Young Authors Booklet - 2010 by @OECTA

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2010

YO U N G A U T H O R S AWA R D S P R I X J E U N E S Ă&#x2030; C R I VA I N S 2010

YOUNG AUTHORS AWARDS

2010

THORS A W

•

U N E S ÉCRI

PREFACE This collection is a celebration of the literary talents and accomplishments of the provincial winners of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association’s 2010 Young Author Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program. Congratulations to all the provincial winners. The writing selections produced by these young authors remind us that the famous Canadian authors of the future are presently in our classrooms. We also extend our congratulations to all the thousands of students across the province who participated in the classroom, school, and unit levels of the awards program. Everyone’s enthusiasm and hard work ensures that the Young Authors Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program continues to grow and improve each year. We also show appreciation to all the teachers – without whose inspiration and encouragement, the students would not have had the opportunity to challenge themselves and enter the competition. The Young Authors Awards/Prix jeunes écrivains program would also not be possible without the hard work of many OECTA members across the province. Teachers, school OECTA Association Representatives, Unit Presidents and Unit Executive members all play a critical role in administering the program in their respective classrooms, schools and units. The members contribute their talent, time and effort to preserve the spirit and continued success of the program, and to celebrate the outstanding work of our teachers and students. Once again, thank you very much to all the dedicated members of the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association who ensure that the program flourishes year after year.

Susan Perry Professional Development Department Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association

THE LEPRECHAUN

Father F.X. O’Reilly TEACHER: Karen McEvoy

SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Ruth Ann Turnbull UNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Robert Harrison by

OW E N M C C A RT H Y S K A R J A K

was walking in a forest. I saw a big tree with a door. I opened the door and there was a leprechaun washing his

gold. He hid the gold under the table. I said “Hi.” The leprechaun said, “You scared me!” I said,

“Sorry. Would you like to play with me?” The leprechaun said, “Yes.” Then we became friends.

M Y B U T T E R F LY

St. Michael TEACHER: Rosemarie Hall SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Shawn Marcon UNIT: Sudbury Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Kent MacNeill by

ALICIA BRIDGET CUNNINGHAM-DUNLOP

My butterfly was orange It had two wings It flew to my house It sat on a flower I watched it for one hour Then it flew away I hope it comes back Some day!

ALL ABOUT GOD

St. Andrew TEACHER: Theresa Slomka SCHOOL:

Elementary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Jill Mercer UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Richard Brock by

C H L O E X I U B U K R E S OV I C

hen I was born in China, God was with me. Now I live in Canada and God is with

me.

know

that

God

everywhere. God is with me with when I am making pictures for my picture sale to help the people in Haiti. I get money and give it away to the kids in Haiti. This is God coming out of me. God is in the pool when my Dad, my sister and I swim. God is beside us and happy too. God is our friend. I do good things for God because I love Him. God is wonderful. God is a good creator. Thank you God for loving me.

T H E A M A Z I N G F I R S T DAY OF GRADE 2

St. Elizabeth Seton TEACHER: Catherine Gillespie SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Jamie Thiers UNIT: Durham Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dan Gryzwacz by

A DA M M I C H A E L G U R B I N

“GET UP!!! It’s morning!” said Dad. “It’s TIME FOR SCHOOL” “C-ooo-m-i-nnn-ggg,” said Jack, in a sleepy voice. It was 8:07 a.m. and school starts at 8:15. Jack hurried down the stairs as fast as he could. He ate breakfast, got his agenda, his homework, his lunch and then changed into his school clothes. When he was done that, he got ready and put on his boots, his hat, his mittens, his jacket and his scarf. He called his Dad, and then his Dad put on his coat, got his laptop and drove Jack to school. “I’M LATE!” It was 8:47 when he got to school. He hurried to the office and got a late stamp. “Where is Jack?” said his teacher, Mrs. Laskey. “Oh no! My teacher must be waiting for me!” said Jack. He hung up all of his stuff on his hook, got his agenda and all his other stuff and then went into the classroom and sat down at his desk. “Where were you?” cried Mrs. Laskey. “I was late for school,” said Jack. “See, I have a late stamp.” This was Jack’s first day in second grade. “EVERYONE! TIME TO INTRODUCE YOURSELVES!” Mrs. Laskey said. “Keith, please introduce yourself to Jack.” “Hi, I’m Keith.”

“Ok,” said Mrs. Laskey. “Annie, it’s your turn to introduce yourself to our new student.” “I’m Annie, nice to meet you!” “I’m Brenden.” “Hello, I’m Stephanie.” “And last but not least, Robbie?” “Nice to meet you,” Robbie said. “And now, Jack please introduce yourself to the class.” “Hello everybody, I’m glad to meet all of you. My name is Jack.” “OK, EVERYONE,” announced Mrs. Laskey. “It’s time for recess.” “Huh?” said Jack. “I just got here a few minutes ago.” “I know,” Mrs. Laskey said. “Recess is at 9 o’clock.” Jack put all of his stuff on and went outside for recess. He went to the sandbox. There he saw Keith and Stephanie playing together. Jack said, “Can I play?” “Sure,” said Keith. They played together until the recess bell rang. DING DING DING! “Recess is over,” said Stephanie. “Come on, let’s go back into class,” said Keith. Then they ate a snack for 20 minutes. For lunch recess, Jack, Stephanie and Keith decided to go into the science lab. Each student was allowed to go into a different room in the school to do activities. Jack, Stephanie and Keith loved science. When they went into the science room, they saw a huge machine in the middle of the room that was attached to a whole bunch of plugs. On the machine it said TIME MACHINE. They were startled. “It’s a time machine,” said Jack. “Big deal,” said Stephanie, “I’m wearing a watch right now.” “No!” said Keith and Jack, “It’s a kind of time machine that transports you to any time.” “Oooohhh!” Stephanie said. “Well, you want to try it out?” asked Keith. “Uuumm, erkk, uummm, ok! Let’s do it!” Stephanie said. All three of them hopped into the time machine. There was all of these colourful buttons inside the time machine. One said ‘Dinosaur Age.’ The second said ‘Egyptian Time.’ The third one said ‘The Future.’ “Which one should we go into?” asked Stephanie. “How about the future?” Keith asked. “Into the future we go!” said Jack. The time machine started spinning. It spun faster and faster and then it

was silent. Absolutely silent. They all peered out the window through the time machine. They saw flying cars, steel balloons, hats with arms and a purple sky with silver shiny stars. The bushes were dark green. They opened the door to the time machine and took a peek. “OH MY GOODNESS!” said everyone. “Wow! I can’t believe my eyes!” said Jack. They hopped out of the time machine and started walking around. Suddenly, the clouds turned dark grey, then thunder and lightning came down…CRASH! “I think we should get out of here,” said Keith. They hopped back in the time machine and pressed ‘Egyptian Time.’ The time machine started spinning faster and faster and then they were transported to the Egyptian time. It was silent. Absolutely silent. The machine showed the day was October 31. They saw spirits floating around everywhere. “I’ve read about this before,” said Stephanie. “On each October 31st, spirits rise. They float around until the day is over.” They got out of the time machine and started walking around. They also saw Egyptians eating dinner. They were eating fish, rice and egg. “I think that’s enough for me,” said Jack. “Yes,” said Keith, “We should go back into the time machine.” “All right, let’s go,” said Stephanie. So they went back into the time machine, closed the door and then pressed the button ‘Dinosaur Age.’ The time machine started spinning faster and faster and then it was silent. They opened the door and took one step out. In front of them they saw eggs. “Wow! Real dinosaur eggs!” said Keith They moved along a path in the jungle and saw 3 raptors munching on another dinosaur. They went further in. There was a T-Rex right there, who looked at them with an angry face. He then started to chase them. Everyone yelled, “AHHH!” They ran as fast as they could into the time machine and pressed the button marked ‘Normal.’ The machine spun and spun, then it stopped and it was silent. They were back in the science lab. “We’re home! At school!” everyone said. They ran out of the science lab and back up to their classroom. Everyone else had just sat down. Mrs. Laskey said, “So, how was recess?” Keith, Stephanie and Jack just looked at each other.

L O N E LY

St. Theresa TEACHER: Mary Jo MacDougall SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Dinah Leslie UNIT: London District UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheila Brescia by

COLE MCALLISTER

Black is the colour of lonely. It tastes like a piece of bread with no butter. It smells like a rotten banana. It sounds like a morning with no birds chirping. It looks like a person with no one to play with. And it feels like you lost your family.

FLOOR HOCKEY FUN

St. William TEACHER: Janice Innocente SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Chris Reaume UNIT: Windsor-Essex Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Al Anderson by

C A RT E R M O R R I S

n the winter, I play floor hockey every Saturday morning at 9 o’clock. This is my second season playing in the Lakeshore Tykes Division. This year I’m on the blue team. My coach is teaching us to play all positions, but I love to be goalie the most. When I am not in net I also like to play forward. I always have to pay attention because some of my own teammates try to score on our own net. It is funny to watch, but they are helping out the other team. Maybe someday they will learn to score on the opposite net. I love to play goalie so I can be just like my favourite goalie, Martin Brodeur who plays in the NHL for the New Jersey Devils. He is also a goalie for Team Canada at the 2010 Vancouver Olympic Games. Hockey is my favourite game. Go Team Canada!

OH DEER!

SCHOOL:

Monsignor Paul Baxter TEACHER: Rob Johnson

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Shannon Oxley UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon by V E R O N I K A

S H AW

ack Pine Train was a path with a whole bunch of trees. Julia walked through the trail with a pocket full of bird seed. The birds that lived in Jack Pine Trail are not afraid of humans, and Julia loved to hold a handful of seeds high above her head and let the birds land on her hand and takes a seed. It felt like needles, but without the pain. You had to stay very still and very quiet for the birds to come, and Julia was an expert at being very still and very quiet; so much so that a timid deer followed closely behind her. The deer was light brown, with white spots and black hooves. The deer very quietly followed, without Juliaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s knowledge all the way back to her house. Julia had just taken off her coat when she heard a very strange knock on the door. Opening the door cautiously, because she knew her mom and dad had gone out, she was surprised to find a deer on her front porch. Julia let the deer in and thought it was the perfect pet (after all, the deer did follow her home). She knew her parents would never allow it, so she decided to hide the deer. Julia tried to hide it behind the couch, but its fluffy tail was sticking out, so Julia taped it down with duct tape. She tried to hide it in the closet, but it was too big, so she stood it on its hind legs. Finally, Julia tried to hide it behind the curtains, but its hooves stuck out. Julia heard the front door open and knew she was in trouble. Her parents walked in, so she quickly hid the deer behind her back. Her

parents saw it. Her mom screamed, her dad screamed and they both fainted. Once they woke up, she had to bring the deer back. She was very sad when she had to walk the deer back into Jack Pine Trail. She slowly fed the deer bird seed and it gracefully walked back into the woods.

B OYS , A N N OY I N G B OYS !

St. Martin TEACHER: Susan Einwiller SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Judy Mathany UNIT: London District UNIT PRESIDENT: Sheila Brescia by

MARIA STELLA LIERMAN

Boys, boys, they’re everywhere. Boys, boys, they’re in my hair. Trying to get under my skin. Especially annoying when they win, A game that I don’t want to play. Making me play almost every day. When I say, “No!” they tattle to mom. Mom says, “Honey, I have lots of work. C’mon!” Boys, boys, playing sports like hockey and soccer. When it comes to the subject of mocking me they’re quite the mocker. I think boys should live on Mars, Instead of stealing and eating all my chocolate bars. Boys, boys, they’re boogery and hairy. Who in their right mind would go off and marry…Boys?!

WHAT DO ALBERT EINSTEIN, BARACK OBAMA, SYDNEY CROSBY, QUEEN ELIZABETH, RONALD MCDONALD AND TAYLOR SWIFT ALL HAVE IN COMMON?

Monsignor Lee TEACHER: Kelly Lassaline SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Sandra Stevens UNIT: Simcoe Muskoka Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Robert Harrison by

MITCHELL PELLARIN

hat do Albert Einstein, Barack Obama, Sydney Crosby, Queen Elizabeth, Ronald McDonald and Taylor Swift all have in common? Why of course, they all have curly hair. In my 9 years, I too know what it is like to live with curly hair — which is often referred to as the ‘fro’. There are 4 types of curly hair: loose curls, medium, tightly curled or kinky curls. Surprisingly, the average person with natural curls has 2-3 different types on his or her head at a time. The ‘fro’ is the most recognizable curly hair style. The afro originated in people of African descent. It became really popular in the 1960’s and 70’s especially with celebrities who wanted to be part of this fashionable trend. So what makes hair curly? Well, the answer is genetics. You inherit it from your parents. I get mine from my Dad. He says he used to have lots of curly hair but then he became a teacher and it all fell out! How curly your hair is depends on the shape of the opening, or follicle, from which each hair grows out of. People with straight hair have round follicles on their scalp while I have flat openings. No, I do not have a flat head – just flat follicles.

All hair, curly or straight, is made up of a protein called keratin. Believe it or not, this is the same stuff our nails are made up of. Eeewww! Imagine how hard it would be to go to sleep if nails grew out of your head? You definitely would not want to sleep on an inflatable pillow. So having curly hair has gotten me some attention over the years including earning me the nicknames Early Curly and Curly Top. But I recently found out that I can join a new club thanks to my ‘mop’. The Curly Hair Movement is a group started in the United States and members must have curly hair. Their aim is to celebrate curly haired people around the world. I haven’t joined yet, but I heard Taylor Swift is now a member (so HELLO I think I’ll be saving up my pennies!). Curly hair can look cool, but it also takes more work to look after. I have to use a pick to comb it instead of a brush. A pick kind of looks like a fork, which makes sense since my Dad calls my hairdo ‘my salad.’ It also gets dryer than straight hair because it does not hold natural oils as well. When it is really hot out, curly hair frizzes up so I can get serious ‘mushroom head’. My bed head in the morning is not pretty and I have to apply lots of mousse. Another way to keep curls in control is to find a good hairstylist. They say it is harder to cut curly hair. So, if you have curly hair, take time to find a good place to get it cut. Learn from Ronald McDonald - because if you don’t, a bad colour job, with a bad haircut, will leave you having a downright... BAD HAIR DAY!

TIMEBLADE

St. Joseph TEACHER: Jennifer Venditti SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Nancy Montes UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

OLIVIA NICOLE SARRE

ne day, a boy named Bryan had an experience of a lifetime. In school, Bryan had been learning about Medieval Times. The class was being asked to choose a topic for a project their teacher, Mrs. Patterson, was assigning. Bryan wasn’t thrilled with projects, but had an interest in medieval weapons and armour so that was what he chose. Before the end of the day, Mrs. Patterson announced that the grade five class was going on a field trip to a museum the following week. The trip was supposed to be a fun way to help the students learn more information for their project and wrap up the unit. Unlike some of the other kids in the class, Bryan wasn’t very excited to go on the trip. “This is going to be so boring,” murmured Bryan. He was trying hard to pay attention while Mrs. Patterson babbled on about how hard life was back then and all the details about how people in the kingdom were ranked by social status as either powerful or unimportant. Bryan was hoping he could fake being sick so he wouldn’t have to go, but he had tried that before and when his mom found out, (which didn’t take her long), he ended up in deep trouble. Bryan didn’t care much for school, but he didn’t want to get a bad mark on his project. After supper that night, Bryan decided to spend some time doing a little research for his project. As he was flipping through an old book about medieval weapons and armour, he noticed one particular sword that was

said to have magical powers. Bryan was old enough to know there is no such thing as magic, especially a magical sword! He was unsure if Mrs. Patterson would approve the mention of magical things in his report, but Bryan added it to his information sheet, anyway. He even included a sketch of the sword. The next day at school, Bryan was given the permission form for his field trip to the museum and was surprised to find himself a little more eager to go. Bryan had become more interested since starting to research his topic and spent more time looking for bits of info for his project. He had even turned down a couple of friends when they asked Bryan if he wanted to play! To Bryan, right now, work was more important than playing. On the day of the field trip, Bryan was excited to get into the museum after the long bus ride. Bryan made his way off the bus that was crammed with kids, and stepped through the museum doors. “Wow! This is huge!” exclaimed Bryan, as he stared up at the four storey high ceiling. Mrs. Patterson instructed the children where to go, what groups they were in, and all the things teachers say to you on field trips that you already know. When she was finished her talk, Bryan and his group raced up the stairs to the third floor where they found the medieval stuff. All the classmates in Bryan’s group were doing their project on weapons and armour like Bryan. As soon as they reached the third floor they split up. In a small room at the end of the hall, Bryan noticed a display of swords! “Cool!” Luckily, he was the first one to find that spot, so he had it all to himself. There were many interesting new things to see besides the items he had read about. He scribbled down a few notes and was about to look for the suits of armour when one particular sword caught his attention. It was the one Bryan had seen when researching in that old book...the one that was supposed to have magical powers. The book had claimed “that if one holds the sword in his right hand and points it to the sky, it can take you to a different time period.” Bryan peeked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, and hopped the barrier that closed off the area, paying no attention to the sign that said: “NO ENTRY.” Then, he picked the sword up in his right hand and held it in the air, just to see if it truly did have magical powers. It was heavy. The metal was cold. It felt good to hold it in his hand, but Bryan highly doubted anything was going to happen. All of a sudden, he realized that he was no longer in the museum. He turned around to find that he was now in a village, a medieval village, and

he no longer had possession of the sword. Amazed and a little afraid, Bryan began to wander around the village. Someone grabbed him from the back and put a bag over his head. He couldn’t see a thing! When his captor finally reached his destination, after a long and bumpy carriage ride, Bryan didn’t know where he was. He was rudely dragged, stumbling many times up stairs and down hallways before he was untied, and the bag, over his head, was removed. He found himself in a huge palace standing in front of, a man who appeared to be a king! “I found him wandering the village while I was out collecting the taxes,” said a richly dressed man that looked to be important. He did not, however, look very strong, so Bryan assumed that he must not have been the one that captured him; it must have been one of the guards who were lurking in the background. “The boy looks rather unusual and suspicious, so I thought should bring him in,” announced the tax collector. “Very well,” said the king. “He could be of use to us. Take him to the servants’ quarters and have him detail the armour and the weapons for our jousting tournament.” Bryan was taken to a room that had the look and feel of a dungeon and was told to get to work with the other servants. Bryan had no idea how much more knowledge he would gain about weapons and armour by this experience. He was being shown how to clean the armour and sharpen the swords. As he was making his first attempt to sharpen a sword without help, after being corrected and scoffed at a dozen or so times, he noticed one that looked familiar. It was the sword from the museum! The very one that got him into this whole mess! “This might be my chance to go home!” thought Bryan, excitedly. He repeated what he had done back in the museum, he held his breath, and raised the sword in his right hand. Finally! He was back again, safe and sound! He was in the museum’s sword room. He quickly replaced the sword and ducked back under the rope barrier which he wished he had never crossed. Bryan ran over to a boy named Tim, from his group, and gave him a big hug. Tim looked at Bryan strangely, and asked, “Are you okay?” “Yes! Yes, I am, now that I’m back!” “What are you talking about?”Tim asked. “You were just in the other room looking at the swords. It’s been less than ten minutes since I saw you.” “Wow! That’s weird! It felt like I was gone for hours!” “Right now, you’re weird”, said Tim with a confused expression, and walked away shaking his head.

