soccer team. She has inspired me to pursue a career helping others. She has inspired me to live a life to its fullest with no regrets. Above all else, she has inspired me to love and accept.

Delaney Cline, Eleventh Grade Teacher: Sean Pierce Paso Robles High School; PRJUSD

The Cathedral

There were years between the footsteps last trodden on the path that I was about to embark upon. Years of memory and change, emotion, challenge, conflict, and triumph that bridged the distance through hours and days and months between the last times I walked the same old ancient path laid before me. I wondered if this great monolith of stone and soil and wood remembered me like I remembered it, or perhaps I wondered more so if it remembered me in a way I couldn’t remember myself. Much had changed, but not this Mountain; it was the same magisterial patriarch of my hometown long before I came to be, and would remain so long after my passing: sempiternal in its’ mysterious ways. Fog hung like an ephemeral veil around it, dew clung to the solemn eucalyptus branches like tears, batted by lashes of leaves in the shushed morning air. Just as I remembered.

However, I did not come here with intentions only to drink in the watery memories of my innocence. No, I was here to confess myself. I was here to steep myself like tea leaves in the essence of something I found to be a pure Truth. You see, I was never very conventional with my spirituality, and If there was one place where I could find a divinity in this graying world, it was here. If every footfall on my path was a word, then every intake of misted breath was a silent embrace of piety. I was in a verdant chapel, burdened with thought and weary with sin, making pilgrimage to the only place I knew that could alleviate a tiredness of body and mind only natural to the fault and age I carried.

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I would ask then a question: “What brings a man to penance?� For many it seems to be some great threat, no, a fear, lurking behind the bent backs of aging souls lined together in a dusty spacious room, an unkown vindication manifest in thin white paper, leather-bound. This was not my judge. I had rejected that notion, I was seeking counsel elsewhere. For is not the wood and bark of the trees I walked under but a purer form of the same paper in the books we read with reverence? And is not the opaque ink spilled so eloquently on those books hiding a clairvoyance found only in the rain drops of the wild? This was something I pondered, that quiet Sunday morning, in The Cathedral of the Mountain.

As I trekked up through the fragrant Eucalyptus grove I became aware of something else though, an intonation so subtle I at first mistook it to be the musings of my own thought, but between the green leafed and salted air I was attuned to a melody that too many people have forgotten. I could not accurately describe it any easier than a single violin could be discerned and defined in a sea of orchestral ubiquity, yet for all its beauty it presented a disquieting inquiry. While the harmony was there, it was the discord that unified the story it told; I came to realize then that without the unexpected, without the disharmony so intrinsic to nature, you cannot experience the depth and refinement painted in the great tapestries of the world. In other words, a world defined only through unfaltering perfection is to present an orchestra playing only the flutes and bells, lacking the strife that makes us human, the conflict that adheres to the great truth of our inherent fallacies.

Through the clearing in the trees a valley opened up along the ridge I walked on, the fog seemed to me a great blanket thrown down upon the slopes of the mountains encircling my home, thick and pervasive in their slow descent. As a child, I saw the world like I did that valley, obscured in mystery, beckoning to some secret unknown, perhaps the same unknown I set out for that day. It seems that with age we expect that fog to clear up and in its place we become masters of the Known. The irony of the valley I walked in was the fog never cleared, the great mysteries of our world never cease, but merely shift, and in its wake I found myself looking through a portrait of raw majesty, burdened less by what I knew now and comforted by the thought I knew basically nothing.

But as I walked further through the more sparse shrubbery in my ascension, I could not help but question some greater purpose against my own. My own mistakes and misdeeds seemed suddenly petty by comparison to such a grand scale and mystique, yet so did all of my actions. It seemed now that the fog was less mysterious than it was bleak and austere. My footsteps became weighted with conscious, and all the beauteous Truths appeared hollow to my eyes. I passed Manzanita trees on my way up, only to be mocked by their sharp, pricking twigs and thorns. Looking back, the blood red branches of those trees shone so brightly against the white background that it seemed as if they were almost aflame, wood like flickering sanguine feathers.

Still, I moved on in the wallowing thick fog, alone to my thoughts, and no more absolved of my sin than when I first set out towards that silent peak. No word was spoken by bird or tree in that last stretch, I had dissolved into the blank white sheets of my callous mind. The song I heard earlier had abated beyond my perception.

People often envision the defining moment in a journey as a great realization, in the case of one like mine; you may expect me to find at the peak a grand panoramic view. Perhaps a sudden perspective hidden by the very fog that encompassed me from the beginning, that at the biding of the wind and the dissolution of that ambiguous veil at last everything would become clear and I would be filled with knowledge and truth.

This was not so.

Have you ever wondered what the inside of your mind looks like? I have, and on top of that peak I realized what it was to delve into the recesses of your essence, a region one might even call the soul. All around me was the Great Unknown, it flowed through me in great gusts of unknowable, unfathomable wisdom, and I breathed in that cold clean air like a tree drinks cold clear water. I was brought to the ground through the choirs of the wind, their euphonious ensemble tumbling down valleys and soaring above ridge tops. In reverence I stood vigil for a time atop that mountain, and I realized what had been before me the entire time.

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For all the mystery held within the mist and fog, I myself painted some of that mystery upon the clouds. Like some gigantic canvas, I realized, do we paint our pictures in the vast unknown, just as we add our own notes to the unending orchestra, and therefore purpose ourselves in the grand scheme of things. In turn the sins of the past only enrich the texture and potency of that never-ending tapestry.

My faults and sin where just as much a part of that work as my virtues and talents, and through each it seems that wisdom presents itself far more in our failures than the knowledge gained in our success.

With my descent came one parting gesture: Rain. I felt as if my very being was consumed by the sudden onset, a catharsis so powerful it invoked a spirituality only found through the visceral jurisdictions of the natural world. I became aware of a presence that I could only perceive to be of some higher echelon of complexity and Truth.

I do not expect a heavy fog in the coastal mountainside and a sudden fleeting deluge to inspire belief in some higher power. How could I? I would be the first to protest such ideas; yet the music and illustrations I found myself creating through those clouds and walking in those woods and feeling the rain upon my skin evoked a presence beyond my own that I cannot explain.

The mysteries of life, the ones we develop within our first footsteps on this wide green Earth, I think, can never completely be revealed because in the end, it is us that brings the mystery and majesty to them.

Noah Levine, Twelfth Grade Teacher: Aaron Cantrell Paso Robles High School; PRJUSD

The Small and the Great

People tell me I have some of the tiniest hands they have ever seen. They aren’t afraid to snatch my wrists and stare wide-eyed over the comparison to their own phalangeal counterparts.

When I look at them, I don’t just see the smallness that others may only notice. I see the deep wrinkles around my knuckles, the narrow nail beds along with delicate tendons and meandering blue-green veins. I love my hands, even in their wrinkly and petite, sometimes blushing, state because to me they are not just extremities from my arms; they are metaphors for the character they serve.

It’s easy for me to over-analyze, to connect dots that are merely reflections of what may actually exist. So while I know that my hands are a result of gene combinations, highly scientific and predetermined, a part of me cannot resist giving purpose to each of my features. It stems from a love for analyzing reasons about animal behavior or even making up stories about how Ol’Mangy the worn out Windex bottle has cleaned more than a fair share of counters. Naturally, something so personal and important as my own hands would inevitably be awarded characteristics as well, and perhaps are so intimate they resound clearly only to me. I connect my simple desire to be the greatest human being I can, perhaps through a goofy news story emphatically sent to my overworked mother, to the basic, smallness of my hands. To me, my hands are personal reminders to act alongside compassion and be patient with the complexity of others. The red, genetic blemishes speak for my dad’s sickness and circumstances affecting my existence that I did not decide and cannot control. The adorning deep wrinkles are the indelible experiences, like being told I was a selfish child, which have carved my identity experiences, like being told I was a selfish child, which have carved my identity and grown into the fine wrinkles illustrating the deep and sensitive human being I’m becoming.

I make metaphors that use the tangible, the concrete, the reality of what I see as a way to explain the abstract. With any object, I extend the physicality of the mask to an emotion or a journey or trait. What I see is the product of DNA blending and precise genetic processes, but how I see is a product of my individual perceptions and my hands are only one reminder of the many analogies I create.

Andrea Lorenzo, Twelfth Grade Teacher: Aaron Cantrell Paso Robles High School; PRJUSD Page 74

Short Story

It was a few days before new year days. Erika was cleaning her bedroom up for new year days.

It is a custom of Japan to clean all of house up before new year days. Everything which is not needed anymore should be thrown away so that you can welcome new year days with refreshed emotions.

This cleaning up is called “Osouji” in Japanese. Erika doesn’t like “ Osouji” because she has to check whether everything she has is still usable or not, even if things have been at the back of the closet and not used for long time.” Do we still have to “Osoui” this year? We do this every year!” Erika asked her mother. Her mother answered, “Absolutely, we have to “Osouji” every year because we have to show our appreciation to our house by cleaning it up. And then we also can welcome new year days, Erika. Im’ making “Ozoni” and “Ankoramochi” which you like for lunch, just work hard until they are going to be done.” “Okay...” Erika finally started working.

“I really don’t like it.” Erika said pulling things out. She has a big closet and she has put almost all things in it. The closet used to be her mother’s. Her mother gave her it as a present when she entered elementary school.

“This is mom’s. This too. Oh my gosh, things around this space are all mom’s!” She found a lot of her mother’s things, for example photos, letters, paintings and so on. Her mother stored a lot of her paintings because she is an illustrator. “This painting was painted in 1990. That’s before I was born!”

She got excited to clean there up. “What is that?” She found something like a book. “This looks like a children book. Mom made it? ... Wow! The main character is my brother! This book should have been created for my brother.” Erika started looking for books for her and her younger sister. “...well...this is...for my sister! I have to be able to find mine out!” She found her sister’s and thought she can find hers too because she is a middle child. She tried to do so hard. But it was not easy. Then her mother called her because she had done cooking. Erika asked her mother coming to kitchen. “Hey mom, I found some books.” “Which ones?” her mother answered. “You created books for us children, right?”

“Yeah! you saw them? Where? I was looking for them!” “In the closet which you gave me. You should have forgot to move them into your new one. By the way, I could find brother’s and sister’s but I could not find mine. Where is it?” Erika was so excited to hear about her book. She was like children who got a candy from mom. Her mother answered. “Um, I didn’t create yours.” “What? you didn’t? why?” she was surprised and disappointed. “Because the difference between you and your brother’s ages is only 2 years. I was too busy when you were born because you brother was little too. And your sister was born when you were 5, your brother was 7. you guy were old enough. That’s why I could not create yours in spite of I could create your brother and sister’s. but...” “But, what!? That’s not fair!” Erika got green with envy and started run away. She was crying.

Erika was backyard by herself. She heard someone’s steps. They were her father’s. “Hello, sweetie. You were here.” “... ... ...” she didn’t say anything. “Mom is looking for you all around.”

“This is not my fault! She did not make my book in spite of she did for brother and sister!” she was upsetting. Her father talked to her relaxing. “Erika, I know your feelings because I am a middle child too and sometimes I felt unfairness between me and my sisters. But that’s true your mom was busy when you was a baby. you understand it, huh?” “I know! I understand a lot...but just...it is not fair!”