“Boy! That was something. I wonder if it was actually real.” Bryan was careful of what he did for the rest of the field trip. On the bus ride home, Bryan daydreamed about his odd day. Shortly after Bryan had completed his project, he realized he had learned so much more about Medieval Times because of his time-traveling experience. Bryan got an A on his project, and his parents were very proud of him. So was Mrs. Patterson. She was very impressed with all the facts and details Bryan included in his project. He had picked up lots of those facts and details when he was put to work in the castle. Not only did Bryan learn a lot about his project topic, but he also learned another valuable lesson from this whole experience: rules are for obeying and meant to keep you safe. When you are told not to touch, don’t! It’s for your own good!

T H E FA L L I N G L E AV E S

Our Lady of Peace TEACHER: Kathleen Boss

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kathleen Boss UNIT: Halton Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Richard Brock by

E M I LY E L L I O T T

The falling leaves Cover the trail Like the velvet of The red carpet. With the wild paparazzi Of the trees Swaying over them with The screaming wind Waiting for the phenomenal Autumn show to start.

CHANGE

Sacred Heart TEACHER: Julie Demaiter Butler SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kathleen Long UNIT: Brant Haldimand-Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

CELINE VEREECKEN SMITH

ne day, for a change, I walked down a new street when a shop front caught my eye. It was a book store, my favourite type of shop. In I went, every nook and cranny was overflowing with books. As I was browsing through the book store, a certain book mark caught my eye. It had a magnificent translucent butterfly and faded time piece on it. Written on the bookmark was the statement: “The only constant in life is change.” This bookmark set me to thinking. Let me share those thoughts with you. First, it made me struggle with the concept of what change is. Then I wondered how change affects us. Finally, when did change begin? Change cannot really be defined. The dictionary claims it as going from one state to another. My grandmother says it’s the way of the world. I think it is something you can’t really put your finger on. It is what happens when a chrysalis turns into a butterfly. It is the transformation revealed as you grow up. It is the magic that occurs when a rainy day paints a rainbow. But even so, we all know that change exists. We can measure change because we know what we were yesterday, and we see what we have become today. The difference is change. And sometimes it is scary! Take for example Uncle Mark and Aunt Heather who have been working at a job for many years and suddenly one day a major change occurs. There is a recession and they are laid off. They no longer have a job to go to and yet the bills keep coming and the mortgage has to be paid. That’s scary!!! That’s change.

You can understand why people resist change. Change disrupts our routines and makes us fear failure. We become comfortable in the way we do things. Then, something takes us out of our comfort zone and WHAM, fear takes over. But does it have to end that way? Sometimes it takes a major change for us to make a leap of faith. In the case of Aunt Heather and Uncle Mark, they decided to open their own business. They opened an ice cream shop – yummy. It is something they had always wanted to do but were afraid of changing their lifestyle to try. It wasn’t easy but it was worthwhile! As Victor Frankl stated, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” Even now, for them, change will continue to take place. Keep in mind that there is nothing more constant than this change. It is happening all around us, everyday. By the time you finish reading this, you won’t be the same person you were when you began. For one thing you will be at least five minutes older and hopefully five minutes closer to understanding change. It’s not a question of whether change is good or bad, big or small, feared or welcomed, it’s how you embrace it. Change has a considerable emotional impact on the human mind. To the fearful it is threatening because it means that things get worse. King Whitney Jr. says, “To the hopeful it is encouraging because things may get better. To the confident it is inspiring because the challenge exists to make things even better.” It is amazing how something as small as a bookmark can have a huge impact on your thoughts. As the famous author, Norman Vincent Peale, once said, “Change your thoughts and you change the world!”

I WO N ’ T F O R G E T YO U DA D DY

Mother Teresa TEACHER: Robynne Valeriote SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Patricia Kenny UNIT: Bruce-Grey Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Anna Morrison by TA M M Y

othing will make me forget my inquisitive self in Grade 2, how I loved to find answers, and how I.... suffered from my curiosity. It wasn’t really my fault, but even though I regretted asking, I would eventually have to face the inevitable. You see in Grade 2, I asked my mother where my father went. The last time that I had seen him was at the top of the porch steps of my house. I recall myself frowning at my father’s green and brown uniform and saying, “Daddy, shouldn’t you change into some cleaner clothes?” “Nah, honey. I need to wear this to where I’m about to go,” he replied. “Where are you gonna go?” “A place that will help keep your freedom.” My already grim expression deepened. “Does Mommy know?” “Yes, of course. Don’t you worry Char, I’ll be back.” “Promise?” My eyebrows already shot up in anticipation for his response. “Did I ever break a promise to you? No. Now go back inside and tell your mother to take care of herself. Char, you’re a big girl now.” My chest swelled with pride. “Okay, Daddy. I won’t forget about you!” And I never did. When I voiced my questions about my father’s whereabouts around a year later to Mom, her eyes became glassy with tears. “He’s dead, Charlotte, and he won’t be able to come back.”

“But Mom! He promised me that he would be back!” “No one can control what has to happen to them,” she whispered. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair to me, and to you!” my voice climbed. “Fate never is. I know that this is hard for you Char, but I can’t go back in time to change things that had already happened.” “YOU HAVE TO! DAD PROMISED!” I shrieked and sobbed with agony. From that moment forward, my heart withdrew into the deepest corners of my now frail body. At school, I became the freak who nobody wanted to talk to, and my earlier enthusiasm in both school and home plummeted into nothing. I shut out my mother’s many attempts to try and save me from dropping the peak of the crumbling cliff I was standing on, with emotions swirling in the abyss below. My life was slipping from the tight grasp of my fingers, but my mother never gave up. I did get better. A little. But not enough. In Grade 7, I got a teacher who didn’t care what her students looked like. She also didn’t care when I did my annual crying session throughout the 2 minutes of silence on Remembrance Day. She was the most persistent and encouraging teacher I had ever met. It only took her four months to make a breakthrough past the concrete walls I had built around myself over the years. In no time, I was back to my chipper old self, though it took me a while to start exercising my communication skills, because I wasn’t what you would call “social” a few years back. I eventually had to accept the wary stares that were thrown at me daily, with eyes that wondered how long my charade would last. Apparently not that long. A month after experiencing my muchdeserved happiness, I hopped off the bus after school, elated about the A+ I got on my English test. Bounding towards my house, I slammed the screen door closed and stepped into the cool atmosphere of my kitchen. My mother was sitting at the table, gripping a cup of black coffee, as if expecting me. She never drank coffee so I knew something was up. “Hello, honey. How was school?” “Fine,” I responded. Why does her voice sound so cautious, and why do her averted eyes trigger a memory I didn’t want to remember? Wait a second, that was the same look she had when she was telling me that...Dad passed away. Fear gripped my heart, and my breath came in and out, hissing through my teeth. “What is it, Mom? What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong. I just want you to sort and pack away some things.”

My rigid shoulders sagged with relief. “Sure, what kind of things?” She then looked at me square in the eye and said, “Your father’s.” Time seemed to slow down to a painstakingly turtle-like pace. Heart beating erratically, my voice burst with restrained contempt. You could say I was a bit touchy on this subject. “Pray, tell me, why can’t you do it, Mother? Let’s just say, maybe, for what? 7 YEARS I tried to forget the haunting memory of my dead father, and you want me to put away his STUFF!? What are you, crazy!? Don’t you care about my feelings at all?” An ache that was put to sleep a month ago flared back into my heart and seared my soul. “I just wanted you to heal to your fullest extent. You seemed so happy these past few weeks, I didn’t want you to always have a negative memory of your dad. I thought that if you could face his possessions, you won’t become as depressed as you were before.” “Why do you have to do this to me? Can’t you see that I’m happy enough as it is? You can’t do anything more for me, especially telling me to do that.” “You will sort everything now, and there will be no more to be said on this subject. They are all in the storage room, and you can move them up into the attic when you’re done.” “Why can’t I just shove everything up into the attic?” “I want you to look through some of the things that I’m sure that he would have liked you to see.” I grunted in response. Trudging up the stairs, I reasoned with myself, the only thing that kept me from losing control. If I sorted really fast, then I could get this over with and wipe away any memory I had of this experience. I sulked into the storage room and left the door ajar. I twisted my body to face two large boxes as I settled into a chair. My breath hitched as I reached for the less intimidating one. “Be brave Char. You can do it.” I can’t. “He wants you to know.” Know what? And he promised me! “You’ll find out. And that was the past. This is the present. Don’t you want to grant your father his last wish?” Of course. Opening the box, the first things I saw were letters. Four neat little bundles, all addressed to my mother. They were all opened and well-worn, so I wasn’t too worried about her privacy. I started reading from the

earliest to the latest, discovering that countless letters were centered around me; asking about my health, my school activities, and my happiness. In the last letter, he wrote: “I’m going to my first battle now, so I wrote an additional letter for Char, and you can give it to her when you see fit, but only if something happens to me. Sigh. Afghanistan is such a dreary place. I love you dear, Your Husband.” I read this over about three times before everything registered properly in my mind. He gave me a letter? If so, where is it? I immediately started searching for the last words composed by my father. Underneath a pile of unkempt clothes, I found a crisp, white envelope signed for me. My shaking hands ripped the envelope to shreds as I hungrily read my letter. Dear Char, I love you. You and I can never change that. The promise that I made before I left cannot be undone. I hope you can forgive me Char, because I don’t know if I’m going to live or die in this battle. Always remember that I did it for you as much as I did it for Canada. Don’t you dare wallow in your grief and mope about for the rest of your life. You know that a daughter of mine would never do that. I regret not telling you about the sacrifice that I chose to make right at the very beginning. Forever I’ll be your daddy, Char. Don’t forget about me. Dad I know it’s embarrassing, but I admit, a few tears escaped down my cheeks as the earlier lack of life in me was finally filled and whole again. The next box was already sorted, and I began to have a nagging suspicion that my mom purposely made me come up here, just to read the letters. For that, I was grateful. I took a couple of minutes to pack up the first box before hauling both into the attic. As I closed the door firmly behind me, it felt as if I was shutting the door on my nightmares and pain. I walked back downstairs to get some juice. My mother was still sitting at the kitchen table, although this time she was pretending to read the newspaper and gauge my reaction at the same time. My smile became warm and I said, “Thanks, Mom. I was really stubborn, wasn’t I?”

She smiled wanly back, “Well, that’s quite alright.” “Okay. I have to work on my homework right now, especially my speech. It’s due the day after tomorrow.” My mother took my procrastination in stride. “Oh, my. Well, do you have an idea yet?” “No.” “Hmmm. Why don’t you do it on Remembrance Day?” Her eyes seemed so calculating. “Did you plan this all out or something?” “Um, sort of. Sorry.” Her expression became sheepish. “That’s okay. Actually, it doesn’t even seem like a bad idea.” “You’ll consider it? I mean, it could help you learn stuff too.” “Sure, whatever. I’ll be upstairs.” I drained my glass of juice. Every step I took up the staircase, the more the idea appealed to me. Already my brain was shifting gears. When I sat at my laptop, my fingers flew across the keys. In two hours time, I came up with a pretty decent speech, if I do say so myself. I wrote from my father’s perspective and how war was destructive to both families and countries. I talked about my five year depression without my father. After I had said my speech two days later, my classmates treated me with more respect, knowing now what I have been through. I went into the gym, and everyone gave me a standing ovation at the end. I received first place and also placed first at the Legion. Still today, I try not to dwell on those, memories. Most of all I realize that the only way to move ahead with the future, is by knowing and accepting your past. I won’t forget you Daddy, for your lesson, and for your love.

WRITERâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S BLOCK

St. Michael TEACHER: Tim Noonan SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Derek Thain UNIT: Eastern UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski by

ELIZABETH FRIEND

I write a phrase on the page, Then scratch it out again, Crunch the paper, break the lead, Breathe and count to ten. I get frustrated as ideas fail; Heartfelt words fall flat. Rip the loose leaf into shreds. Dry snowflakes on the mat. They say to write things that are sure, About what you feel and what you know. But that is not so easy, With lack of mental flow. I rack my brain for topics, For characters, for places! I try to locate past perceptions, But my memory leaves no traces.

Sunken ship? Did that already. Molecular density? Don’t think I’m ready. A poem about a rose? Been done to death. A poem withasmanywordsinalineastherearebirdsintheskyorfishinthesea? Original, butthefactofthematteristhatIdon’twantreaderstolosetheirbreath. What about something meaningful? Life lessons? Please! I heard enough of those When I was at my parents’ knees. A poem about love? Now there’s a cliché A poem about a farm? I’m allergic to hay. A tiny spark is needed, To set a brilliant blaze. I need a little something That will dazzle and amaze. A tiny bit of vision, A little inspiration. With a little bit of sass, I feel some indignation. The object that in the first place Gave me all this grief? I need a little writer’s block To decorate this loose leaf.

T E N P E TA L S

St. Paul TEACHER: John Hutfluss SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Annie Finch UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

N I C O L E G A R R E T T A N D K AT H L E E N F E R G U S O N

SCENE ONE (Opens up to a dim lit stage, where we see Tess standing center stage with her head down. Narrator sits stage left and is in a chair.) Narrator:

There are fragile things in life. Many of which are treated with unkindness. The fragile strength on the outside is a defensive trick, but the layer of armour is easily cracked by those who care nothing for the poor being. When such a tragedy occurs, the results can be easily disregarded, for ignorance is bliss. Take, for example, the thorns on a rose, they give the rose a defensive appearance, but the thorns can easily be demolished; for the thorns merely protect the tender petals adorning and supporting the life of the rose. Although the rose seems durable, the petals are easily plucked, and when the petals are gone, the rose is almost certain to die. The only other living thing in the world that is just as fragile as a rose, is a young girl and her few petals of self-esteem.

(Girl 1, Boy 2, and Girl 3 enter stage and stand stage right, they notice Tess. The lights shower down on them as they speak in an arrogant and belittling tone. As they speak they glance over at Tess.) Girl 1:

Did you see what that one chick was wearing this morning? It burned my eyes. What’s her name again? And does she even know what the definition of a mall is?

Boy 2:

She could be kind of pretty...if she lost her baby fat. Ha! Probably not even then!

Girl 3:

(Laughs)

Girl 1:

C’mon, we should go inside now. Anything to get away from her.

(Tess bites her nails, and berates herself. Girl 1, Boy 2, and Girl 3 snicker rudely and walk off stage right. Tess follows behind them at a distance, hunched over, hiding herself. Faith enters stage right by very little and waits for Tess.) Faith:

Hey Tess, you okay?

Tess:

When have I ever been okay?

Narrator:

This kind of shallow behaviour is nothing new to Tess. She’s been enduring the harsh whispers for so long that every blow hurts a bit less than the last, as she begins to agree with her critics. Eventually her thorns are worn down and the nastiness begins to steal her petals of self-esteem. Two petals drifted at a torturously slow rate in the direction of no resurrection. With this loss, Tess dies a little more inside.

SCENE 2 (Open up to stage. Girl 1, Girl 2, Girl 3, Boy 1, Boy 2, Boy 3, Tess, Faith sitting in their seats chatting randomly to each other (not Tess). Mrs. Turgeon is at the front of the room.) Mrs. Turgeon:

Class, settle down, please. Now can anyone tell me what John A. McDonald promised British Columbia in return for their joining the Confederation?

(Everyone stays still and silent.) Mrs. Turgeon:

(Sarcastically!) Alright, not everyone at once. Tess, maybe you would like to tell us all the answer.

Tess:

(Unsure) Their own police force?

(Students all snicker. Girl 1 turns to Girl 2.) Girl 1:

(Loud and belittling) Wow, could she be any more stupid?

(Mrs. Turgeon sends a stern look towards Girl 1 and Girl 2.) Mrs. Turgeon:

That was rude and uncalled for; you should be ashamed of yourselves. Maybe you’d like to share your answer with the class?

Girl 1:

I’d rather not...

Mrs. Turgeon:

Oh, I see you don’t know everything then.

(Girl 1 whispers to Girl 2 with exaggerated loudness. Tess overhears their conversation.) Girl 1:

Whatever! At least I have the good sense to buy clothes that are in fashion and not antiques.

Girl 2:

Yeah, oh, and she probably lost her brain the same place she lost her fashion sense.

Girl 2:

Well, wherever that ogre lost them, they’ve been gone for awhile now and aren’t good anymore. Besides, even if they were worth finding, she would be too stupid to look for them.