She started crying again. Her father felt like she was flying off the handle. However he continued to talk to her. “You know what, Erika. They are just books. Books can’t express all of her loves to you guys. So don’t put on your thinking cap.” “...What do you mean, dad?” Erika upped her face and asked her father. “I meant your mother loves you guys equally. Exactly same. They are just books. She made them with a lot of love but they are not all. I mean not all of her loves. You got it?” And then he smiled to her. “...You are right, dad. I am going to apologize to mom.” Erika smiled and said. “Alright.”

Erika apologized to her mother. And they ate “Ozoni” and “Ankoromochi” which her mother made together. And they spent great New Year’s eve and New Year days. Of course, Erika finished “Osouji” perfectly.

END Sanae Yamaguchi, Twelfth Grade Teacher: Ryan Mammarella Morro Bay High School; SLCUSD Page 75

War with Numbers I live in a world of numbers. Calculations, equations, frustrations, a countdown to when I will selfdestruct. My mind is made up of mathematics, counting calorie after calorie, continuous confusion crushing my self-esteem. Begging to be better, chained by the pressure to be perfect. Swallowed by subtraction, sucked in a constant selfish cycle. Not a solitary item touches my tongue without a notation in my black leather-bound notebook. Digging in my own dirty grave of digits, burying myself in a mountain of malignity. Tender emotions triggered by something as simple as food.

Food.

The basic building block of mortality, yet I detest digestion, envy those able to purge the pollution into pristine porcelain pots. Long lists deeming dishes off limits, staying safe by secluding myself from sugary sweets. An innocent attempt towards better health turned to hell, downing deep in murky messages spurred by society. Be thin like her and you’ll be happy and never worry again. Tabloid trash selling lies and successful because no one can resist a promise for perfection, even if it is too good to be true. Desperately doing whatever it takes, anxiously avoiding meals with friends, worried that their indifference might disturb my delicate delusion. Increasing the isolation until I am hidden, alone with the numbers inside my own curl-covered head.

But the food is only a tool of my eradication.

Caring parents have cultivated a spotless path for me to follow. They fight for my future, are celebrate my accomplishments, but do not recognize the issue. I am the eldest of three girls, doomed to carry the responsibilities of being a role model. I was born a stereotypical overachiever, determined and driven since age one. My grades were always above average, teachers talk and talk of my tenacity towards learning. Leaned on by friends, listened to, a leader. Adults adore and admire my abilities.

Everyone seems ecstatic and excited about whatI have achieved and will achieve. Except me.

Nothing is good enough anymore.

My calorie intake is quickly becoming significantly smaller, my physical activity more strenuous. Not only am I up numerous nights trying to burn off the bare amount I indulge in, but sixteen hours a week are devoted to dance. Jazz, lyrical, modern, ballet, all brutally beating my body considering the little I have consumed. Brown bangs pulled up, pointe shoes propelling me off the floors. For a few hours I am safe in this astonishing art, pulse pounding and skin sweating but overcome by the magic of it all. My every movement is scrutinized by the one wide mirror, projecting each of my imperfections, yet the music moves me to be stronger. Teachers critique while the rest of us compete and compare ourselves to one another. I leap into the air, legs fully extended and land lightly on the ground.

The numbers follow me here too, but they are muted by the music. I am comforted by a force that unfortunately contributes to my destruction.

Suddenly I’m discovered. My mother is devastated and I am disturbed by her hysterics and words of doctors. I fall asleep dreaming of demons in white coats and IVs. My father fears of losing a daughter, demands I make changes, cries through chaotic half-formed sentences. I understand. I’ve seen all the statistics. Young growing girls just like me starving by choice not condition. He’s seen the statistics too.

They tell me I’m beautiful like it’s the magic work.

They don’t understand.

I wish it was that simple.

I am weighed backwards at the doctor’s office, and a nice lady with too much red lipstick and a Page 76

puppy sticker leads me into a sterile white room. She has taken my vitals, gone over my blood tests.

Tells me I have three months before my unfortunate organs will begin to break down. Warns me of the danger, tell me it’s imperative that I improve immediately. I blink and dark shadows stand in her place. Warm whispers tell me not to lsiten, tell me she wants me to be ugly. My nod is not even human, my agreement electronic. I can no longer differentiate myself from the demons, the numbers buzz around, surround me. For the next few months, specialists dissect me like a poor frog in a fifth grade science class. Every snip is a probing personal question. They dig deeper and deeper leaving me psychologically sore. It all seems tedious, tiring, and pointless.

Until I meet the others.

Fourteen mouths that murmur stories of struggles and strength, that describe the darkness and demons, that ring of the rewards of recovery. Fourteen eyes that have seen hospital beds and terrifying tubes. Fourteen girls that needed help to escape the numbers. Fourteen girls a little like me.

They are, of course, in drastically different stages of their journeys. Some still shiver and see through sunken eyes, while others laugh and comp on large lunches contently, gorgeous grins glowing on their faces.

I want to look like that. I want to look happy again.

Everyone takes turns, shares their stories, inspires with insight. I am asked why I am here, and it’s so much clearer now. No amount of love from my parents, advice from doctors, or instructions from specialists can help me. This is not the kind of disease cured by a medication or special treatment. I seek an escape from the darkness. I seek a weapon to defend myself from the demons. I will not go down without a fight.

My voice rises above the buzzing of the numbers.

“I am here to win the war against myself.”

I will not stop until I do.

Anonymous

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Poetry

Why the Arts Matter Arts education helps prepare our students for the expectations of the twenty- first century workforce, which includes the ability to innovate, communicate and collaborate. One in six jobs in Southern California is now in the creative industries, including entertainment and communication arts, digital design, product and industrial design.

(The California Alliance for Arts Education)

Frosty Morning Frosty crystals cover the minty green grass, Like a blanket in the morning light, It sounds like grouchy leaves arguing, It feels like hard ice cream, It makes you want to put your hand back inside your pocket.

TĂŠa Aebischer, First Grade Teacher: Jennifer Jenison Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD Animal Riddle Poem

The Wave

It is different colors It lives in the forest It rhymes with rake Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle It is a snake!

I am a wave, I crash down on the people, And I knock them down like tumbling seashells.

Fish swim in me, Peeking out like a window, I sound a little bit like the wind blowing, And a little bit like a a storm striking, People put boogie boards on me, I do no like when they do that!

Edwyn Diaz Fernandez, First Grade Teacher: Yuliana Coronel Del Mar Elementary; SLCUSD

Rio Fleming, First Grade Teacher: Jennifer Jenison and Andres Guardado Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD

Limerick

Urban Landscape I see pretzel stands on the street.

Universities filled with students.

Zoo with elephants and tigers.

People rushing down the street, They do not want to be late.

Statues and art at the museums.

Big cities are busy and exciting.

There once was a horse named Munch, Who ate too much peanut butter crunch.

His stomach was hurting, Which was concerning, I don’t think it was a good lunch!

Angelie Isler, Second Grade Teacher: Kelli Theaker Nipomo Elementary; LMUSD

Melika Akhavan, Second Grade Teacher: Angie King Harloe Elementary; LMUSD Dream Poem

The bobcat dreams of a rabbit.

The rabbit dreams of grass.

The grass dreams of sun.

The sun dreams of the moon.

And I dream of nature Page 78

Gavin Lichtenwalter, Second Grade Teacher: Monique Salas Ocean View Elementary; LMUSD

Snowflakes

¡La nieve ya llegó!

Falling from the sky

Me siento feliz, el frío ya llegó a mi nariz.

El viento glacial soplando, Los niños jugando, con bolitas de nieve que están tirando.

Glistening brightly in air Painting the earth white Molly Floberg, Third Grade Teacher: Michele Hatfield Vineyard Elementary; TUSD

Puedo tocar la nieve fría de la muñeca de nieve, que hice con mi amiga mejor.

A Poem Is A Poem is words Floating in the sky I grab one.

I pick another Finally I decide “That sounds good” Poems are like a slide Of words And color You ride down I grab all the ideas Put them together And make a poem Poems remind me of bees Carrying my thoughts off Making them into Sweet poems

Yo veo nieve fría y blanca, en todos lugares.

Y guantes en pares, en las manos de todos los niños.

En invierno oigo cascabeles sonando, personas esquiando. ¡La nieve ya llegó!

Coco Israel, Third Grade Teacher: Michelle Israel Homeschool; SLCUSD

Tekuru Schwartz, Third Grade Teacher: Nicole Rege Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD

Huelo el chocolate caliente de mucho de la gente Mi amiga dice, “Vámonos!”

Pone guantes en dos manos. ¡El invierno blanco ya llegó!

En invierno yo puedo saborear mi barra de dulce, que Santa Claus me dio.

Black Black is obsidian being sharpened for a knife.

It is old photographs, slivers of times forgotten.

Black is a bubbling potion, gooey as tar, brewing in a cauldron.

It is thunder clouds, brimming to the top with big, wet, tears.

It is olives, plump and oval-shaped, bobbing up and down, resting in a pickle jar.

Black is the ram, grazing in a dewy meadow, sparkling like a million stars.

It can be as soft as velvet or as hard as a knife.

Black is the cold, dark night putting hope into our hearts.

It can be sorrow dripping down windows on a rainy day, or the joyful, descriptive writing pouring onto a vast, blank world.

Black can take many forms, but it’s most precious form is not octopus ink, asphalt after it rains, penguin tuxedos, ash or smoke.

It is the living memory streaming from brain to hand, pencil to paper.

Emily Sullivan, Third Grade Teacher: Lisa Stephens and Margarita Zatt Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD Page 79

God’s Golden Train Picante Me comi una salsa picnate No se porque...

Me ¡enchile!

Corri Corri Buscando ¡agua! ¡agua! ¡agua!

Pero no vi nada Solo la salsa Picante Brian Cruz, Fourth Grade Teacher: Marlene Vega Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD

I am a man of pain and sorrow It gets worse by each morrow Someday I’ll find the golden rail road The place where I’ll find God’s golden train When I get on the train al my pain will go away And so will my sorrow I would fine peace and happiness On God’s golden train Perhaps I’ll send a post card from heaven The place where I will be Perhaps I’ll ride the golden rail road And go back to being A man of pain and sorrow And then I’ll ride God’s train With my mom and my dad And my sister, Autumn We’ll ride on God’s golden train Nathan Jordan, Fourth Grade Teacher: Marifrances Williams Bishops Peak Elementary; SLCUSD Autumn Winds

Leaves fall Winds blow Birds fly But I stay here on this dark Autumn night With two things on my mind.

My mom left my dad.

Gave up.

I still stay in this dark, empty life.

Wondering Will I be like the wind and the leaves and like the birds with a whole sky or like birds trapped in cages with no space to fly?

Will I fly.

Zion Salas, Fourth Grade Teacher: Suzanne McClain Grover Heights Elementary; LMUSD

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Dreadful Cobblestone streets stab at her feet Soft drizzle wets her hair and back Dress is torn, Feet bare, Eyes red and hollow, Stomach flat, Ribs shown through the baggy dress, No one to care for her, No one for her to care for, Because there is nothing for her to live for she has no purpose to live, No destiny, No light, Her eyes sear through me as if it’s all my fault what a state she’s in, Maybe it is our fault, Us, the ones with all the wealth, The happiness, And the life Nicole McGuire, Fifth Grade Teacher: Chris Becker Los Ranchos Elementary; SLCUSD

Untitled

Hanukkah

Hoof beats sound loudly in my mind Reaching something lively inside.

A blend of voices in the air Ring out loudly without much care.