(Girl 1 and Girl 2 snicker exaggeratingly and pointedly sneer at Tess. Tess looks for help towards her best friend Faith to no avail.) Narrator:

Three more petals descend toward the place of disregarded emotions. Tess’ body bends over itself like a rose when it wilts towards its ceasing existence.

SCENE 3 (Open onto stage where Tess is talking with Mrs. Turgeon at centre stage Girl 1, Boy 2, and Boy 3 are offstage on stage right poking only their heads on stage, listening.) Mrs. Turgeon:

(Encouragingly) Tess, don’t let those girls get you down. You are a smart and beautiful girl. God sent you to this Earth for a reason, and I believe that it is to show those types of girls never to belittle anyone. All you can do is be the bigger person and show them how amazing you really are. And besides, the only opinions that matter are the ones of the people who love you, like Faith. She thinks you’re great.

Tess:

(Disbelieving) But I’m not amazing. I’m stupid and fat and ugly. And you see how those people talk about me, everyone hates me! Faith probably hates being my friend. She knows how gross I am, but just doesn’t want to admit it.

Mrs. Turgeon:

Tess! You need to believe in yourself and how beautiful you are. I don’t want to hear one more word of negative talk. The most powerful criticism is the hatred you have for yourself

(Tess nods and Mrs. Turgeon exits stage left. Tess remains on the stage looking down at her feet, still unaware of the eavesdroppers. Girl 1, Boy 2 and Boy 3 begin whispering to each other.) Girl 1:

(Sarcastically) Ugh, her...beautiful, I’m so very sure.

Boy 3:

The teacher only pretends to like her because no one else does.

(Girl 1, Boy 2 and Boy 3 snicker. Tess turns towards them at the sound. They don’t notice that she sees them.) Boy 2:

The only thing special about her is her ability to impersonate a rock.

(A tear slips down Tess’ face as she steals her way off the stage left.) Narrator:

Mrs. Turgeon said that the most powerful criticism is that of Tess’ for herself. But Tess knows very well that Mrs. Turgeon is wrong, and she has two petals left to prove it.

SCENE 4 (Tess sits cross-legged stage left by the Narrator. She is reading a book, while Faith stands with Boy 1, Boy 2 and Girl 3 as they talk on stage right. She doesn’t notice the group of peers.) Boy 2:

Faith, why are you even friends with her? I mean, look at her, she’s absolutely a mess! She never stands up for herself; she never participates in any groups... I’m pretty sure that she gets tutored by a rock, too.

Faith:

I don’t know. I guess I just feel sorry for her. Yeah, sure, she’s quiet and everything around you guys and she struggles in school, but like, how am I going to tell her that I don’t want to spend time with her anymore? It’s not like she has any self-esteem to

spare. I wish I could help her, change her, but I have been trying for years and it’s like some invisible force is stopping her from trying to fit in. At first I thought I could help her, but there’s no point. (Tess looks up at Faith, in so much pain because of Faith’s words, her group of peers exit the stage, not noticing the broken Tess.) Narrator:

So I see we have reached the last dying petal of the rose. Faith was right; Tess didn’t have any selfesteem to spare. And, like a rose dies with each petal it loses, the delicate and precious flower that is Tess dies as well inside. But a rose can be brought back to life with a little attention and care, and that really is all that Tess needed, but also what she never got. To be loved.

(Tess unfolds from her cross-legged position and curls into herself on the ground, crying.) Narrator:

We all know a Tess. No doubt there is someone like Tess in every classroom. In this case the teacher tried. In fact, the teacher may have been Tess’ only hope, but as it takes more than water to resurrect a rose, it takes more than one person to conserve a young girl’s self-esteem. Unless you have felt the pain that someone like Tess has, you do not fully understand your impact on any person, and so I leave you with this: Give someone with a broken sense of confidence what they need. And save a life, because although self-loathing does not cause death, in most cases, it is just as painful.

THE CLASH BETWEEN C U LT U R E S : A S TO RY A B O U T L OV E , P E R S I S T E N C E A N D U N D E R S TA N D I N G St. James TEACHER: Kevin Mitchell SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Michelle Mulligan UNIT: Windsor-Essex Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Al Anderson by

FRANCIS DELLOSA

ith his heart beating in his throat, Michael Dwight stood in his girlfriend’s parents’ garden waiting to pop the big question. “May I take your daughter as my wife?” The parents stopped weeding and slowly looked up. “No, you can’t,” they said which was followed by a series of yelling in their native language, Tagalog. Although this wasn’t the answer he was looking for, he expected it and even thought that it strengthened his and his girlfriend’s relationship. He knew he would have probably offended his girlfriend’s traditional parents because of his background and the pigment of his skin. He recalls this one of the hardest parts of being integrated into the Filipino Community, “I felt uncomfortable, I had spent only a few minutes over the last year talking to either of them and to go in cold and ask such a huge question was intimidating. I got my courage together to ask for their permission to marry Alma.” Michael Arnold Dwight began dating his Filipino girlfriend, Alma Tsiangsing, in October of 2000. Knowing the fact that he was white and Canadian would offend her strict traditional parents, Michael and Alma kept their relationship secret for a while. With the already low expectations, but with a lifetime of love between them, they decided to go ahead with the marriage proposal. They knew that in time Alma’s family would eventually accept her soon-to-be-husband. This led to Michael meeting the first people in the Filipino community to accept him truly- the younger cousins.

“Eventually we went to visit some out-of-town relatives and they accepted me. They were the first adults I met as ‘Alma’s boyfriend’ and they welcomed me with open arms. This is; when I learned my first Tagalog words and ate pansit, adobo and longanesa. This is when the integration began but there was a long road ahead. When we got back to Windsor it was back to reality.” Alma worked at the dollar store with many Filipinos and when they got engaged she kept her ring hidden, wearing it on a safety pin attached to her undershirt. As rumours of their relationship became a reality to her parents, they began making her life harder, “Her father was quite unhappy with my ethnicity and wrote her a letter disowning her, which prompted her to move.” Although they had been engaged for months, it had remained a secret between the two, knowing that her parent’s already disapproved dampened their spirits a little. There were some factors leading to the disapproving thoughts, mainly because of the cultural differences which had other problems sprouting outwards like an umbrella because of it. All the problems were related to that one. Despite cultural differences though, Michael did feel accepted by some of the family, “While many in the family didn’t accept me because I was white or because I already had a child from another woman it seemed like more than half did accept me. As time went on I felt more and more welcomed and now I feel like a part of the family.” Now with growing approval, nothing seemed to stop Michael and Alma from going on with the marriage, “We went ahead anyway and her parents came on board sometime before the wedding, contributing financially and helping with all aspects of the wedding and our relationship.” This would be a turning point into a long and prosperous marriage. While trying to work his way around the traditions of his in-laws, he also had to work around the traditions and religious teachings of his own family, “It was exciting to join another culture. It was also intimidating. There were a lot of differences in the cuisine; I found much of the food unappealing but I ate as to not be rude. Also, even though we were both Catholic (my father) there were many religious differences, it was hard to be myself and still accommodate them because they are sometimes very pushy with their religion.” Michael overcame this, though, with no sign of regret. He knew that everything he did was worth it in the end. Even after the wedding there was still a struggle. Most of which was the language barrier. Michael loved to talk and could go on for hours about anything, “Wouldn’t this be great considering the loads of talking the

Filipino culture does on a daily basis?” Not quite, but it would change over time. He had a difficult time communicating with Alma’s family because he did not know how to speak their language, but over time, and with some more experience, it became less of a problem. But the years after started to become more sad when the younger cousins he had been used to and interacted with in the family started to grow up. “A hard thing from today is all the kids growing up. Being that I don’t speak Tagalog fluently, I have always spent my time with the English speakers; the kids. Now that they have grown up and have social lives, they are around less and it leaves me with no one to talk to. It made family functions boring and decreased the likelihood that I would even attend, which put stress on our relationship. Eventually it pushed me to learn to speak Tagalog.” Michael now has a deep understanding and relationship with his in-laws and has even become a godfather to one of his wife’s cousins. When asked to share a positive memory of being in a Filipino family he replied, “An amazing experience for me in this Filipino family was going to Great Wolf Lodge with the Dellosa family. It truly showed me how much I was a part of this family. Her parents paid for the trip and invited us to go. As an adult with a family of my own I haven’t had another set of adults pay for my trip since mine did when I was a kid. It really showed me that they wanted me there. I got to run and play and swim with the kids and at night have a beer and relax with the adults. It was a clear outward symbol that the kids looked up to me and loved me like an uncle or older cousin while still thinking of me as a peer that they could enjoyably spend time with. It also showed me that her parents thought of me as an equal, as an adult, as one of their peers that they loved and respected and wanted to be around. All of the other aunts and uncles treated me like one of the kids even though I am 32, own a house, two cars and have kids of my own.” He now feels truly accepted into the family and his wife and two children keep him company along with the cousins and people he has met by being integrated into the Filipino community, he feels truly happy. “Today I feel enriched and lucky to have expanded my horizons so much. I think of the rich cultural experiences my children will experience and will experience in our Scottish-Filipino-Canadian household. I am learning to speak Tagalog so I can teach my kids and give them a home that they can speak it in. I think of the perspective I had as a youth, basically being a white AngloSaxon Protestant (from my Mother), growing up in a predominantly white British neighbourhood, my children will have a far richer experience than I had!”

I A N C H A S E , T H E B OY WITH NO FEAR

Loretto Abbey TEACHER: Andy Cluff

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Marcel Cigna UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal by V A N E S S A

G E A M . TO L E N T I N O

t was clear first impressions weren’t important to him. I knocked on his door one Saturday morning. I had a plate of cookies ready to be presented to his mother as a ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ gift, only to be greeted by a disgruntled, half asleep boy. He was rubbing his eyes, brown hair untamed and in disarray, sticking up in all places. I raised a brow, half expecting him to fall over in a narcoleptic coma. Instead, he looked up to me with eyes the shade of fresh grass. Then he grinned, the silver of a retainer striking through his smile, “I’m Ian Chase.” “...Allegra Desmond. We live across the street,” I quickly introduced, pointing over my shoulder to the much smaller house behind me. I then shoved the platter of baked goods in his face like an offering to a beast. He looked at the plate curiously, as if he were looking for any poison or sharp objects, then looked to me, green irises meeting my blue ones. Ian plucked one off, shoving all of it in his mouth. We stood in partial silence, the only sound being his loud chewing and my foot tapping on the wooden patio. He murmured approvingly and took the plate into his house, slamming the door in my face without another word. A few days after our first encounter, I had decided to go to the park. It was already well into summer and there were the usual children frolicking about, playing on the swings and splashing in the wading pool. Why I was at the park was beyond me. Something had possessed me to get up and walk

for fifteen minutes in the sweltering heat, just so I could sit under a tree and do nothing. I was planted on the ground, my fingers idly pulling at the grass. I was faintly reminded of Ian, who I hadn’t gotten word nor sight of in ages. My lips curled into a frown. I couldn’t say I didn’t like him, but our last conversation wasn’t something I’d smile about. There was a loud hooting from behind me and by some stroke of ill chance, there he was, sitting in a shopping cart on top of a large hill. Behind him was one of his new friends, a kid who I had known for a long time, by the name of Jamie Strauss. For a moment, I wondered what they were doing, but then my eyes wandered down the hill and caught sight of the pool that was at the base. I pursed my lips and against my better judgement, decided to try to prevent the accident that was waiting to happen, which also meant getting involved with the impending disaster. “What do you think you’re doing?” I questioned, my hands on my hips as I glared at the brown haired boy. Ian shrugged. “Remind me again, which side is the deep end?” Ian inquired, ignoring my question all together. I rolled my eyes. “The one furthest away from the bottom of the hill,” I replied instantly, “But that’s not the point. Do you want to get killed?” “No, but it’s not like I plan to,” he retorted, laughing as if he did this all the time. Jamie whistled in the background, sensing the tension in the air. Ian simply let out a small chuckle before he started counting down. If Ian didn’t crack his skull open in the pool, he would surely break a few bones and ruin his summer all together. Right before he reached one, and Jamie let go of the cart, I stopped him, pulling the metal death trap back to a more stable and less steep part of the hill. “Are you stupid?” I exclaimed, slapping him on the head. “Aren’t you afraid of breaking something? You could easily kill yourself. How old are you, ten?” My questions didn’t phase him and he poked my fingers off the handle. “I’m sixteen with an eighty percent average. I’m not ten and I’m not stupid but most of all, I’m not afraid of anything.” With that, he managed to make my grip go lax and was sent on a clear path to a hospital room. Ian wasn’t screaming in fear, he was howling in amusement. He narrowly avoided colliding into a family picnic and a bunch of kids playing red rover, but he also missed the pool all together and crashed into a tree. I let out a small squeak before running down to survey

the damage with Jamie on my tail. It was times like these where I realized why they said kids should always wear helmets. A few feet from the pool was Ian in the beat up shopping cart. There was already a crowd of people forming around him, from curious children to concerned adults. Jamie and I pushed passed the thick wall of people and set eyes on the green eyed boy who was laughing hysterically on the ground. He was miraculously unscathed. I was about to smack him upside the head, but realized he could have had a concussion or something, which could explain why he refused to answer any of the endless questions. Jamie helped him out of the cart and clapped him on the shoulder. They high-fived as Ian made his way towards me. “Not dead, not broken, not scared.” “But still stupid,” I remarked, wiping his stupid grin off his face. “Better go get that checked. It might be contagious.” I received a personal visit from Ian a week after his performance with the shopping cart. During that week, we bantered at the pool and at the local pizza place, but we never really got a chance to talk one-on-one. Maybe that was why I was so surprised. “Good afternoon,” he said, creeping up behind me and jerking the swing back. I yelped and turned around, glaring at him from my new found spot on the hard ground. My face scrunched up as he held out his hand for me to take. Reluctantly, I took it and he helped me up. “I guess you could say that,” I chuckled, wiping the dirt off my pants before leaning on the tree. “What brings you over?” “Aside from your mother’s amazing cookies? I just wanted to talk to you. I know, I know, you’re honoured,” he explained, bowing in arrogance, “Oh, and I returned your plate.” I rolled my eyes. Ian wasn’t a bad guy. Actually, he was pretty nice, from what I had heard from people like Jamie. He was smart but stupid at the same time. The people in the neighbourhood called him the ‘boy with no fear’ after his stunt at the park, which preceded his pogo stick jump into the same pool he tried to steer himself into only a day before. “But really, I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Ian admitted, brushing his foot against the grass. I put my hand to my heart and gasped, “Ian Chase, here to socialize with me? It must be the apocalypse or something,” I chuckled. “But I’m doing very good, thanks for asking.” “You’re real uptight, you know?” he laughed. I raised a brow. “What? What gave you the impression that I was uptight?” I questioned.

He only laughed harder. “Well, first of all, you were all dramatic over me going down the hill with the cart. I never get hurt. Second of all, whenever I see you out, you’re always with the same people. I almost wonder if you have any other friends. Thirdly, you never take any risks. And lastly, you never ever come over to my house. And that cuts real deep, Allegra, real deep,” Ian pretended that he was shot and clutched his stomach, falling to the ground. “I’m not uptight, just mature,” I replied, grinning at his performance. “And it’s not like you open the door and invite me over.” “Which brings me to the second point of why I’ve decided to walk all the way here,” He got up and dusted himself off, “My birthday is next Friday.” I never took any risks because I knew the consequences. I hung out with the same people because they were the only ones I really trusted, and I wasn’t being dramatic. I was just looking out for a friend. But since when did I regard Ian as a friend? I barely knew him. “And?” “I think you should come over, since our parents are pretty good friends and all. You don’t even have to bring a present,” Ian smiled. How could I resist? I finally realized that I just might have a little crush on Ian Chase. But it was just a possibility. It was probably the reason why I was across the street, dressed in the nicest clothes I could find, holding a card with a nice gift card tucked inside it, eager to just get this whole thing over with. He came over a lot more often after I agreed to go to his little party. In only seven days, I had learned a lot about him. His favourite subject was history, he was allergic to bees and his dream job would be being a travel writer. As it turns out, Ian had rightfully earned his title as the boy with no fear. He had been sky diving, bungee jumping and shark cage diving all last summer. But in exchange I had told him a lot about myself. He knew that my favourite colour was periwinkle, my parents were divorced and my brother died in the war a few months ago. I guess he was truly one of my friends, now that he knew those things. “You made it! Great! We need someone to sit in the dunk tank,” Ian said, opening the door and pulling me inside. My eyes widened and he let out a howling laugh. “I’m just kidding! You should’ve seen your face!” he slapped his knee and brought me into the backyard. I recognized a few people, Jamie being one of them. There was indeed a dunk tank as well as a pool.