Ocho días muy festivos Ocho días divertidos Ocho días con sonrisas Ocho días con muchas risas

The hoof beats sound again and harder this time.

A symphony of beats along for the ride.

The saddle beneath me firm and steady, Off take the horses when we are ready.

Velas en, la Menorah Velas cuando bailamos la Hora Ve-las derritiendo Velas cuando estamos comiendo

Hoof beats strike again and sound hard and clear.

Another pair of them follow very near.

They sound like music a clip, clop, trot, A nice steady beat in the sun that is hot.

Hay momentos muy chistosos Hay momentos sonriosos Hay momentos emocionantes Hay momentos muy cansantes

We’re slowing it down, Getting ready to go, But first, yes first round, round I go.

Preo lo importante es que estoy con mi familia Lo importante es que fue divertida Esta es la Hanukkah mejor Porque hay mucha, mucha, mucha amor

Julia Pitrowski, Fifth Grade Teacher: Holly Warrick Bellevue Santa Fe Charter; SLCUSD

Julia Schermer, Fifth Grade Teacher: Carol Del Toro Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD Page 81

Black Magic I am so hungry for black I hunger for its molten waves Starving for its gloomy days Black storm clouds that pepper the sky The rolls of thunder’s mournful cries Dark fold of depression in the night A crow’s black feathers as it takes flight The cobra’s big black hooded crown Black mud that extends way down Into the earth, a black root reaches Dehydration, the dark bark preaches A black horse’s footsteps; clickity clack Oh how I hunger, yearn for black Quinn Chamblin, Sixth Grade Teacher: Michelle Ventura Templeton Middle School; TUSD

The Sweet Dog Poem Fluffy and crazy Nice and fun to play with Sugary and wiggly

The New Girl Chubby cheeks and a bright orange T-shirt Green and pink braces flash in the light of the classroom as she boldly tells the teacher what the variable n stands for in problem number two When she’s finished, she takes a quick glance from across the classroom at me, and smiles I look into her solemn brown eyes Eyes determined to do something Eyes determined to be something I see patience, hope, and kindness So I do something that I promised myself I would do long ago: I smile back Lily Hasley, Sixth Grade Teacher: Mary Irion and Brian Deutsch Pacheco Elementary; SLCUSD

Roly Poly and nosey Their names are Oscky and Shiloh Soft ears and cuddly Jumping and licking Crazy little brothers Tails swinging Snarling across empty bowls Grumpy bad babies With chubby tummy roles Silly, sweet scaredy cats Hiding under cars Afraid of all cats Barking at Sally Who taunts them with mischief Tongues hanging happy Shandae Huntley, Sixth Grade Teacher: Danielle Falk C.L. Smith Elementary; SLCUSD

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Swimming in the Ocean Taste the salty ocean as you enter from the shore, Season the kept you swim through and boil all the joy of the fish in front of your eyes, Bake up all the fun and laughter of the clown fish’s colors, Mix with anger from the lion fish’s poisonous spikes, And measure out the thousands and thousands of red frightened krill on the watch for a hungry gentle giant.

Stew until the flutter of relaxation falls upon you when you see the gracious green sea turtles softly swim past you, Bake for as long as your soul can take all of the relaxation and wisdom, Sprinkle some magic on this moment with some friendly colorful jellyfish as they sway with the current around you, Add a cup of determination to the king of the ocean!

The Great White shark, determined to find a delicious dinner, Change the temperature down to 1.5 to 4.5 degrees C, down at the ocean floor to meet some not so nice friends, A horrifying fang tooth fish, a blood thirsty Vampire squid and a giant 6 gill shark, and yes these are all real sea life creatures!

Dessert in the ocean is the great schools of swordfishes, with their long sharp swords they measure who’s the top fighter here in the Great Barrier Reef, But as the wonderous day of swimming comes to an end, the cuddle fish and star fish friends say goodbye, Along with the long tentacle octopus, I sip all the sights I’ve seen today, and I wish I could prepare a meal like this again tomorrow, Goodbye all the tablespoons and teaspoons of laughter and fun, I will sea you again for even more spices of determination and a delicious dinner of delightful dolphins, For the shark of course......

Talia Johnson, Sixth Grade Teacher: Dennis Billings Monterey Road Elementary; AUSD

Afternoon Shadows Her tips brushed my fingers, The wind sighing around her.

Her red-brown skin was rough to the touch, Her shadow leaving me awed.

My soft, flexible fingers entwined with her firm, stiff ones.

I gently took another arm, And eased myself up her trunk.

I climbed higher and higher, Until I found the top, And we swayed there, Watching the field turn gold in the afternoon sun.

Music Music can help your soul If you lost a loved one, hear slow music to forget Rhyming can help you remember that song Music can be played in your head when you’re bored or sad Fast and loud music is like a Monster energy drink that gives you energy Slow music is like a nap that helps you relax Music is a tool that you can use in your mind

Julia Graham, Seventh Grade Teacher: Charlie Perryess Los Osos Middle School; SLCUSD Page 83

Gerardo Hernandez, Seventh Grade Teacher: Barb Babka Judkins Middle School; LMUSD

Crossing the Line It’s okay.

It’s alright.

I put the pain away and let it slide.

I forgive and forget it and then you promise me I won’t regret it.

But I do.

It’s not right because I turn around and let it go and I’m crazy for thinking that someday you’ll change things when you just keep crossing the line.

Allison Holub, Seventh Grade Teacher: Charlie Perryess Los Osos Middle School; SLCUSD

Dreams Dreams come to us on a soft summers breeze.

Sweet and musical-like, whispering to us promises of things unknown.

Dreams melt us into other dimensions.

Dreams tease us, stalk us, shape us.

Dreams are magical, mystical, mysterious, and miserable.

For dreams make us believe in something that’s not there.

Yet dreams are still dazzling splashes of rainbows after a storm; sad, beautiful and tragic all at once.

But dreams are an escape.

Dreams are portals to parallel worlds.

But dreams can warp us, manipulate us.

And dreams will haunt us to the end of our days.

Dreams are in are grasp, yet they always seem to evade us, slipping through our fingers like wisps of smoke.

And when we wake, the immense world of dreams gets shattered and melted into the light.

Gone.

Yet I always wonder, will we ever understand dreams?

Maybe so.

Maybe not.

But maybe it’s better that way.

Because some things are better left unknown.

Olivia Bennet, Eighth Grade Teacher: Tom Slater Mesa Middle School; LMUSD Page 84

Ode to Grass Swaying to and fro like ballerinas, we guard the Earth from trash and feet.

We kiss your knees with our dew covered tips, and cushion your fall when you stumble.

We cut your soft skin like sword blades.

We are the ground beneath your feet, or the rug under your picnic blanket.

We stand as still as soldiers addressing their commanding officer.

Although we are as thin as paper, we stand straight and tall.

Our green blood color the knees of your blue jeans.

We whistle in the wind as the cool winter breeze blows.

It chills our chloroplast so much that we freeze.

We shelter many mini mice and bugs, but sadly we can’t shelter you.

Bryson French, Eighth Grade Teacher: Sholly Von Stein Atascadero Jr. High; AUSD

Five Senses Poem Guilt It is a color of a gray sky It tastes like an expired milk carton It has the smell of punishment It has the depressed face of a little kid It sounds like an explosion It is frightening and depressing Guilt Friendship It has the color of the sun-bright yellow It tastes like fresh baked cookies It smells like a beautiful pot of flowers It looks like a bright smile on someone’s face It sounds like a group of people enjoying themselves The feeling is strong and happy Friendship Taylor Hatch, Ninth Grade Teacher: Stacy Houchin Nipomo High School; LMUSD

The Sniper In the darkness on a bitter night Lay a man in the shadows concealed from sight He was tired and cold Burdened by the rules he must uphold With a face of innocence, that of a young boy Inside he had secrets that kept him from joy As he lay in the darkness bullets firing overhead He tricked the enemy into thinking him dead With his quick thinking wit he formed a plan Hoping the enemy to be gone from his land With his rifle aimed at the unsuspecting soul He fired without hesitation for his heart dark as coal As the man fell to the dirt he felt a sense of glee It was another small step to finally being free But to his horror he saw the enemy he had gunned down Was his brother-now laying in blood on the ground As he reeled away from the terrible sight He no longer had the urge to fight And in desperation he looked up and cried but all that met his gaze were cold, dark skies Lucy Israel, Ninth Grade Teacher: Michelle Israel Mission Prep; SLCUSD Page 85

Lost Art you left behind a mass of blankets amidst the remains of your baby clothes a cocoon of which you were queen

I tried to build a fort last night and found I couldn’t without the murmured directions in your lilt the skills were not there when I needed them most

but when I unraveled the blankets, there were spiders and a dent in the down where you’d laid your head I remember we used to build forts out of the thin sheets and paint-drop-cloths you sat in the doorway and sang instructions and when it was done we pulled the blinds shut and lay within our fortress unreachable like the stars whose simulacrum we made using fluorescent lights

It’s funny how the things you need most are never there Sam Pal, Ninth Grade Teacher: Ivan Simon San Luis Obispo High School; SLCUSD

Dorothy I am Dorothy And I am spiraling round and round In a twister of emotions.

I see Anger passing by, Screaming and shouting silently, Not wanting to upset anyone.

I see Sadness momentarily, Tears streaming down silently, Not quite sure why he was there.

Finally I see Happiness for an instant, A fooling, faux smile, Able to deceive anyone, Even the one she possesses.

I crash-land on a girl with ruby slippers, Who was sure of her emotions, And in control of what she said.

I took her place as a silent, misplaced maniac, Whom Happiness possessed, And deluded each person in my world.

Including myself.

Erin Campbell, Tenth Grade Teacher: Diane Mayfield Templeton High School; TUSD Page 86

Burn Lighter’s getting hot Unrecognizable fumes still give off a pleasing scent, Something of sage or pine.

Sitting out here on the cold pavement, it’s almost as if these soft words I speak are slowly being matched and upheld by the rising smoke.

As much as we may refuse to believe it, burning pine needles are a power beyond our power.

The same flame that turns these needles black is the same fire that ignites your eminent invincibility, your indestructible yet temporary power to determine what says And what burns.

Though this power is only an illusion, we can very easily burn things, real things, without even a single spark.

Our human strive for control, the want for our lives to be exactly as they tell us it will be is nothing more than a beautiful illusion, an elegantly decorated gauntlet of lies the will undoubtedly Fall. Fall as quickly as the glowing ember from burning sage.

And, though the scent is sweet, what you see is what will haunt you.

Once our eyes have been exposed to flame, that flame will consume us and all that will rise in that moment is the ghost of what could have been; The smoke of our praying soul.

We much remember that the pain in our desire finds the fortune in our distastes, dislikes, hatred, and kindles it with the promise of gratifying fortitude.

This is a real promise, a REAL fire, Burning all of the inside of you until the flame consumes you completely, and becomes you.

It has wanted to be you All along.

Alec Wingfield, Tenth Grade Teacher: Steve Arnette Paso Robles High School; PRJUSD

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Ghetto

Schism

They call me Ghetto.

They call me gunfights and drive-bys, pregnant teens.

They call me Poverty, and concrete winter walls splashed red with graffiti.

They call me junior-high druggies and gang-banging muchachos.

They call me Mexico, like it’s a dirty word.

They call me Ghetto.