“You never told me you had a pool,” I remarked. Ian laughed again. It seemed that he really liked to laugh, even if it was at other people’s expense. “You never asked. See? I told you, you were uptight.” I pouted, which only made him laugh again. “Didn’t know what to get you.” “A piece of plastic! It’s exactly what I wanted! Thank you, Allegra!” he exclaimed, never really stopping to breathe. Ian just kept laughing as if he had heard the best joke in the world. The party was pretty good. Someone threw up because they were lactose intolerant and they had indulged themselves in the cheese and cracker platter and one of Ian’s baby cousins threw a fit because his balloon exploded in his face, but other than that there was nothing really wrong with the party. It seemed to flow on its own. I was surprised to see how many people Ian knew. There were a lot of people from our school as well as his large family, including two brothers, one sister, his parents and a bunch of cousins. For the most part, Ian was doing a good job at hosting, keeping everyone entertained with some sort of new trick that he had picked up over the summer. He flipped into the pool, dived from the oak tree and purposely belly flopped to stop his brother from crying. They liked to laugh at other people’s expense as well. The last I had checked, it was eleven o’clock and I was doing my best to find Ian, tell him thanks for inviting me and leave but instead, he found me, a big grin on his face. I cocked my head to the side and followed him as he rummaged in his pocket, producing a set of keys. “Let’s go for a drive. I’ll show you something even someone as uptight as you will like,” Ian still had that ear to ear smile on his face. I trusted his judgement and followed him to his car. We had been driving for at least five minutes when I decided to break the silence. “You know, when I first saw you, I was pretty sure you were a lazy pig. I hope you know that.” “Sometimes first impressions aren’t important,” Ian reasoned, never taking his eyes off the road. “But then again, I thought you were uptight then and nothing’s changed, yet.” I scoffed, “If first impressions aren’t important, what do you deem important?” “I like last impressions better. If that makes any sense. I mean, when you say goodbye to someone, they’ll remember you for the last things you did, not the beginnings. I don’t believe in first impressions because people can change and if people judged others solely off of their first impressions,

they aren’t worth knowing because they don’t take the time to get to know you. You get it?” I paused for a moment, taking it in slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense.” We were driving through downtown now. It was still really busy because it was Friday, and cars were honking while people were out clubbing and partying. We sat in silence for a minute or two before he laughed. “But that’s why I like you. Maybe you’re a bit uptight, sometimes, but you didn’t just think I was some lazy kid. All of the other people just know me as the irresponsible guy who rode a shopping cart into a tree. You know me as the guy who likes to do crazy things because you never know when it’s too late.” I nodded. I never really guessed that I was one of the only ones that knew Ian as much as I did, but for some reason I felt special because of it. He laughed. I kind of liked the sound of his laugh. It was somewhat melodic. The lights of the city reflected in his grass coloured eyes. He looked really happy, and that thought made me feel happy too. It wasn’t his stupidity that was contagious. It was his smile. As we continued driving, we got to a less crowded part of the city. Everything was relaxed. We hadn’t said a word for a long time and fell into one of those comfortable silences where no one really has anything to say but it doesn’t feel awkward. From the corner of my eye, I could feel him staring at me, but I didn’t turn to meet his gaze, and just shook my head and smiled. We were going past an intersection. The light was green and we were doing the right thing by driving along, but the bright lights coming from the other side of the intersection made me regret ever getting in the car with him. Ian noticed the lights a moment too late and swerved to the right, trying to avoid the incoming truck. There were a few seconds when everything went in slow motion and the only things I could hear were the sound of his car crashing against the other, and the screech of tires. I smelled smoke. I smelled blood. I smelled impending death. I gulped, finding myself sandwiched between a cracked door and an airbag. Pain struck through my arm and I realized that it had been cut open by broken glass. I could feel warm blood dripping down the side of my face. One of my legs was twisted in ways that were unnatural and for a few moments, I could only cry out in pain, letting tears slide down my face. Then I remembered Ian. He was slumped over on an airbag as well, blood staining the white fabric red. I gulped, using my uninjured hand to

tap him on the shoulder. He slid to the side a bit closer to me when his head finally landed in my lap. He was smiling, a trickle of blood making its way out of the side of his mouth. “Are... Are you alright?” he asked, his voice raspy. I managed to nod, but I knew he was much more damaged than me. One half of his face was stained crimson. “I should be asking you that,” I choked out. I was sure that I broke an arm. There was the sound of police sirens in the distance, but that was it. It was the same comfortable silence that we had been in before. I looked into his eyes, the colour of fresh grass. “You never take risks.” I mentally laughed and I kissed him on the lips, the metallic taste on my tongue not deterring my actions. As I pulled away, he tried to laugh but instead he coughed. I caught a flash of fear in his eyes, but it was gone in less than a second. “Are you scared?” I questioned. His eyes were closing slowly and I mentally urged him to stay awake, for him to keep breathing. Salvation was so close, we could both hear it. “Not anymore.”

TO T H E C H I L D R E N

Holy Trinity TEACHER: Jennifer Finnie SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Andrew Stancek UNIT: Brant Haldimand Norfolk UNIT PRESIDENT: Len McDonald by

R E B E C C A A N N E L AC RO I X

To the children of Sri Lanka, Who waste away in the sweat of labour, Whose hands should be held and not beaten. May your loads be lightened, Your dignity unforsaken, And your freedoms remain yours to hold. To the children of Rwanda, Who have witnessed the slaughter of their families, Whose innocence should have been given and not taken. May your pain be eased, Your resolve unshakeable, And your happiness remains yours to live. To the children of Rio de Janeiro, Who live in the shanty towns of the favelas, Whose hours should be spent learning and not scavenging for food. May your thirst be quenched, Your pride unscathed, And your dreams remain yours to embrace.

To the Children of Afghanistan, Who tremble as the bombs explode, Whose feet should walk in fields of flowers and not of mines. May your spirits be unbreakable, Your courage infallible, And your hopes remain yours to bear. To the children of Sierra Leone, Who fight menâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wars of justification, Whose time should be spent playing and not killing. May your guilt be forgiven, Your hearts untainted, And your humanity remain yours to keep. To the children of Haiti, Who have lost their parents in the rubble, Whose hearts should be singing and not crying. May your struggles not be forgotten, Your strength everlasting, And your futures remain yours to live. To the children of the world Who know only poverty and war, Who know only pain and suffering, Whose bellies should be full and not empty, Whose battles should be won and not lost, May your burdens be lifted, May your lives be eased, Your souls purified, Your voices heard, And may your childhoods remain yours to keep.

N OW YO U ’ R E G O N E

Resurrection TEACHER: Suzanne Smart SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Anne Charters-Klaver UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

R A L U C A TO P L I C E A N U

(Scene: family sitting around the table, eating their dinner. It is about 6:00 PM.) (Overlapping conversation from Mom, Lucy, and Adrian. Dad is quiet, thinking. Jeffrey coughs; pokes at his food with a fork but does not eat it.) Mom:

Lucy, honey, could you please pass the potatoes down to your father?

Lucy:

Sure. (Reaches for the bowl in front of her and passes it to Dad)

Dad:

(Dazing, unfocused look in his eyes, snapped out of his daydream when Lucy put the bowl in front of him) Oh, Lucy. I didn’t see you there.

Mom:

With that look in your eyes, it looked like you were far gone, honey.

Lucy:

Yeah, daddy, you look like this...(drags her hands downward over her eyes) You look like a zombie daddy. Doesn’t he, Adrian?

Adrian:

Quit talking with your mouth full. It’s rude.

Lucy:

You’re so mean, Adrian! I don’t like you.

Adrian:

I’m your brother; you don’t have to like me. I’m stuck with you, whether you like it or not.

Lucy:

Nah! I don’t have to be your sister!

Adrian:

Sorry, squirt. The contract was signed when you were born. (Jeffrey coughs in the background)

Lucy:

Nahaaa!

Adrian:

Yes.

Lucy:

No!

Adrian:

Yes.

Lucy:

No!

Adrian:

Yes.

Lucy:

From now on, I’m only Jeffrey’s sister. He’s a lot nicer than you! Okay, Jeffrey?

Jeffrey:

(Coughs) Alright, Lucy.

Lucy:

(Looks at him for a long time) You know what? If you cut your hair, I wouldn’t be able to tell you and Adrian apart. (Tugs gently on a strand of Jeffrey’s hair)

Jeffrey:

Would you prefer that I cut it?

Lucy:

No! I don’t want to confuse you with Adrian. You’re always nicer to me than he is.

Jeffrey:

(Smiles weakly) I’m not that nice.

Lucy:

But you always tuck me in at night and read me bedtime stories and help me with my homework... Adrian, why can’t you ever be nice?

Adrian:

I’ve helped you with your homework tons of times and who’s the one that always chases away the people who keep making fun of you at recess?

Lucy:

I don’t remember any of that!

Adrian:

Mom, Lucy’s bothering me.

Mom:

Lucy, quit antagonizing your brother.

Lucy:

I’m not bothering him.

Adrian:

Yes you are.

Lucy:

No, I’m not!

Adrian:

Do you ever hear yourself?

Lucy:

No.

Adrian:

It’s annoying. Now, stop it.

Lucy:

No — !

Dad:

(Slams his fist down on the table) Shut up, both of you! (Jeffrey coughs) And you, too! Stop your damn coughing!

Mom:

Ivan!

Adrian:

(Jabbing his fork in his mashed potatoes) Leave him alone. He can’t help it.

Mom:

Adrian!

Lucy:

(Whispering) You’re in trouble now.

Dad:

(Glaring at Adrian) What did you say, boy?

Jeffrey:

(Whispering) Please let it go. I don’t mind.

Adrian:

(Loud voice) You heard what I said. I said leave him alone.

Dad:

Didn’t I teach you to better respect your elders?

Adrian:

Respect, sir? What’s that?

Mom:

(Pushing them apart) Now Ivan, I know you must be stressed but you can’t get carried away. Adrian, eat your food and stop bothering your father.

Adrian:

Yes, ma’am.

Mom:

Seriously, Ivan, what has gotten into you?

Dad:

(Sigh) It’s this war with Communist North Vietnam, it’s all over the papers. Only a few weeks ago we heard about a US ship being attacked by the North Vietnamese unprovoked, and now they’re drafting soldiers, (takes letter out of pocket and puts it on the table, opened) I got that in the mail today.

Mom:

(Gasps) So soon?

Dad:

I’m afraid so, Judith.

Lucy:

What does it say?

Mom:

(Takes the letter out of the envelope and reads with shifty eyes) “The Government of the United States would like to inform you that your son ...” (she pauses, her mouth gaps open) “...will be drafted for the US army. He will contribute much and should be honoured to be fighting for the freedom and protection of his country, as should all soldiers. He shall be retrieved tomorrow at 0700 hours...” Ivan, is there anything we can do to stop this?

Dad:

It’s either answering our country’s call or jail. Or...

Mom:

Or?

Dad:

We could leave the country.

Mom:

Leave? Leave this house, this place? Where would we go? We have everything here, we have jobs and money. We can’t just throw it all away!

Dad:

I know, Judith.

Lucy:

Mommy, what does the letter mean?

Mom:

It means that someone from our family has to go and help fight over in Vietnam, honey.

Lucy:

Does the letter say who needs to go?

Mom:

Well, yes —

Dad:

Judith, we mustn’t fool with ourselves. We already know who’s going.

Jeffrey:

(Gets up from the table abruptly) Thank you for dinner, mother.

(Leaves to his and Adrian’s room) (Door shuts) Adrian:

How dare you! He’s your son! You can’t treat him that way!

Dad:

And why wouldn’t I? He’s my son. Besides, what good would he do here? You know this pitiful state he’s in; a boy like that wouldn’t be able to help me at the garage.

Adrian:

Why keep me, then?

Dad:

You already know why; you already know the things you can do that he can’t. Adrian, you’re too strong for us to let your talents get wasted on this war. You’re smart, healthy and what good would it do if you if you got killed over in Vietnam? For him it’s different. He’s weak and he couldn’t have contributed much to this family anyway. We can spare him.

Adrian:

You’re thinking like a farmer who checks his chickens’ young – the ones that look healthy can live, but ones with small defects have no choice but to die.

Dad:

What Jeffrey has is not a small defect; he’s anaemic. You could do something with your life, he can’t. The only thing he’s useful for is holding a rifle and making sure the US government doesn’t come drafting any more people in this house.

Adrian:

(Rises noisily from table, chair falls back) You’re sick!

Dad:

(Slaps son over the face) Mind your tongue, boy!

Mom:

(Throws down her fork on her plate) Enough! Both of you! All I want is to have a peaceful dinner with my family, is that too much to ask? Adrian? Ivan?

Lucy:

(Whispers) Told you that you’re gonna get it.

Mom:

(Glares disapprovingly at Lucy) Hush, Lucy. Eat your food now. Ivan, sit down, don’t raise your blood pressure.

Dad:

(Sits down) Go to your room boy. Say goodbye to that brother of yours. He’ll be gone tomorrow morning.

Adrian:

Yes, sir. Right away, sir. (Takes Jeffrey’s plate and goes to his room)

(Adrian opens door. Jeffrey is sitting on the floor. He looks up when he sees Adrian. Adrian shuts the door. Arguing from Mom and Dad are heard faintly in background.) Adrian:

(Sits beside Jeffrey; puts Jeffrey’s plate down in front of him) You didn’t eat anything at all.

Jeffrey:

(Coughs) I think you are the only one who noticed.

Adrian:

(Smiles) Yup, and I’m not leaving you alone until you finish everything on this plate.

Jeffrey:

I’m not hungry.

Adrian:

You just think you’re not hungry.

Jeffrey:

No, I really can’t eat anything else. I’m full.

Adrian:

Full of what? It’s like you ate nothing for the past two days.

Jeffrey:

I know.

Adrian:

It’s because of dad, isn’t it?

Jeffrey:

(Looks away) Part of it.

Adrian:

Well, dad’s not here anymore, I am. He’s not going to be yelling at you or-

Jeffrey:

He’s right. Everything he said is right.

Adrian:

(Puts his hand on Jeffrey’s shoulder) He’s not right.

Jeffrey:

I heard every word. I agree with him. (Looks at Adrian’s face) He hit you.

Adrian:

Just a bit.

Jeffrey:

I know how hard he hits; it must hurt a lot.

Adrian:

He hit you again?

Jeffrey:

(Nods; pulls back the blonde hair from his forehead to reveal a bruise) Yesterday.

Adrian:

What for?

Jeffrey:

Skipping school. Everyone there treats me like a handicap; I didn’t want to stay.

Adrian:

Hurry up and eat your mashed potatoes; it’s getting cold.

Jeffrey:

(Hugs Adrian) You’re the only one who cares about me.

Adrian:

You’re my brother, we’re a family. When one of us gets hurt, the other feels the pain. That’s what it means to be twins.

Jeffrey:

You’re probably going to be the only one who will miss me.

Adrian:

You’re not going anywhere with that fever.

Jeffrey:

It would be better with me gone. Dad is right; better the worthless son gets killed than the one who is strong and healthy.

Adrian:

There’s nothing wrong with you.

Jeffrey:

I’m anaemic; weak and frail and useless.

Adrian:

You’re thinking like dad! You’re only looking at what he sees as a weakness. What about your personality? What about your character? You’re nicer than I am; you’re the nicest person I know.

Jeffrey:

Lucy said I was nice. But she was wrong. You’re the nicer one, for you have allowed someone as weak and as useless as me to matter to you. You talk to me as if I deserve to live, as if I’m not just a burden that no one wants. Even mother regrets having me. Our parents will be happier when they no longer have me to bother with, (smiles weakly). Besides, I’m happy to go if it means that nothing bad will happen to you.

Adrian:

I won’t let you go. Never.

Next morning... (Scene: 12:24 PM. Dad wakes up and heads to the kitchen. He sees one of his sons staring out the window of the living room.) Dad:

(Yawns) Did that brother of yours leave already, Adrian?

Adrian:

He’s gone...(tear falling down his face as he looks out the window.)

(Flashback scene – You know what? If you cut your hair, I wouldn’t be able to tell you and Adrian apart.) (Close-up on the scissors in Son’s pocket...and the crumpled piece of paper beside it that reads: “The Government of the United States would like to inform you that your son, Adrian Simoneu, will be drafted for the US army. He will contribute much and should be honoured to be fighting for the freedom and protection of his country, as should all soldiers. He shall be retrieved tomorrow at 0700 hours.”)

R I S I N G A B OV E D I S C R I M I N ATO RY B E H AV I O U R A S A R E S U LT O F P OW E R I M B A L A N C E S Resurrection TEACHER: Suzanne Smart SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Non Fiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Anne Charters-Klaver UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

MONICA MAZUR

magine a world where all human beings were treated with equalitywhere a man could walk down the street and not be judged by his colour; where all workers received equal benefits and equal pay; and where no one would feel left out because of their gender, race, appearance, and abilities. Imagine a world without discrimination. Sadly, this dream of a utopian world is clouded with the truth that discrimination is an age old problem that has been affecting society ever since humans have inhabited the earth. Prejudice and discrimination are negative manifestations of power differences, which pull people apart rather than bring them together. The Dalai Lama once said, “From the viewpoint of absolute truth, what we feel and experience in our ordinary life is all delusion. Of all the various delusions, the sense of discrimination between oneself and others is the worst form, as it creates nothing but unpleasant[ness].” This message is spoken through numerous forms of literature and media, such as Lord of the Flies, Animal Farm, Gone, and Pocahontas, where characters are exposed to life under the command of someone else. Though each of these are fictional accounts of discrimination, they deliver true messages to the audience because they model how power inequities influence humans to have a predisposition for treating others with injustice. With all the irrational forms of discrimination in our world, the simple questions of “why?” and “how?” emerge. Why have people always had the

tendency to discriminate, and under what circumstances does intolerance occur? The concept of discrimination is complex, considering discrimination often traces back to few individuals. People with a higher political or social status are able to perpetuate their views of others with the help of their followers. However, before this could be done, the rise to power must be achieved, whether by means of voting or in a tyrannical fashion. The latter is demonstrated in Lord of the Flies when Jack uses violence and threats to gain authoritarian power over the boys.1 Manipulation is a tactic used by tyrants in search of power, as shown in Animal Farm when Squealer and Napoleon manipulated animals into doing what they wanted. “Long live comrade Napoleon! Napoleon is always right!” were the words constantly repeated by Squealer for the purpose of making the other animals think the same way.2 Similarly, the first emperor of China, Qin Shi Huangdi, took part in propaganda by making the people of his country believe he was divine. Over history, manipulation has proven to be an effective method of gaining followers for tyrants and leaders alike. Another common tactic used by people who want to stay in power is terror. As said by Laura Scandiffio in Evil Masters, “No population can be controlled for long unless the tyrant backs up his orders with another toolterror.” 3 A similar approach is seen in the context of other power relationships such as marriage and social groups. For example, women in Nigeria who are forced into marriage at a young age, are slaves to their husbands simply because men in that society have power over women and women have a fear of standing up for themselves. As shown in the movie Mean Girls, teen girls in America fear being ridiculed by girls in the popular clique and therefore act nice to them.4 This only helps the popular girls maintain their social status; the same way obeying their husbands gives African women a reason to be seen as less valuable. These examples of power imbalances show how authority gives people a reason to think they have the right to control everyone around them. As well as believing that they have the right to control others, influential people believe that since they are better than others, they deserve special privileges. In Animal Farm, the pigs started believing that “all animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.” 5 Since the pigs were 1

Golding, William. Lord of the Flies. London: Faber and Faber Ltd., 1954.

Orwell, George. Animal Farm. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1946. Pg. 83.

Scandiffio, Laura. Evil Masters. 1st. New York City, NY: Firefly Books Ltd., 2005. Pg. 5.

Mean Girls. Dir. Mark Waters. Perf. Lindsay Lohan. Paramount Pictures, 2004. DVD.

Orwell, 87.

in command, they acquired special privileges, such as receiving a pint of beer daily and reserving the barley only for themselves. This is definitely unfair because everyone is created equal and should have equal opportunities. Discriminating against the other farm animals was unjust, because in truth, the pigs are no better than the rest of the farm animals, and therefore should not be receiving special treatment. Equality is a belief shared by the majority of people in our society and when a group of people is evidently being discriminated against, a movement towards conflict begins. Power imbalances in society have many repercussions, ranging from emotional and psychological to social and political repercussions. Nonetheless, no matter what the effects are, everyone involved experiences the consequences. Put yourself in the shoes of any outcast – how does it feel to be judged for your appearance, or what other people say about you? Everyone, at one point in their life, gets an essence of the feeling of exclusion. Some people, however, have to carry this burden throughout their entire lives, even though they do not deserve it.6 Everyone wants to belong, and those who are seen as different experience sorrow and confusion. In the story of Pocahontas, Pocahontas felt confused and sad because she did not understand why the Englishmen considered her to be different.7 Jealousy is another emotion that sometimes transpires as a result of discrimination, as demonstrated in “Gone” when Sam said that, “people are going to be jealous, because we have powers and they don’t.” 8 Together, envy and sadness combine together to create the most terrible emotion of all: hatred. When envy and sadness develop into hatred, the formation of a conflict commonly emerges as the last resort to putting an end to discrimination. This is the most severe consequence of power differences because when people are divided into sides, all harmony is lost and rather than thinking for themselves, people forget about morals and human rights. In Gone, Astrid quotes the famous words by John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” 9 This quote is found to be true in Animal Farm, when greed destroyed the philosophy of “Animalism”; in Lord of the Flies, when the boys turn into 6

Kano, Salma A. “RIGHTS: Nigeria Failing To End Discrimination against Women.” IPS News. IPS-Inter Press Service, 2009. Web. 23 Nov. 2009. 7 Pocahontas. Dir. Mike Gabriel. Buena Vista Home Video, 1995. Videocassette. 8

Grant, Michael. Gone. New York: Harper Collins, 2008. Pg. 132.

Grant, 194.

savages; in Gone, when the bullies end up murdering innocent people; and in Mean Girls, when the Plastics start a “Girl World War”. Unless both sides reconcile, there is always a winner and loser in a battle, regardless of the price that has to be paid. In the end we must all think to ourselves: is discriminating against others worth the conflicts and emotional struggles it could lead to? Discrimination, as result of power differences, is not just a foreign concept or something only found in novels. It is a real problem that people in our schools, families and circles of friends experience. Consider that women on average get paid less than men in the workforce, students in high school get less opportunities because of their intelligence level, Native Canadians are treated unfairly by the Canadian government, and immigrants are labelled with stereotypes and are occasionally made fun of because of their accent and cultures. If you open your eyes, you will notice that discrimination exists all around us. The fact that discrimination profoundly exists in our society does not mean that it is impossible to overcome. Discrimination is part of human nature, flowing through our veins, taking control of our conscience, and influencing the judgments we make about others. However, the Dalai Lama’s wise words, “the sense of discrimination between oneself and others is the worst form, as it creates nothing but unpleasantness,” remind us that we should at least try to prevent discrimination. After all, powerful leaders who promote discrimination gain power with the help of others, and can only maintain their power as long as they have support. For this reason, we must not allow ourselves to be victims of manipulation and propaganda. We must stand against tyrants with a quest for power. We must stand up for the rights of minorities, who only wish to be treated as equals. We must all stand up together for justice’s sake, to ensure equality and acceptance. Only then can we fulfill the dream of a world where no one feels left out because of their differences, a world where everyone can live in harmony and peace.

W H I T E R AG E

St. Charles College TEACHER: Nancy Daoust

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Paola Gutschen UNIT: Sudbury Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Dan Charbonneau by

J I L L I A N C A M PA G N O L A

t was the early hours of the morning, when the sky is still black and the street is still quiet, the only sign of life was a yellow glow in the window of #117. The outside of the house was nothing special: white siding, blue-tinged roof tiles, some in need of repair. Inside, a young man typed frantically, hunched over a small laptop in the corner of the room. His name was Carl, and once again he had found himself scrambling in the early hours after midnight to finish an assignment for the next day. Brushing shaggy black hair from his face, he squinted his eyes, struggling to focus on the bright screen. He stifled a yawn, looking behind him to make sure his roommate, Todd, was still fast asleep. This wasn’t going to work; he needed a break. He got up from the chair, walking slowly over to the door and opening it, wincing as it creaked. It was strange. The house was old and many parts of it could do with some work, but before it had been sold the previous owners had painted all the doors black. It made no sense, as the doors were old and crooked on their hinges, some not even closing all the way. The students had made up countless stories as to why this was. “Maybe they were covering up a murder!” Katie had said, and they had all laughed. Now Carl passed her room as silently as he could. He would make himself a strong coffee, take a short break, and get right back to work.

As he searched for the kitchen light switch he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, and a shiver pass down his spine, as if someone were staring at the back of his head. He found the switch and quickly snapped it on, glancing behind him, but the hallway through which he had just walked was empty. Shrugging it off, he opened the window to let some air in and started up the coffee machine, eager to finish his project and finally get to bed. Finally, he returned and settled back down in his seat, all the while trying to keep his eyes open. Suddenly, a sound- the door creaking open with exaggerated slowness. Carl turned quickly to look, and what he saw caused him to leap out of the chair with a startled yelp. Todd, his short brown hair plastered to one side, sat up in bed immediately at the sound and looked around wildly. Spotting Carl, he sighed, and then frowned as he looked over at the clock by his bed. “What the hell man?” He muttered quietly. “It’s 2:30. We have to be up in three hours! THREE!” He looked over to the doorway where Carl was staring, seeing nothing, and rolled his eyes, laying back down with a huff. “Go to bed, man.” The computer screen cast a soft glow over the room. Carl left the monitor on, allowing the light to comfort him as he quickly got ready for bed and climbed into the other twin against the far wall. Pulling the sheets to his chin, he found himself wide awake. It hadn’t been his imagination; something had been there. The next morning, Carl woke to pots and pans being smashed together inches from his face. Suddenly recalling the night before, he sat up quickly and almost crashed heads with his grinning roommate. “Hey, watch it!” Todd yelled, laughing. Amused, arms crossed, Katie stood behind him. His mission accomplished, Todd returned to the kitchen, and Carl turned his attention to his other friend and the third occupant of the house. “Mornin’, Katie.” Smiling, she came over, laughing softly. “Todd told me how late you went to bed. No wonder we had to resort to desperate measures to wake you up!” Brushing a lock of straight brown hair behind her ear, she shook her head. “Why were you up so late, anyways? Cramming for Bio?” Carl frowned. “Yeah, but...”

He trailed off, motioning the girl in closer. Puzzled, she leaned in. “There was something here last night, Katie. I didn’t want to mention it to Todd, he’d just laugh.” Katie’s smile faded, replaced by a troubled expression. “What do you mean? Like, a robber?” He shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. “No. I mean, I don’t know, I didn’t see it clearly. But it...” He hesitated, biting the side of his cheek. “It was some sort of animal. Fangs, red eyes, and... it seemed angry.” He finished in a rush, a deep red spreading over his face as he realized just how incredibly weird his story sounded. Katie looked taken aback. “That’s strange.” For a second he thought she was taking him seriously, until the corner of her mouth twitched. “Sure you weren’t high, Carl?” She smirked. Okay, she was definitely laughing at him. Angry, he got out of bed, grabbing a pair of jeans and pulling them on. The three of them had become very comfortable with each other over the 6 months they had rented the house together. “I’m serious! Maybe it was a…a raccoon or something.” She rolled her eyes. “You probably just dreamed it. Think about it, you were tired. You probably fell asleep at your desk.” It did make sense. Shrugging, Carl decided to put it to rest and try not to embarrass himself anymore. But something inside him kept on bringing up the memory of last night; the glowing shadow, the dripping jaws, and the bright, bright red eyes. Katie made her way to the kitchen, still laughing and eager for some breakfast. She inhaled the smell of bacon and eggs with excitement, grabbing some utensils and quickly setting the table. “That smells amazing, Todd!” She came over to watch as he flipped the bacon one last time, his head towering at least 4 or 5 inches above her own. When they were almost finished eating, Carl pounded down the stairs, grabbing a handful and shoving it into his mouth before running out the door, slamming it behind him. “Someone’s late. Too bad he doesn’t have his work,” Todd remarked with a grin, looking over at the forgotten laptop sitting on the counter. With a sigh, he got up, grabbing it. “I’d better bring it to him.”

He walked out the door at half the speed Carl had been going, the room lighting up red with the early morning sunrise for the brief moment before he closed it. Finding herself alone in the house, Katie cleaned up from breakfast and started getting herself ready for her 7am class. Light was now slowly filtering into the dark rooms, casting abstract shadows over the walls. Suddenly, the light bulbs flickered and Katie flinched, dropping two of the plates and smashing them on the wooden floors. “Damn!” she cried, setting the rest of her burden to the side and heading to the basement to get the dustpan. The door was stiff, for they rarely felt the need to go down there, and cold, musty air billowed up the concrete stairs. Flicking the light switch, she made her way carefully into the storage room, spotting the dustpan almost immediately in the far corner. As soon as her foot left the last step, the single bulb stuttered and went out, plunging her into darkness. Swearing under her breath, she fumbled around and found the wall, feeling her way to where she thought the dustpan had been. As she rounded the back corner, an icy finger seemed to travel down her spine, and she turned around, seeing only the absolute darkness. She stopped and dropped to her knees, feeling around with her hands for the dustpan and cussing all the while. Finally, her fingers closed around the cool, dusty handle and she picked it up. Without warning, something growled by her ear, and coarse fur brushed against the back of her hand. Dropping her prize, she screamed and ran to the stairs, feeling for them wildly and taking two steps at a time to the top, her arm scraping against the frame as she slammed the door behind her. Eyes wide, she leaned against it for a while, feeling dizzy and sick to her stomach. Reaching for her cell phone, she dialed Todd’s number. Luckily the university was only a few blocks away, and Todd made it back in just 5 minutes at a steady jog. He pulled open the black door and hugged Katie to him, allowing her to cry for a moment before holding her at arm’s length searching her face. “Are you okay?” Taking a deep breath, she pulled away from him and calmed herself down, forcing herself to think clearly. “I think Carl’s right. I think an animal is in here,” she said finally and Todd nodded.

“From what you told me, it sounds like it. And look,” he glanced over at the window that Carl had opened the night before, “Something could have gotten in there after we went to bed last night. Maybe if we leave the windows open down there, it’ll leave on its own.” Katie nodded and then groaned, pointing at the dead light bulbs. “Looks like the campus construction cut our power again. I think that’s what really scared me.” Todd nodded sympathetically. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll both go downstairs together, and open the window. I’m sure you just startled it, and it shouldn’t be too dark now that it’s bright outside.” Nodding, Katie followed him as he opened up the black-painted door and made his way down. She shuddered; it looked like a dark mouth, swallowing him whole. The window was dusty, the light fighting to get through, and no matter how hard they tried to push it they could not make it move. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Todd turned and scanned the small space, but saw nothing. “Maybe it was just a rat or something.” Katie nodded, but inside she knew that wasn’t true. Whatever it was, it had felt large, and the growl had been right by her ear; much too high for a rat. “Whatever it is, it isn’t here now. But I say we look around,” Todd continued. There were a few boxes in the basement, some from previous tenants and some that the students had brought with them and failed to unpack. Beginning in separate directions, they moved around the room and shifted various pieces of furniture, brushing away cobwebs and sneezing at the rising dust. Katie finished first and climbed halfway up the stairs, eager to be out of the basement but not wanting to leave Todd behind. Suddenly, her eyes caught something, something that didn’t quiet belong. Subconsciously she had noticed the scrape on her arm, but looking at the frame of the door she realized that the paint had been scraped off. The wood underneath looked similar to that which made the floors, actually, but that wasn’t the strange bit. It looked almost like rust, but wood didn’t rust, did it? “Hey, Todd!” She called back down the stairs, more cheerful now that she was out of the basement. “Are you sure our floors are made from real wood?”

“What?” His voice grew louder, and his tone had an air to it that said his mind was somewhere else as he reached Katie. “Look,” she said. He bent to look at the frame, and then pulled away, shaking his head. “This is weird,” he said finally, his hazel eyes meeting her brown ones. “This looks almost like blood. And caught in a crack in the wall, by where you dropped the dustpan, I found white fur. But it’s not a rat. Too high up.” Katie shuddered. “Raccoon?” “Not white.” They made their way to the small table and sat down to rest for a minute before returning to the university, but both of them were troubled. Later that night, Todd and Katie heard a scream from the basement. The sun had set, and each had a flashlight as they ran through the door, which was ajar, and down the stairs into the forbidding blackness. Casting around frantically, they found Carl sitting against a wall, his hands over his head. As Katie flashed her light over the rest of the room, Todd made for his friend, only to hear a wet snarl only inches from his face. He turned quickly, and the glowing circle passed over something large, a hulking form with pinpoint red eyes that glittered with rage. The horrible lips curled to reveal vicious fangs, salvia dripping off the tips and disappearing into the shadows before it hit the floor. The monster barked, an echoing sound that caused bloody foam to spray from its huge jaws, and Katie dropped her flashlight, shrieking. Todd flinched, bringing his shaking arm back to eye level, and the beast was gone. But was it really? He could feel something big somewhere in the room, but the light that he now sent bouncing over the walls wasn’t showing anything but grey concrete. “Todd, help me!” Carl’s voice rose above Todd’s panicky breathing and he went to his rescue, only to trip over him in the process and fall headfirst into the wall. It seemed like slow motion. Todd closed his eyes, waiting for impact, but it wasn’t hard like concrete should be, and suddenly he was through it, falling to the ground. He pushed himself up and spun around, ignoring the sharp pain in his head, and pointing the flashlight all around him. Pieces of white, grey on

the one side, littered the floor underneath a huge hole that he had evidently created when he fell. His first thoughts were for his friends, and he hurried to where he had seen Carl last, kneeling beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly a fist came up and hit him in the nose, blood gushing forth and running down his face into his mouth. He sputtered, pulling back and dropping the flashlight to cup his face with both hands. “Hey, it’s me!” he yelled. Katie came up behind them, having found her flashlight. “I…I think it’s gone.” She stuttered, holding the light up to Todd’s face. One hand went to her mouth. “Oh my God, what happened to you?!” He waved her away. “It’s fine. What do you mean, it’s gone?” “I could see its eyes, and then they just blinked out. And can’t you feel it? It doesn’t feel so...” She trailed off; they had all felt it, the pure anger that had flooded the room, a mass of energy that had chilled them to the bone and even caused Carl to lash out at Todd when he got too close. Carl was shaking hard, but calm was beginning to return to him and he was no longer panicking. For the first time he was able to see Todd’s face, now gory with blood and the front of his head bruised blue and yellow. He blinked, surprised, then shook his head and put his face down into his knees. “I’m sorry, man,” he mumbled, and to his surprise tears prickled the corners of his eyes. Katie knelt down, her arm around his shoulders. “What happened” she asked again, softly. He lifted his head, still trembling; his green eyes wet. “I saw... everything.” He whispered. “That…that thing, it knocked me down and suddenly I could see everything.” She had always been a quiet dog, minding her own business and content to sleep at his feet, but lately she had been too quiet, and she didn’t move around much. Both he and his wife were sure that she had fallen ill, for she wouldn’t eat or drink. One day, when he went to pet her, she snarled at him, and it sounded wrong... it was too wet, and too vicious. She lifted her muzzle and that’s when he knew. She was foaming at the mouth, her eyes

bloodshot, her breath coming out raspy as if they were being forced through a small, jagged opening. She was struggling to her feet, but he was frozen in place, unable to believe that a creature he called a member of the family could look like she looked now. Silently, he thanked God that his wife wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t home, and that was when she sprang at him, murder and rage in her eyes and vibrating from every fibre of her being. He stumbled backward, only now reacting to the danger, grabbing a chair and throwing it between them. She attacked it, violently throwing herself against the flimsy defence with no obvious thought to her own pain. Her world was pain. As the wood began to splinter, he turned and ran for the nearest door, the basement. As he forced his way through the doorway, he slammed the door on her, and the yelp that followed hurt him to the point that his grip slackened just enough for her to squeeze through, leaving droplets of blood glittering like diamonds on the frame. Panicking, he almost fell down the stairs, and in finding himself cornered he made his way to the pantry, opening it and spinning around. The dog had had trouble with the stairs, but now she was right behind him, her paws skittering on the concrete and her jaws salivating. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, as she drew closer, and at the last second he dodged to the side and pushed against her hind end with all his might. Her white fur felt coarse and matted underneath his grip, but he cherished the feeling and stored it somewhere in the back of his mind, for he knew deep inside that this was the last time he would touch her. He shoved for as long as he dared, and as her glittering jaws lashed back at him he let go and backed up, slamming the pantry door shut and locking it. He then sat down and cried, while the dog threw herself against the door of her prison again and again, snarling all the while. Eventually the violent thumps against the door came slower and slower, and the angry sounds grew quieter and quieter, and after 4 or 5 hours he looked up at the door, hearing nothing behind it. His hand rested on the knob, but he was afraid of what he would see. He hesitated, then shook his hand, stifling a sob with one sleeve. He didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to see what had happened to her, he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want his last memory to be of her broken, tortured body, lying at the bottom of his pantry. Making a split second decision, he walked to the nearby store, unable to trust his shaky hands on a steering wheel, and when he returned he spent the afternoon covering the door with drywall. In the end, he spray-painted it grey, standing back to evaluate his handiwork. In the dim light, it seemed as if the wall was just another part of the basement. As he climbed the stairs, he noticed the

drying blood on the side of the frame, and the pain expanded in his aching heart. Settling himself down, he painted the frame black, then the door, and then every door in the house. A month later, he and his wife moved out, leaving the memories behind them. After Todd’s nose had stopped bleeding, the three students made their way warily back into the basement, only to find that the lights were back on. Investigating the hole in the wall, they found an old pantry, with shelves full of petrified food and a floor littered with pieces of dry wall and splinters of rotten wood. In the middle of the floor, half hidden by the rubble that Todd had created, sat a canine skull. They had found all the remains that they could, though not much had been left, and now they stood around a shallow hole dug in the flowerbed around the front of the house. There had not been any flowers planted for years, but Katie found a large stone and used it as a marker after the hole had been filled with dirt, concealing the bones once again. Todd leaned the shovel against the side of the house, and Carl bit his lip, staring down at the grave they had created. “Should we say a few words?” Todd nodded, clearing his throat. “May you finally rest in peace.” “Please,” Katie added.