I watched the pieces fall away but how do you know they fit? sometimes the connection was never fused in the first place places, everyone, about to begin the show that is your life this is your moment everyday moments, special moments they are one and the same scripted in my head before they happen scripted in yours so what happens now is only the offspring of our desires the moment a much simpler way to copulate

But haven’t they seen through the white-washed walls of the “American Dream”?

Don’t they know hurt and suffering, imperfections and neglect, as well?

So call me Mexico; call me Poverty; call me Ghetto.

I am run-down yards filled with laughing brown children, small apartments bursting with the scent of tamales, mingled with joy and the chatter of relatives.

I am home-made tortillas at Thanksgiving, and wrinkled hands pounding masa at Christmas.

I am friendly smiles and shouted jokes followed by roaring laughter.

I am the lilting syllables of a beautiful culture.

I am comfort.

They call me Ghetto and so I am.

copulation my thoughts drift between suicide and sex for what? pleasure? no, the pleasure is all yours please take it unless we redefine pleasure as the wanted outcome the script take it to choose not to know the future is that ignorance or asceticism? in the end we can complain if we have sacrificed our rights our writings are no longer ours in these hours of plague and plagiarism so I invite you to wine and dine no whining though we probably won’t eat just drink until our thoughts fall out onto wet paper ink spreads but ideas... ideas stick in the fibers of the folds fold into the smallest square the safest place to hide Alexandra Houlis, Eleventh Grade Teacher: Cathleen Rockstad San Luis Obispo High School; SLCUSD

Analia Cabello, Eleventh Grade Teacher: Sean Pierce Paso Robles High School; PRJUSD Page 88

Out to Sea You are the willow tree,

And I am the river,

The river keeps on flowing.

One day, I do decree,

“You will come with me.

One day, we’ll go out to see,

To see,

To see.

And I’ll tell you a story,

All about you and me.”

So says the river to the willow tree.

My dear friend, the tree, does agree.

“So we shall go out to see,

To see,

To see.

And one day, we will be free,

To see what shall be.”

Years passed for you and me,

And you tend to shiver,

Always weathering and withering.

The rain knocked you down onto the banks, so slippery,

Into the river with me.

One that day, I did decree,

“You’ll stand next me,

And soon we’ll be

On our way out to sea,

To sea,

To sea.

And I’ll tell a story,

All about you and me.”

So says the river to the willow tree.

My friend, the tree, decides to disagree.

“Wave goodbye to me,

For I am stuck in riverbed debris.

I can’t go out to sea.”

I wave goodbye to the willow tree,

You’re in the river,

And now, I’m the sea, ever longing.

The day I chose to flee in a fury,

My dear friend, the willow tree,

Joined me in the sea.

The willow tree called to me.

“When will we be together in the sea,

Where we came to be free,

And to see what shall be?”

So said the tree to me.

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Then I told her what shall be,

“In the sky, way up high, I’ll try to hurry,

To become free again, to see,

The rain fall quickly,

So we can meet in the sea.”

So said I to the willow tree.

The sky weeps and in the sea I have someone waiting for me,

And again I’m the river,

The river that keeps on flowing.

But today I did decree,

“Oh, woe is me,

I can’t get out to sea.

But I can’t be sad,

Oh, no, not me,

Cause one day we’ll be together in the sea,

And I’ll tell this story,

All about you and me,

And going to see what shall be.”

Serina Carter, Twelfth Grade Teacher: Diane Mayfield Templeton High School; TUSD

Starve An Artist For Centuries To my mistress, I don’t feel well I’ve been dirty, I’ve been wrong.

From the cradle to the grave It has been a walk of shame.

I am dead!

What is one less worm?

Seconds off of a prisoner’s term

Provisional arrogant little pigs Bring me the tongue, Everything else is fat.

The rat has got its mother’s eyes Famine fathered a moth That begot our fathers Breeding ad nauseam Hold that pose

You’re a hopeless romantic and hopelessly rheumatic Wherever I go, there too shall be grief.

She’s all I have left, c’est la vie She has the warmest body that I’ve ever had If my hands find themselves another body You can’t blame them for trying to keep warm Ruination leaves the lantern lit

Stop! Thief!

Valentine Soto, Twelfth Grade Teacher: David Muff Atascadero High School; AUSD

We’ve drained full confession booths We demand to be taken aback It’s the end of the line I’m coming up in a coma I’m breathing in to fill my lungs Farewell scenic highway overpass Page 90

Why the Arts Matter Arts education is mandated in our State Education Code for pupils in grades 1-12, in the disciplines of dance, music, theater and visual arts. The code does not mandate schools to follow these content standards, which leaves implementation of arts education to the discretion of each school district.

(The California Alliance for Arts Education)

Teachers as Writers

Support Arts Education!

Your commitment to supporting arts education in our schools will make a difference.

We ask your support in helping to ensure that arts education becomes part of a more balanced and creative curriculum that every child receives as part of a quality education!

To learn more, visit www.artsed411.org (The California Alliance for Arts Education) To get active in arts education in San Luis Obispo County, contact ARTS Obispo. All contact information can be found by visiting www.artsobispo.org

Poetry Tribute to Room 10 Nine round tables with young scholars like King Arthur’s knights, their books and papers before them, heads bent in homage to their own imaginations.

Their faces solemn, brows furrowed, eyes staring right or left pondering unknown uncharted territory with only courage as scout.

They wrestle their insecurity into choke holds and if fortune smiles on them use any illegal maneuver to subdue the fear that threatens to render them robotic and stilted.

Their round table discussions often clever, always honest teaching me just how practice does perfect.

To hear them read their own words in voices calm and authoritative no matter how they tremble, is success and sustaining.

Their essays are like stacked stones cleverly balanced in tribute to the voices echoing inside.

Eldra Avery Teacher San Luis Obispo High School; SLCUSD

Personal Experience Supervision Gone Awry Loud. It’s always loud there, as if the sound system were permanently stuck on level nine, and everyone who enters has no choice but to shout above the obnoxious songs and screaming children.