LITTLE ARMS

St. Mary TEACHER: Jane Cowan SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Patty Shea UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

H AY L E Y H A L L O R A N

I remember that day the day I held you father as you cried for the very first time before me. I remember that moment when the image of you I held so dear vanished like smoke, replaced with the knowledge that you are just a man. I remember the second that I knew what I had to do and not knowing if it would help at all, I held you father. My small arms coming around your neck while you were sitting in our kitchen saying the things words could never express.

I love you It will all be okay someday I understand your pain I accept you, even if youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not the superhero I always thought you were I will always love you father.

And we stayed like that for a long while. Your big, arms coming around me and holding me close like you were comforting me But this time it was the other way around.

And while we stayed there together mourning the loss of your father, I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t help but wonder if someday little arms would wrap around my neck,

While I mourned you.

T H E TOW N C R I E R

St. Anne TEACHER: Lori Rozic SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Kris Barron UNIT: Windsor-Essex Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: Brian Hogan by

M AT T E O B E R N A B Ò A N D M A R I A C U S U M A N O

SCENE 1 (Black) Marjorie:

I had a dream, a dream about you, baby. It’s gonna come true, baby. They think that we’re through, but baby,

(Lights. Marjorie tends her roses.) You’ll be swell! You’ll be great! Gonna have the whole world on a plate! Starting here, starting now, Honey, everything’s coming up roses! Clear the decks! Clear the tracks! You’ve got nothing to do but relax. Blow a kiss. Take a bow. Honey, everything’s coming up roses!1 (Marjorie enters town. Enter townspeople.) All:

Now’s your inning. Stand the world on its ear! Set it spinning! That’ll be just the beginning!2

Oliver:

Hello there Miss Marjorie. Your roses sure are looking mighty fine this spring.

Marjorie:

Thank you kindly, Oliver.

Oliver:

I think the only thing more beautiful than those roses is you, Miss Marjorie.

Marjorie:

Oh, Oliver…I’m sure there must be something else…

All:

Curtain up! Light the lights! You got nothing to hit but the heights!3

(Enter Diana, Betty bumping into Marjorie.) Diana:

Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Marjorie.

Marjorie:

Oh no, not a problem, my dear. What seems to be the matter with your little pumpkin?

Diana:

Haven’t you read the paper today? The Town Crier…a full page article on-

Betty:

They called me Betty Beluga and said I should jump in the ocean with my own kind!

Marjorie:

You’ll be swell. You’ll be great. I can just tell. Just you wait.4

Betty:

I hate whales!

Marjorie:

That lucky star I talk about is due! And I’m sure you’ll grow to like them very much dear. Honey, everything’s coming up roses for me and for you!

Diana:

Come on, pumpkin, nobody believes the Town Crier anyways… You can do it, all you need is a hand. We can do it, Mama is gonna see to it!5

(Exit. Enter Virginia.) Virginia:

Oh, Marjorie, have you read the Crier today? This news is simply delicious! I just hope Betty Beluga can control herself.

Marjorie:

I’m sure she’ll be all right.

Virginia:

I’m glad the truth is out in the open now. I swear on the little buttocks of baby Jesus I saw her swipe the blueberry pie I left on the window sill the other day. I bet that’s why this story came out, divine justice! They’ve outdone themselves this time, I’ve got a friend of a friend who’s a fact checker, and I’ll tell you this – they’ve got it right.

Marjorie:

I’m sure they have…Well, I must get going, Virginia; pleasure talking to you.

All:

Curtain up! Light the lights! We got nothing to hit but the heights! I can tell, wait and see. There’s the bell! Follow me! And nothing’s gonna stop us ‘til we’re through!6

Marjorie:

Honey, everything’s coming up roses and daffodils! Everything’s coming up sunshine and Santa Claus! Everything’s gonna be bright lights and lollipops!7

(Enter Jo, running through roses, grabbed by Marjorie.) And where are you heading off to in such a hurry, dear? Joanna:

To the park, Miss Marjorie! Davy just got himself a new baseball bat!

Marjorie:

Well, aren’t you precious, going to play baseball with all of your friends. (Jo nods) Well you run along now and just watch out for my roses next time, OK? (Jo nods) That’s a boy. Have fun now!

(Exit Jo.) (To roses) I’m sorry, my darlings. I’m sorry. Did she hurt you? It’s OK, I’ll get you some water and you’ll feel better in no time! She won’t step on you again. I’ll make sure of it. All:

Everything’s coming up roses for me and for you!8

SCENE 2 (Virginia reads Town Crier.) Virginia:

(Horrified) “…and we must praise Mrs. Virginia Wallace for her perseverance in convincing us all, her little Joanna was born a female. Perhaps she believed the rugged testosterone that now pulses viciously through her child’s veins would never present itself. It is most difficult to understand why little Jo would be denied his or her gender. Only the Lord Almighty knows what may come upon this poor confused child. For now, we should offer our prayers, as a community, for Jo in hopes that Jesus Christ will not turn his back on this perversion of His creation. The Town Crier.”

(Virginia collects herself.) Joanna Mildred Wallace, you get in here right now! Joanna:

Yes, momma?

Virginia:

You go up to your room right now and put on the dress I bought you last week.

Joanna:

But momma, I don’t want-

Virginia:

I don’t care what you want! Go put it on right now.

(Exit Jo.) Throw away your baseball glove too. I don’t know why I ever got you that stupid thing…That damned paper, I’ll show them who’s a mutant! If I ever find out who writes this garbage, so help me sweet baby Jesus, I’ll give them something to write about…Nobody does this to my little Joanna. Sweet Joanna… (Enter Joanna wearing a dress.) Joanna:

This one, momma?

Virginia:

Yes, my angel. Now go out and you show off this beautiful dress of yours and if anybody asks where you got it, you tell them you sewed it yourself and that you play with Barbies and you don’t even know what baseball is!

Joanna:

But momma that’s…lying. You said lies make baby Jesus cry.

Virginia:

Baby Jesus can cry a river to tarnation! This isn’t a lie, Joanna. From now on it’s the truth, OK? (Jo nods reluctantly) Now give me a smile…that’s my girl! Now go and show off your dress!

(Exit Jo.) And don’t run! (Virginia exits. Jo re-enters in town, approaching townspeople.) Joanna:

Do you like my dress, Ms. Howard?

Ms. Howard:

Oh, yes, very nice, dear, Shouldn’t you be playing in the dirt or mud or something?

Joanna:

No ma’am. I like dresses now!

(Enter Diana.) Diana:

Hello there Joanna, what a very nice dress you have.

Joanna:

Thank you Mrs. Davis. I sewed it myself! And I really like Barbies and I don’t even know what baseball is!

Diana:

Well I’m sure you’re right. You have a very nice day Joanna and tell your mother that you are growing up to be a very pretty little girl.

Joanna:

Thank you, Mrs. Davis.

(Diana exits. Enter Marjorie.) Marjorie:

Oh, aren’t you adorable…trying to wear a dress. You almost look like a lady, don’t you?

Joanna:

Yes ma’am. And I play with Barbies and I don’t even know what baseball is.

Marjorie:

Oh, well, we both know that’s not true.

Joanna:

Yes…momma said so.

Marjorie:

Well dear, your mother is what some people call an imbecile or…a nincompoop.

Joanna:

(Laughing) Nincompoop is a funny word.

Marjorie:

Yes, it is funny, isn’t it?

(Enter Davy.)

Davy:

Jo! Jo! Robby just caught a toad! He’s going to go race it with Martin’s jack rabbit!

Joanna:

Neato! We better hurry before they start!

(Exit Davy, Jo follows.) Marjorie:

(Stopping Jo) Oh Jo, wait a second. You have something on your dress.

(Unseen, Marjorie cuts Jo’s dress with clippers.) You seem to have dirt all over your dress! We wouldn’t want anything to happen to it now, would we? Joanna:

Thank you, Miss Marjorie

Marjorie:

Run along now. (Exit Jo) Filthy perversion.

SCENE 3 (Lights on Oliver knocking on Marjorie’s door. Marjorie enters.) Marjorie:

Why Oliver, what a surprise!

Oliver:

Hello, Miss Marjorie. I was on my morning walk and I happened to spot these roses and they reminded me of you.

Marjorie:

Where did you find these, Oliver?

Oliver:

Find what?

Marjorie:

These roses!

Oliver:

Ah yes, the roses…I saw them…hmmmm…

Marjorie:

Did you take them from my garden Oliver?

Oliver:

Ah, yes…very lovely roses indeed.

Marjorie:

(Horrified) Well then…thank you very much…(pushing Oliver away)

Oliver

…A young woman like yourself should surround herself with lovely things.

Marjorie:

Yes, she should.

Oliver:

I just hope you like the flowers is all…

Marjorie:

Oh, I loved them. I must go, though; I left the oven on, I wouldn’t want to accidentally set the neighbourhood on fire!

(Exit Marjorie, laughing.) Oliver:

Goodbye, Miss Marjorie.

(Enter Marjorie in her home, writing viciously.) Marjorie:

“Senile, dribbling, crumbling, useless old fool! Oliver Leslie. In a situation such as this we can’t place blame on his children for abandoning such a needy, stupid, and falsely forgetful old coot. Riddled with Alzheimer’s? Oh, on the contrary, he is riddled with a hidden agenda! As a community we’ve turned a blind eye to his vandalism for too long. He cannot be allowed to relish in his malevolence any longer. He has made fools of us all. Everyday his fake forgetfulness mocks us. While we feel pity, he laughs maniacally under his breath. Are these grounds for calling this demented veteran evil? It isn’t the shell shock! In my opinion, the Krauts should have finished this one off in World War One. We must end his reign of tyranny for our good and the good of this community. Euthanize Oliver Leslie. The Town Crier.” Good.

(Exit Marjorie. She re-enters with the letter noticing Oliver at the door with more roses.) Marjorie:

(Fake) Oliver! What are you still doing here? There’s going to be some awfully hungry ducks at McInnis pond-

Oliver:

I was on my morning walk and I happened to spot some roses. Now I think they’re pretty, but not quite as pretty as-

Marjorie:

(Seeing the destroyed roses) My roses!

(Marjorie drops the letter and consoles roses.) Oliver:

I was going to say “you,” but they are very nice as well.

(Oliver takes the letter.) Marjorie:

Oh no…Patty, Joseph, Frances, what has he done to you? I’m going to get you some fertilizer, right now. I’ll just prune the branches he broke; don’t worry. It’s going to be OK, Helena. I know you’re hurting. Please, Andrew, hold yourself together. I’ll put up chicken wire around you. That’s what I’ll do. I know you won’t like it, but it will be all right. It will be better than ever before.

Oliver:

(Holding the letter to Marjorie) Miss, Miss Marjorie-

Marjorie:

Get out, Oliver! Get out now! (To herself) Oh, I’m going to need the big shears for this one.

(Exit Marjorie. Oliver enters town with letter.) Virginia:

Hello, Oliver. You’re a bit far from home today for your walk.

Oliver:

Am I? I don’t quite remember…

Virginia:

Oh dear. Maybe you’re out to buy some groceries? Is that a grocery list you have there? What does it say?

Oliver:

Oh goodness, I don’t even know. I seem to have forgotten my glasses!

Virginia:

Let me just take a look here…(taking the letter) Oliver! It’s the Town Crier. Where did you get this, Oliver? Please try and remember.

Oliver:

Well, this morning I woke up and I had my oatmeal and prune juice. My goodness- those prunes work fast because in a couple of minutes I was in-

Virginia:

Yes, after all that, Oliver…

Oliver:

I was in Miss Marjorie’s garden…and she was in an awful mood. You see, when I was a boy my mother once told me not to bother with the women at least once a month because they become real beasts about-

Virginia:

Oliver! Please! Stick to the problem! Where did you get this?

Oliver:

Miss Marjorie dropped it, I suppose.

Virginia:

Sweet Jesus in a cardigan!...it would be Marjorie, wouldn’t it? Thank you very much, Oliver. Do you mind if I keep this?

Oliver:

Are you taking it to the post office?

Virginia:

Where else would I be taking it?

Oliver:

Very well; it looked real important-like.

Virginia:

Oh, it is “real important-like.” (To herself) Wait ‘til I tell Diana…

(Exit Virginia. Enter Marjorie.) Marjorie:

Oliver! Oh Oliver! You’d never believe how glad I am to see you!

Oliver:

It’s nice to see that you’ve finally come around, Miss Marjorie.

Marjorie:

Oh, I have! I have! Could you just be a dear and help me? I seem to have lost something.

Oliver:

Well, I’m quite good at finding things; when I was in Egypt during the Great War, I had to clear a mine field a mile deep. Some of them went off, though…Took a few good bashes to the head I did-

Marjorie:

Yes, yes, that’s all very interesting. I just dropped a letter and I was wondering if you’d seen it?

Oliver:

Ah yes, I just handed it to Missus Virginia. She said she’d mail it for you. If you want to mail it yourself though, she went…Oh dear, which way did she go…

Marjorie:

Oh…well…thank you very much for your consideration Oliver…

(Marjorie exits emotionless.) Oliver:

(To himself) What a lovely woman. I wonder where she’s going? I wonder where I’m going? Oh, hello there, prunes, come to visit me again have you…

SCENE 4 (Lights on Virginia alone. Ms. Howard and Don enter.) Virginia:

You’ll be swell! You’ll be great! Gonna have the whole world on the plate! Starting here, starting now, Honey, everything’s coming up roses!9

Ms. Howard:

Remind me how you’re sure Marjorie is the real Town Crier?

Virginia:

Oliver said she had written the article.

Don:

(Sceptically) Well, if Oliver told you so, it must be true.

Virginia:

Please! Oliver may be a little…absent-minded at times, but he has always loved Marjorie. He would never frame her and I don’t even think he could if he tried.

All:

Clear the decks! Clear the tracks! You’ve got nothing to do but relax.10

(Enter Diana, Betty, Jo and Davy.) Diana:

This column has been terrorizing us for too long!

Virginia:

Exactly! My little girl may not be a…typical girl…but she’s still a girl!

Joanna:

Yeah!

Diana:

She can’t hide behind the Town Crier anymore!

Virginia:

Oh, it would be easy to lock her up or beat Marjorie to death. No, I want to see her face as we destroy her roses in front of her. The show is over, Marjorie.

All:

Blow a kiss! Take a bow! Honey, everything is coming up roses!11

Ms. Howard:

This is ridiculous. Marjorie would never hurt a soul.

Virginia:

You would think so. But the Town Crier has never written about you, has it? (Ms. Howard is silent) Exactly! It was only a matter of time, Veronica. She would spread lies just like she did to us. You’ve believed this nonsense just like I did. But we never thought these things until the Town Crier told us to. Enough is enough! My Jo is a girl!

Diana:

Betty is not fat!

Brenda:

I was not born illegitimately!

Don:

It’s not miniature, it’s average!

Betty:

Oliver will not be euthanized!

Virginia:

And after tonight, the Town Crier will never cry again.

All:

You’ll be swell! You’ll be great! I can tell. Just you wait. And nothing’s gonna stop us ‘til we’re through! Honey, everything’s coming up roses and daffodils! Everything’s coming up sunshine and Santa Claus! Everything’s gonna be bright lights and lollipops!12

(Crowd reaches Marjorie’s house. The roses are destroyed. Tableau. Enter Marjorie in their home.) Marjorie:

(Frantically) I’m sorry, my darlings. Don’t look at me that way, Jacob! Forgive me, my children. Forgive me! They did this to us! They ruined us! Don’t hate me, Frances, please! I can’t let them do

this to you all. I brought you into this world and nobody is going to take you out but me. We can’t give them what they want! We can’t let them take you! I’ll take you! I’ll keep you safe with me. We’re safe, here. I’ll keep you in this house and I’ll never leave your side, ever! I’ll plant new roses and in a year we’ll be a big happy family all over again. A big happy family…and I will be your mother. Yes, your mother. And we will be happy. Everything is going to be okay, my children. (End tableau.) Diana:

Virginia, they’re already ruined!

Ms. Howard:

Somebody must have already come by and cut them down…

Virginia:

I don’t care, this isn’t over with just yet. We’ll pour salt…all over her yard…everywhere. And nothing will ever grow here again- no flowers, no roses…never.

Marjorie:

Everything’s coming up roses for me and… 13

All:

For you!

(Blackout)

1-13

Midler, Bette. “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.” Gypsy. Atlantic, 1993. CD.

T H E E D U C AT I O N D E B AT E

Resurrection TEACHER: Mary-Jo O’Brien SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Anne Charters-Klaver UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by T E S S

K L AV E R

n our society, it seems that the only purpose of education is to train someone to fulfill a certain role and little else. Morals, ideas and values have little purpose. However, a person’s aptitude at math, English or wood carving is seized upon and honed to fit the frame of the career for which that person is groomed. It is about finding a person’s strengths, not his or her passions. When looking at the purpose of education, there seem to be a plethora of answers, some of which address part of the question, but none of which seem to truly answer it. I believe that the purpose of education is to broaden the minds of students so that they may take interest in the world, find their passions and in the process uncover the value of leading a moral life and making the world a better place. Formal education must enrich the individual and society. The education system has a responsibility to expose students to a wide variety of philosophies and viewpoints. In the poem, ‘Modern Ode to a Modern School,’ a young man’s education is described in the words, “He wanted to be a brick layer/ They taught him to be a perfect brick layer/And nothing more.”1 This is a summation of what is most often seen in our schools today. Depending on the proclivities of the student, they are told what they would be good at, and then take the courses that will lead them

Erskine, John. “Modern Ode to a Modern School.” Sonata and Other Poems. Whitefish, Montana: Kessinger, Publisher, 2003. Pg. 5-7.

to this profession. It is not a matter of what they love, but rather a matter of their disposition, and what they can best do to support themselves. This has led to a generation of people who are good at their jobs, be the teacher, lawyer or doctor. However, it has also led to a generation that lacks passion for what they do, and in lacking this passion, have been impoverished of the values that once were readily instilled by our learning establishments. We seek endless amounts of material goods and quick fixes for feelings of pointlessness that come with learning about and doing something we do not care for as a living. The growing problems in our society are due to the fact that education is so narrow minded that students only focus on the accretion of money rather than the capacious extent of humanity’s potential. As Robert Nielson explains in expressing the main points of Allan Bloom’s book, The Closing of the American Mind, “it is easy to devise courses of study that thrill those who take them; the difficulty is getting them accepted by the faculty.” 2 Education should be about broadening the minds of students, exposing them to a variety of thought, that they may take an interest in their world and in the well being of that world. This is prefereable to the production of parochial, narcissistic drones whose only purpose is to fulfill a professional niche. If a person is not passionate about what they are learning or doing, they will learn only a sufficient amount to pass whatever testing of that knowledge that may arise, and then promptly discard it. In this way the memorization of facts and methods, which are then regurgitated for examination, fail to serve students at all because they are not encouraged to seek their passions. Someone who has influenced me greatly in my view of education has been my mother, who is a teacher. She has never put pressure on me to do well in terms of marks; she has only ever asked me to question the ideas behind what I am being taught, and to use education as a tool to help me discover my passions and to broaden my mind. She has taught me to enjoy ideas, rather than the repetition of facts, as a form of education. This method of teaching – of teaching facts without ideas, concepts without backgrounds, and knowledge without passion – which is so often used, only serves to turn students off learning. They are only interested in doing well on the tests, not interested in the ideas that they are studying. This kills the passion within them, thus leading to the narrow-minded products of

Nielson, Robert. “The Closing of the (North) American Mind.” Echoes. Don Mills, Ontario: Oxford University Press, 2002. Pg. 328. Nielson, 327.

education we so often see today. As Robert Nielson says, “Specialized success is all they can imagine.” Education should serve to make students fervent not only about learning, but ideas themselves. My mother has taught me that if I am not interested and passionate about what I am studying, it will never make me happy. It is in falling in love with a subject and its ideas that the passion for that area will sustain me, not only through study, but through a career in that field. Education should help students to discover not only what they are good at, but what they find most interesting. They must discover what they would be willing to devote their lives to so that they will. If a person is passionate about what they do, they will feel fulfilled, and will no longer need the stopgap bandages our society uses to give themselves a sense of purpose: materialism, sex, substance abuse, and many other destructive passtimes of our culture. Leroy V. Quintana expresses the loss of purpose and fulfillment in his poem ‘Legacy,’ in the words, “Now I look back/Only two generations removed/ Realize I am nothing but a poor fool/ Who went to college/ Trying to find my way back/ To the center of the world.”4 This is the assertion that with the loss of purpose in learning and in our chosen professions, we have also lost the meaning in our lives. Education should be about helping students cultivate their love of learning, a teaching method my mother has used for many years. This is the philosophy that has shaped my view of education, and how it could help students discover their passions, rather than allowing them only to be trained in something which they are good at. In finding fulfillment through following their passions, people learn to be earnest and ardent not only in what they do, but also how they live their lives. If schools can teach students to love ideas rather than accomplishments, people will be more readily open to the world around them, and thus what is needed to make that world a better place. In having a passion for learning and ideas, they will view the breadth of humanity’s potential, both in its glory and its horror. As Robert Nielson says today, “Students have no understanding of evil and even doubt its existence, thus lacking awareness of the depths as well as the heights of human nature.”5 This means that without curiosity and animation about education and understanding, morality is easily discarded in favour of relativistic ideas that serve only to make allowable the shallow and profligate convictions and

Quintana, Leroy V. “Legacy II.” Grandparents’ Houses. Ed. Connie Streich. New York: Greenwillow Books, 1984. Pg 335. Nielson, 326.

activities that hold so steadily in our nation. As expressed in Allan Bloom’s book, “This moral relativism tends to justify whatever current opinions and behaviours students feel comfortable with.” 6 It does so without challenging students to question the moral iniquity of our times, or the duty humankind has to itself and the world, one of positive contribution and commitment to the betterment of the earth as well as society. Education should serve to impassion students about ideas and in so doing, the world around them; in this way, helping them to discover the value of morality and helping them to contribute to an equitable planet. Education, with few exceptions, has served to turn my generation away from a passion for learning and idealism in favour of a short-sighted and immoral belief system that upholds the degradation of human virtue, and makes almost all acts permissible. However, there are the exceptions. There are those teachers and professors who inspire in their pupils an excitement for ideas and challenge them to question the status quo. It is these people who know what the purpose of learning should be, that of broadening the students’ minds and making them interested in their world, help them discover what they are passionate about, and in so doing discover the value of leading a moral life that contributes positively to our society, and thus help to create a better world. Education should be about enrichment of our lives and the world.

Neilson, 326.

PRIX JEUNES ÉCRIVAINS

2010

THORS A W

•

U N E S ÉCRI

L E S O LY M P I Q U E S

St. Luke TEACHER: Nathalie Aquino-Morley SCHOOL:

Secondary Junior and Senior Kindergarten Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Lynn Price UNIT: Nipissing Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Gail Geddes-Bell by

M YA B I T O N T I

J’aime le hockey. J’aime jouer. J’aime skier et patiner. J’aime les Olympiques.

DA N S L A T E M P Ê T E

St. Patrick TEACHER: Dominique Foy SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Francine Martel UNIT: Eastern Ontario UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski by

K I E R A N S T. J A C Q U E S

Un jour je marchais dans la neige et j’ai vu une grosse tempête. C’est une tempête rouge! La tempête rouge pousse la neige et pousse la neige! Je cours super vite. Mes joues sont toutes rouges! Je tombe sur une branche. Je cours encore! Je vais dans une maison d’arbre mais la tempête… Me pousse encore! Je cours! Et cours! Et cours! Je vais dans ma maison mais la tempête a cassé ma porte! Je trappe la tempête dans une boite… Et il dit: Au secours! Au secours! Au secours! Oh! Non! La Fin

M A FA M I L L E

St. Joseph TEACHER: Edith MacIntyre SCHOOL:

Elementary Grade 1 and 2 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Lynne Milette-Carroll UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Bart Scollard by

JULIA STEEP

Annie est ma sœur. Elle a peur des grosses belles fleurs. Elle aime sa petite sœur. Ma sœur compte toujours l’heure. Ma mère est belle. Elle n’aime pas les pelles. Elle aime manger le sel. Maman adore le ciel. Mon père aime pêcher. Il n’aime pas danser. Il est bon à chasser. Papa est un bon cuisinier. J’aime les chatons. Je n’aime pas les dragons. J’adore les moutons. Je mange beaucoup de bonbons.

L E DA U P H I N

St. Joseph TEACHER: Edith MacIntyre SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 1 and 2 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Lynne Milette-Carroll UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Bart Scollard by

MEGAN BISS

Il s’appelle Caninball. Caninball aime plonger dans l’eau. Caninball aime jouer dans l’eau. Caninball aime les personnes. Caninball nage dans l’eau partout. Caninball vit dans des mers immenses. Caninball aime manger des poissons. Caninball sait très bien nager. Caninball nage très vite. Caninball est gris.

B L AC K M YS T E RY E T L E M O R C E A U D E G L AC E

St. Paul the Apostle TEACHER: Rachelle Roy

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Lise Lachapelle UNIT: Sudbury Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Kent MacNeill by

OLIVIA MARIE KING

I était une fois un chat qui s'appelait Black Mystery, mais tout le monde l'appelait Mystery. Mystery avait un an et aimait les personnes. Les personnes qui prenaient soin de Mystery s'appelaient Maman et Papa. Les enfants qui aidaient Papa et Maman s'appelaient Ben et Helen. Quand Mystery allait dehors, elle parlait à Smudge, la chatte qui habitait dans l'autre maison. Elle faisait la même chose toujours. Sa maison était dans la ville de L'eau Montagne. «Bonjour Smudge, a dit Mystery, C'est presque ma fête!» «Je sais, mais viens voir la glace que j'ai trouvé près de la rivière.» a dit Smudge. Mystery a grimpé sur le gros morceau de glace mais soudainement la glace a brisé. Mystery a vu un gros monstre qui flottait sur l'eau. Le monstre a pris la glace où se trouvait Mystery et elle a tombé dans l'eau. Quand elle a ouvert ses yeux, elle a vu qu'elle était dans une place très chaude. Mystery marchait sur le sol chaud et soudainement elle a vu un gros chat. II avait de la fourrure jaune et une grosse crinière. II regardait la fourrure noire de Mystery et demanda, «Est-ce que tu es perdu?» «Oui. Oui.» a dit Mystery. «Viens avec moi. II y a beaucoup de choses que tu peux trouver et manger. Oh! Et mon nom est King et je suis un lion. » Quand les deux sont arrivés sous un gros arbre, King a dit «Va jouer avec mon garçon, Prince.» «Oui, King.» a dit Mystery. Quand elle a vu Prince, elle lui demanda, «Prince, ou est-ce que nous sommes?» Prince a

répondu, «On est sur la savane de l'Afrique.» Quand le soleil était au milieu du ciel, un lion qui s'appelait Guard lui a dit qu'elle avait besoin d'aller. Quand Mystery est parti, elle a vue quelques maisons. Un chat blanc l'a vu et lui a dit, «Bonjour. Viens ici.» Mystery est allée et le chat a dit, «Mon nom est Perdy, tu ne vis pas ici, je sais parce que tu n'a pas un collet.» Mystery a répondu, «Je vis dans la ville de L'eau Montagne.» «Oh, tu a besoin de voir Cherryflower mais en premier tu as besoin de venir à ma maison.» dit Perdy. Mystery a mangé à la maison de Perdy et avant de partir, Perdy a dit, «Cherryflower est un chat brun pale.» Quand Mystery a vu Cherryflower, elle a expliqué sa situation et Cherryflower a dit «Le monstre est un bateau, le bateau là va à ta ville.» Mystery est allée sur le bateau et arriva à L'eau montagne. La première amie que Mystery a vue était Smudge et elle lui expliqua tout. Tout le monde était content de voir Mystery et elle a célébré une très bonne fête.

JE SUIS

St. Joseph TEACHER: Edith MacIntyre SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Lynne Milette-Carroll UNIT: Peterborough, VNC UNIT PRESIDENT: Bart Scollard by

A L E X VA N M I L

Je suis un enfant qui s’appelle Tristan. J’ai huit ans, et j’ai maintenant vingt dents. Je n’ai pas de parents et je porte toujours un cardigan. Je suis très grand, mais je ne suis pas content. Je vis avec mes grand-parents Qui disent toujours « Franchement! Qu’est ce que je fais avec cet enfant? » Ma saison préférée est le printemps Parce que c’est la dernière fois que j’ai vu Maman.

LEGO

St. Cyril TEACHER: Dominique Martell SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 3 and 4 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Nicole Guegueirre UNIT: Toronto Elementary UNIT PRESIDENT: Anthony Bellissimo by

O L I V E R M I C H A E L WA L E S

es briques Lego étaient inventés par un charpentier danois. En 1932, Ole Kristiansen était propriétaire d’une entreprise où il a fabriqué des planches à repasser et des petits jouets en bois avec six employés. Deux ans plus tard, Monsieur Kristiansen a donné le nom Lego à ses briques. En danois, le mot Lego se traduit par « jouer bien » et en latin, « assemblez-les. » En 1933, l’usine Lego était détruite par un feu. Monsieur Kristiansen a reconstruit l’usine et il a commencé à fabriquer les jouets en plastique. En 1949, la brique Lego était présenté au Danemark. Après quelques années, Lego était présenté à un salon de jouets en Allemagne avec de mauvais résultats. Monsieur Kristiansen n’était pas déçu. Il a continué et la même année, il avait de bons résultats en Suède. Dans quatre années, Lego était vendu en Angleterre, en France et en Belgique. En 1961, Lego était vendu aux États-Unis et au Canada. Lego avait maintenant huit cent quarantetrois employés. Lego continue à grandir et le petit fils de Monsieur Kristiansen est maintenant le chef de l’entreprise Lego. Lego est plus que des briques à construire. Lego est un outil pour l’apprentissage et le développement de l’imagination et la créativité des enfants.

J’aime beaucoup Lego et j’ai des briques et des pièces de Lego en masse chez moi. Je les ai organisés dans des boites par couleur. Comme ça, c’est facile à créer des nouvelles structures. Jouer avec Lego c’est vraiment un passe-temps amusant qu’on peut jouer seule ou avec des amis. Merci Monsieur Kristiansen!

“Lego Timeline.” About Us-Corporate Information. The LEGO Group, 2010. www.lego.com

MA PREMIÈRE COMPÉTITION DE TRAMPOLINE

Good Shepherd TEACHER: Ghislaine L. Trépanier SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Christine Rochon UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon by

S A R A F E AT H E R S T O N E

près quatre heures de voyage en auto, mes nerfs sont tendus, mon cœur bat. Moi et mes parents sont finalement arrivés à Scarborough pour ma première compétition de trampoline. C'est ma première année en trampoline compétitive et j'aime ce sport. Mes entraineurs m'ont beaucoup aidé pendant les derniers cinq mois. Maintenant, c'est le temps de démontrer aux juges ce que je peux faire. Quand j'ai entré dans l'école de Pope John Paul II pour la compétition, j'ai été vraiment surprise. II y avait beaucoup de personnes et quatre trampolines. J'ai vu une des filles de mon équipe, Spring Action, qui était habillé dans des survêtements rouges et noirs, et aussi mes entraineurs Karine et Heather. À ce moment là, j'étais calme et très excité. J'ai regardé la compétition des garçons pendant quelques minutes, mais c'était déjà le temps pour mes étirements et mes réchauffements. Moi et une autre athlète appelé Rosalind de Spring Action avons couru et sauté. Après trente minutes, mon entraineur Karine est venu me dire que je devrais pratiquer mes routines sur le trampoline. Les trampolines là-bas sont exactement comme les trampolines au centre Spring Action, alors j’étais à l’aise sur les trampolines. Karine m'a donné des conseils, elle m'a dit de presser mes jambes ensemble sur mon barani et faire un bond d'arrêt. On a pratiqué sur les trampolines jusqu’au début de la compétition. J'ai vu les juges et ils ont donné l'ordre de se présenter. J'ai devenu plus calme car j'étais la dernière personne pour la compétition.

100

C'était le temps de faire ma première routine obligatoire. Je pense que j'ai très bien fait. Quand j'ai vu mes notes, elles étaient: 8.3, 8.3, 8.5 et 8.8. Ça c'est vraiment bon et mieux que j’espérais. Quand ce fut le temps pour faire ma routine optionnelle, j'étais plus nerveuse parce que c'était plus difficile. J'ai bien fait, mais mon saut d'arrêt n'était pas parfait, alors j'ai pris un deuxième saut. Mais, mes notes étaient encore très bien: 7.4, 8.0, 8.1 et 8.3. Après que j'ai compétitionné, je suis allé voir mes parents. Ils ont dit que j'avais fait du très bon travail. L'annonceur a dit que c'est l’heure d’annoncer les prix pour les filles d’Interclub. Je suis allé m’asseoir en arrière sur le podium avec tous les autres athlètes. L’annonceur a commencé par la septième place. Ce n'était pas moi. "J'espère que je suis au moins en sixième place." II a annoncé la sixième place, et ce n'était pas moi. II a dit la cinquième, la quatrième, et la troisième place. Ce n'était pas moi! Maintenant, j’étais vraiment contente. "Est-ce que je suis en deuxième place?!" J'ai pensé dans ma tête. L'homme a annoncé la deuxième place et……ce n'était pas moi! II a dit la première place. « Et en première place, il a dit, Sara Featherstone, Spring Action! » J'ai chuchoté à moi-même, « OUI! » J’ai monté sur le podium numéro un. J'ai souri quand j’ai reçu ma médaille et ma fleur rouge. Beaucoup de monde ont pris des photos des personnes sur les podiums. Quelle belle journée! Ça c'était ma première compétition et j'ai gagné la première place. « Estce que tu penses que c'était une bonne idée d’aller à Scarborough pour une petite compétition maintenant, maman? » J'ai demandé cette question à ma mère. « Oui, vraiment, » dit ma mère. J'ai souri et j’ai tenu ma médaille près de mon cœur.