I stood by the rocket ship as the boys scrambled for their seats. Two quarters in. Clink, clink. Now, more noise, and a rumbling rocket.

Seeing the emergency exit so close by reminded me of, yet another way to take off with a kid. Not my kid! So, I stayed close to the rocket, my purse worn across my chest, as usual, so no one could take off with that either. My five year-old and his little buddy were in heaven. We were at Chuck E. Cheese.

Cute, I hour, as I observed the miniature train-ride across from the rockets. Pretty authentic looking, for a kiddy ride. There was a white picket fence surrounding the looped route, presumably to keep people from wandering onto the tracks, although, there was no gate to close at the opening. Guy must be on break, I thought.

Page 91

One little girl, maybe four years old, boarded as the lonely rider, mom put the quarters in, and the train began its oval rounds. More noise.

What’s this? A toddler walking through the entrance to the train? Surely, a person mans this ride. No? “Hey!” I yelled out to anyone who would listen. “Somebody’s baby is walking toward the train!” Nobody paid attention. I could feel my core pulling me toward the toddler while my feet wanted to stay firmly planted, protecting my kids.

“HEY! ANYBODY!?!” I screamed above the din. I shot a quick glance at the boys laughing in their rocket ship, then back at the toddler, and finally released my frozen feet. The next thirty seconds played out like a slow-motions dream.

Although the train was not fast, it was heavy, with wheels of steel, and determined. No one came to scoop up the toddler as she made her way onto the tracks. I could see the train was not stopping. I could also see in my mind what a horrible outcome this would be if I didn’t do something. The train made its final turn, and the toddler was square on the tracks. I leaned over the picket fence to sweep her out of harm’s way. She looked terrified as this strange woman started to pick her up, and she rebelled, squiggling out of my hands. I can’t let her go. But, as I leaned further in, the strap on my purse caught in the picket fence and stopped me with a jerk. Adrenaline pushed me to reach for her again, and the strap broke, sending my purse several feet behind me. By then the train was inches away. Like Superman, I used my left hand to hold back the monster train, but it didn’t care. My final reach with my right hand grabbed the toddler as her dress got caught under the sharp, shiny wheels. It tore as I pulled her up, leaving grease on her dress, legs and socks. The child atop the train-ride watched with confusion and fear.

Now my voice elevated above the loudness in the room, “Whose child is this??!!” I screamed to be heard, only to get questioning looks from other parents. I repeated it until someone responded. I was dumbfounded at the lack of reaction in the room, as if the deafening noise were an excuse to be blind, as well. Even as the mother dragged herself over to me to retrieve her baby, the indifference shook me.

Her only response was, “Oh look, now you’ve torn your new dress.”

I wanted to smack that woman. I had abandoned my post by the rockets, and lost track of my purse, all to keep the horror of two little legs being cut away from their owner. I could imagine not only the tragic life the baby would face, but the embedded memories of a fun day gone terribly wrong for the many little children in the room. As I retrieved the boys from the stilled rocket, and located my flying purse, I felt abandoned by mankind. What is wrong with these people, I thought.

My only sense of calm was knowing that the boys were too distracted by their rocket ship ride to notice I was gone.

Moments later, as we drove home, my son asked, “Mommy, why are you crying?”

Vicki Woehrle Teacher District Offices; SLCUSD

Page 92

Thank You!

ARTS OBISPO

Kathi Zotovich Nancy Watson JoEd Sennes Heidi Smith Dee Dee Mello Jean DeClue Donnia Callahan Sarah Araya Annie Turner Leslie Roper Babette Decou Cindy Schroeder Janice Mundee

Board of Directors Mary Kay Harrington President Janet Wallace, Vice President Trudy Jarratt Secretary

Julie Lopez Paula McCambridge Richard Mortensen Jack Olds Guy Rathbun Nathan Shields

Alyce Broome Anne M. Brown David Butz Kevin Clark & Amy Hewes Kate Czekala Theresa Griswold Gina Hafemeister Crissa Hewitt Torre Houlgate-West Jan Jercich

SLO COUNTY OFFICE OF EDUCATION

Libbie Agran Sylvia Alcon George & Kathie Asdel Carol Astaire John & Diana Barnhart Barnes & Noble: SLO Nellie Beecher Barbara Bell Diana Bittleston

DISTRICT COORDINATORS

JUDGES DONORS

Suzy Farrell Monica Fiscalini Miranda Foresman Velva Hakim Sherry Heber Crissa Hewitt

Pamela Alch Diana Bittleston Suzanne Champeau Sue Davis Linda Evans Neil Farrell

McKenzie Sixt Susan Tuttle Leticia Velez Ericson Vera Wallen Anna Weltner

Maria Junco Leslie McKinley Richard Mortensen Jack Olds Linnaea Phillips Barbara & Robert Rosenthal D. Scott Splash CafĂŠ Artisan Bakery John Thomas & Cynthia Green Ron Yukelson

Julian D. Crocker County Superintendent of Schools Educational Support Services Division Brad Schultz Assistant Superintendent Patti Garrett Program Director of Curriculum & Instruction Christine Enyart-Elfers Senior Program Coordinator of Curriculum & Instruction Kristi Adams Program Assistant of Curriculum & Instruction San Luis Obispo County Board of Education Paul Madonna Floyd Moffatt President Larry Peterson Gaye Galvan Diane Ward

Jeri Carroll Treasurer Doug Bouman Nicki E. Edwards Crissa Hewitt Richard Mortensen Anita Shower Page 93

Gary Stone Bettina Swigger Kathy Teufel Staff Charlotte Alexander Executive Director

Jenna Hartzell Program Director Lori Lerian Program Assistant Joe Bowman Development Associate

www.slonightwriters.org