101

L’ É G L I S E

Good Shepherd TEACHER: Ghislaine L. Trépanier SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Christine Rochon UNIT: Ottawa UNIT PRESIDENT: Elaine McMahon by

BIANCA PICCIANO

L'église, l'église c'est un endroit pour prier. II y a des prêtres et des lecteurs qui vous aident à méditer. On peut penser uniquement à la sainte trinité. On écoute des histoires de la journée quand Jésus est né. Mon église est une place tranquille où je penseJ'observe Jésus et ses anges qui dansent. Le soleil brillant passe par les fenêtres anciennesParfois, il y a des gens qui ont de la peine. Je chante dans le chorale des enfants, ça me plaît et me rend content. Ma partie préférée est l'apprentissage des miracles comme la transfiguration, l'annonciation. C'est comme un grand spectacle.

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Je vais à la messe qui commence à 11 heures et finit à midi, je n'aime pas quand la messe est presque finie. Je suis un lecteur qui lit devant l'église, Mon amie lit aussi, elle s'appelle Maryse. Pendant la messe, je descends en bas, je participe dans la liturgie des enfants. J'apprends des prieurs, des bénédictions, j'ouvre mon cœur aux magnifiques leçons. La musique, les prieurs, la famille, les amis, l'église est un endroit où on prie. J'aime l'église, j'aime m'amuser. L'église est mon endroit préféré.

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UN NOUVEAU SYMBOLE N AT I O N A L E

SCHOOL:

École Catholique Cathédrale TEACHER: Laura Vermette

Elementary Grades 5 and 6 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Christine Dodd UNIT: Algonquin-Lakeshore UNIT PRESIDENT: Tom Doyle by

S E A N M AT T H E W S T O R R

enses-tu que le Canada devrait faire un nouveau symbole national? Est-ce que le castor, le huard et la feuille d’érable sont trop vieux? Ils sont des symboles bien connus, mais est-ce qu’ils sont représentatifs du Canada? Selon moi, le bâton de hockey est le parfait symbole. Dans les premières années du Canada, la fourrure d’un castor représentait la richesse du Canada. Dans les temps modernes, si tu portes un manteau avec la fourrure d’un castor, un champion des droits d’animaux te lancent des tomates. Les castors sont travaillants, mais leur travaille fuit inonder les rivières. Est-ce que c’est le parfait symbole? Quand le Canada a fait du huard un symbole national, à quoi pensaientils? Je recherche pourquoi le huard est un symbole. Rien. Le jour après je recherche encore pour la réponse. Encore rien. Peut-être que le huard est un symbole nationale parce qu’il habite en pleine nature souvent seul, mais les Canadiens sont unis! La raison que la feuille d’érable est notre symbole est parce que les autochtones utilisent la sève pour des médicaments, la nourriture, etc. Ça représente justement notre passé. Mais les Canadiens doivent faire un symbole qui représente notre passé, notre présent, et notre futur. Que penses-tu est le parfait symbole pour nous?

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Pour moi c’est le bâton de hockey! Le bâton est très fort mais aussi souple. La pesanteur représente comment nous pouvons être dans les temps difficile. Un bâton de hockey peut courber à la gauche, à la droite ou rester dans le centre. Ça représente nos parties politiques. La droite comme conservateurs, le centre comme les libéraux et la gauche comme le N.D.P. Le bâton de hockey est fait de différentes couches comme les différentes religions et cultures dans notre pays. Le bâton de hockey peut être utilisé par des filles et des garçons, par des professionnels et des amateurs, toutes les cultures et toutes les religions. Le bâton de hockey est pour tout le monde. Maintenant penses-tu que le bâton de hockey est parfait pour notre symbole national?

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BRIAN ET LA PETITE MAISON

St. Joseph TEACHER: Nathalie Leduc SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Nancy Montes UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

J O E Y S I LV A

l était une fois un ours noir nommé Brian. Il habitait dans le bois au bord de Huntsville. C’est la première fois que Brian se prépare pour hiberner. Un jour, il voit une petite maison sur le bord de son territoire. Brian était très curieux, alors il a enquêté la grande cour. Brian a respiré l’air. Il n’a pas renflé d’humains, mais oh là là! Il y a un arôme magnifique! La nourriture! L’arôme était dans une vieille remise en arrière de la cour. Brian est allé à la vieille remise et il a vu une grande poubelle plein de légumes pourris! « Il y a assez de nourriture ici pour manger pendant tout l’automne! » dit Brian. Il y a un petit trou dans le milieu de la poubelle assez grand pour un jeune ours. Brian appuie sur le trou. Soudain, ses pattes et sa tête sont dans la poubelle. Il mange des légumes pourris pendant longtemps. Il pense: Je suis le plus ingénieux ours du monde! Après une heure dans la poubelle, Brian décide qu’il a eu assez à manger pour un jour. Il sort de la vieille remise et il retourne dans le bois pour la nuit. Au matin, Brian retourne à la vieille remise et il fait la même chose qu’il a faite le jour avant. Pendant deux semaines, Brian revient à la vieille remise chaque matin pour manger des légumes pourris. Chaque fois que Brian va à la vieille remise il grossit et il grandit. Et chaque fois que Brian va à la vieille remise, c’est plus ardu pour Brian de passer dans le petit trou. Un jour, Brian devient plus gros, alors son ventre

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traine par terre. Il boitille à la vieille remise et il appuie sur le très petit trou. Brian mange des légumes pourris pendant une heure, mais quand il essaye de sortir de la grande poubelle…aïe! « Je suis coincé! » Brian crie. Brian essaye d’échapper de la grande poubelle, mais après trente minutes, il a renflé une nouvelle odeur. Ce n’est pas les légumes pourris et ce n’est pas le bois de pins. « Oh là là, c’est des humains! » dit Brian. Puis Brian entend un cri aigue et des pieds qui courent. Brian continue d’essayer de s’échapper de la grande poubelle. Dix minutes plus tard, l’odeur des humains retourne. Brian éprouve un malaise tranchant sur son corps. Puis, Brian tombe dans un sommeil profond. Dans son sommeil profond, Brian rêve d’une personne qui porte des vêtements verts et qui coupe la grande poubelle avec une tronçonneuse bruyante. Puis, Brian rêve qu’il a été mis sur un pick-up rouillé et conduit pendant longtemps. Quand Brian se réveille, il est dans son territoire, dans le bois. Cette nuit là, Brian décide de ne jamais retourner à la vieille remise et de ne pas laisser son nez causer tellement de problèmes. À partir de maintenant, Brian se préparera pour hiberner dans son territoire. « Les humains sont très effrayants pour moi! » dit Brian, et il commence à chercher pour sa nourriture dans son bois sûr.

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FLOCONS

Immaculate Conception TEACHER: Giovanna Giuliano

SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Maurice Feltrin UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

STEPHANIE ROMEO

Unique, blanc, beau L’hiver en Ontario Chaque flocon est différent Heureux, passionnant, joyeux J’aime attraper les flocons sur ma langue

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LA POMME BLEUE

St. Agnes TEACHER: Renée Wills SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Karen Todd Bustamante UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

HANNAH REMPEL

(Dring! Dring! Dring!) Jane:

Bonjour Mary!

Mary:

Oh salut Jane. Comment vas-tu?

Jane:

Bien merci. Je te parle parce que je veux savoir si tu peux aller voir un film avec moi?

Mary:

J’aime regarder des films. Laisse-moi demander à ma mère si je peux voir un film. (À sa mère) Maman, est-ce que je peux voir un film avec Jane? S’il vous plait!

Maman de Mary:

Je suppose que tu peux aller mais je ne peux pas te conduire au cinéma. Est-ce que la mère de Jane peut vous conduire?

Mary:

Laisse-moi demander à Jane. (À Jane) Bonjour Jane, ma mère ne peut pas conduire, est-ce que ta mère peut conduire?

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Jane:

Bien sur! Je vais demander, est-ce que tu veux inviter Anna et nous rencontrons à ma maison à 2 heures?

Mary:

J’aime Anna, je veux parler à Anna, et voir si elle peut venir.

Jane:

Au Revoir!

(Dring! Dring! Dring!) Mary:

Bonjour Anna, c’est Mary.

Anna:

Bonjour Mary.

Mary:

Je téléphone parce que Jane et moi, nous avons besoin de savoir si tu peux voir un film avec nous?

Anna:

J’aime les films, je peux demander à ma mère si je peux aller.

Mary:

Parfait!

Anna:

Une minute, je vais demander à ma mère. (À sa mère) Maman, est-ce que je peux voir un film avec Mary et Jane?

Maman d’Anna:

Tu as beaucoup de devoirs Anna, mais tu peux aller.

Anna:

Oh merci Maman, merci! Je vais dire à Mary, elle va être très heureuse. (À Mary) Mary? Ma maman dit que je peux aller, ça va être un grand amusement.

Mary:

Super! Je vais parler à Jane, nous allons à sa maison vers 2 heures. À plus tard alors.

Anna:

Au plaisir.

(Dring! Dring! Dring!)

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Mary:

Bonjour Jane c’est Mary encore. Anna peut venir, elle arrive à ta maison à 2 heures.

Jane:

Bien! Je peux te rencontrer dans mon balcon, nous pouvons attendre dans le balcon pour Anna et puis ma maman peut nous conduire.

Mary:

Je ne peux pas attendre. Au revoir!

Jane:

Au revoir!

(Deux heures plus tard) Jane:

Oh bonjour Mary, je suis heureuse de te voir! Anna n’arrive pas.

Mary:

C’est bien, nous pouvons aller attendre dans ton balcon.

Anna:

Salut Jane, Mary! Je suis excitée de voir un film.

Mary:

Moi aussi.

Jane:

Sommes-nous prêtes à partir?

Anna:

Oui.

Mary:

Allons-y!

Jane:

MAMAN!

Maman de Jane:

Partons!

(Au Cinéma) Mary:

Il y a beaucoup de personnes!

Maman de Jane:

Je dois partir maintenant. Je peux chercher les filles à 4 :30. Au revoir!

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Jane:

Au revoir, Maman.

Anna:

Je suis très super excitée.

Mary:

Moi aussi!

Jane:

Je peux aller acheter les billets, toi et Anna peuvent acheter de la nourriture.

Anna:

Quelle nourriture est-ce que tu veux?

Mary:

POPCORN.

Jane:

Et soda, merci.

Mary:

Ok nous pouvons aller maintenant, Anna.

Anna:

Au revoir Jane.

Jane:

A bientôt!

Mary:

Je peux acheter le popcorn au snack-bar. Tu peux acheter le soda.

Anna:

Bien!

Mary:

Bonjour.

L’employé:

Salut, qu’est ce que tu veux aujourd’hui?

Mary:

Je veux… un grand popcorn avec beaucoup de beurre!

(Deux minutes plus tard) L’employé:

Un grand popcorn avec beaucoup de beurre pour toi, madame.

Mary:

Merci!

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L’employé:

Il n’y en a pas.

Anna:

Bonjour, je peux avoir un grand soda?

L’employé:

Quelle boisson?

Anna:

Coca-cola s’il vous plait.

L’employé:

Et une paille?

Anna:

Trois!

L’employé:

Bien sûr, merci.

Anna:

Au revoir.

L’employé:

Au revoir.

Anna:

Maintenant, je dois trouver Mary et Jane.

Jane:

Bonjour! Est-ce que je peux avoir trois billets pour « La Pomme Bleue »?

L’employé:

Oui, oui. Trois billets pour « La Pomme Bleue ».

Jane:

Merci.

L’employé:

Bon film!

Mary:

Où sont Jane et Anna, j’espère qu’elles ne sont pas perdues.

Anna:

Oh Jane et Mary ne sont pas ici! Je dois aller à la sécurité!

Sécurité:

Bonjour madame, comment ça va?

Anna:

Bien, mais je ne trouve pas mes amies. J’ai très peur.

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Sécurité:

C’est ok.

Anna:

Merci.

Sécurité:

Je peux demander à un des employés d’annoncer dans le cinéma. Qui sont tes amies?

Anna:

Jane et Mary.

Mary:

Je ne veux pas que Jane et Anna me trouvent. (Munch munch munch) Ce popcorn avec beaucoup de beurre est délicieux.

Jane:

Je ne crois pas, je dois trouver Anna et Mary parce que le film commence en 15 minutes. J’espère qu’Anna ou Mary va à la sécurité. Je dois les chercher.

L’employé:

Bonjour.

Jane:

Salut, avez-vous trouvé deux jeunes filles?

L’employé:

Oui, j’ai vu l’un qui est allé à droite, l’autre à gauche.

Jane:

Merci.

Sécurité:

Permettez-moi de demander, mais peux tu faire une annonce pour moi?

Travailleur:

Oui, oui. Qu’est ce que tu veux que j’annonce?

Anna:

Est-ce que deux jeunes filles nommées Jane et Mary peuvent aller au snack-bar?

Travailleur:

Certain! Bonjour à toutes les personnes dans le cinéma! Est-ce que deux jeunes filles nommées Jane et Mary peuvent aller au snack-bar? Merci et bonne journée.

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Anna:

Merci monsieur!

(Deux minutes plus tard) Jane:

Hourra Anna.

Mary:

Oh c’est Anna, super! Je suis venue avec Jane et Anna.

Anna:

Je suis très heureuse, nous sommes ensemble.

Jane:

Le film commence en cinq minutes.

Mary:

Nous sommes pressés.

Jane:

Bonjour, nous avons trois billets pour « La Pomme Bleue ».

Travailleur:

C’est le sixième théâtre à droite. Bon film!

Anna:

Merci.

Mary:

Je suis très excitée!

(Une heure et trente minutes plus tard) Jane:

J’adore le film, il est extraordinaire.

Anna:

Il est mon film favori.

Jane:

Ma maman nous attend, nous devons aller trouver ma maman.

Mary:

J’espère qu’elle n’est pas perdue.

Anna:

ha! ha! ha! ha!

Jane:

Bonjour Maman.

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Maman de Jane:

Comment était le film, les filles?

Mary:

Fantastique!

Anna:

J’aime le film.

Jane:

Oui, il est SUPER!

(Dans l’auto) Mary:

Nous devons aller voir un film le week-end prochain.

Jane:

Oui, oui, pouvons-nous, Maman?

Maman de Jane:

Si vous voulez.

Jane:

Merci!

Anna:

Yé!

Mary:

Yahoo!

La Fin

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PRIÈRE POUR HAÏTI

St. Monica TEACHER: Sophie Farag SCHOOL:

Elementary Grades 7 and 8 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Frances Welsh UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

S H A E - LY N N C H U N G

Au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint Esprit. Amen. Cher Jésus, Les gens d’Haïti ont souffert une perte terrible. Le tremblement de terre a détruit les vies des gens. Je vous demande au nom de Jésus d’aider les familles en Haïti. S’il vous plait est-ce que vous pouvez donner aux familles l’espoir, la foi, et le courage de réagir à ce problème difficile. Donnez-leur l’abri, la protection, et la nourriture. Rappelez les gens dans les autres pays de faire un don pour aider les gens d’Haïti. S’il vous plaît aidez les personnes à comprendre l’importance d’aider Haïti à construire leur pays après la catastrophe que le tremblement de terre a causé. J’espère que tous les familles en Haïti reçoivent beaucoup de soutien. Merci beaucoup. Amen. Au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint Esprit. Amen.

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U N J O U R DA N S L A V I E D ’ AC E

Loretta Abbey TEACHER: Erminia Tonelli SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Marcel Cigna UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal by

J O C E LY N E B E E L E N

onjour. Je m’appelle Ace et je suis un chien. Nous, les chiens, avons une vie très dure. On mange, on dort, et on cherche les ballons. Comme vous pouvez voir, nos vies sont très difficiles. Maintenant, je vais vous présenter un jour régulier dans ma vie. Je me réveille à six heures trente chaque matin et je me promène. Après un sommeil très long, j’ai hâte de sortir dehors. Je m’assieds à côté de la porte et j’attends avec impatience. Quelques-uns de mes amis disent que leur maîtres les emmènent promener, c’est absurde! Nos maîtres ne nous promènent pas, c’est nous qui les promènent. Le moment où mon maître ouvre la porte, je saute dehors et il traine derrière moi. Je vois que mon père humain s’approche à notre voiture, et immédiatement, je sais que nous irons au parc. Dans la voiture, je me rends confortable sur la place en arrière, et la prochaine chose que j’aperçois, est que nous nous trouvons à un parc dont je n’ai jamais visité. Ce jour commence à devenir un peu bizarre. Quand nous arrivons à ce parc inconnu, je ne sais pas ce que je dois faire. Dois-je mouiller les herbes? Et, est-ce que mes maîtres veulent que je chasse le ballon? Voilà quelque chose que les êtres humains ne comprennent pas! Nous n’aimons pas chercher les ballons. Mon maître lance le ballon, je rapporte le ballon de nouveau…tout cela c’est très ennuyant. Je ne vais pas aux toilettes comme mes propriétaires espèrent. J’aimerais attendre jusqu’au moment où je reviendrai sur mon terrain.

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Quand nous arrivons chez nous, je gémis à la porte de notre maison. J’ai absolument besoin d’aller aux toilettes. Quel désastre! J’ai laissé ma marque par terre! Je trottine à mon lit avant que mon maître le découvre. Ce n’est pas ma faute que je ne peux pas attendre pour de longues périodes sans aller à la salle de bain. Maintenant, on m’appelle. Zut! Ce jour devient de plus en plus mauvais, j’espère que cette journée s’améliora. Les humains me trouvent sous le bureau et ils me ferment dans ma cage. Après cinq minutes, j’entends quelqu’un crier « Ace, ACE! Viens ici pour prendre ton bain! » Oh non! C’est le temps du bain redouté. Mon maître s’approche. JE NE VEUX PAS PRENDRE UN BAIN! Il n’y a aucune possibilité de m’enfuir. Puisque je suis un chien, je dois prendre mon bain à l’extérieur. Mon maître me traîne dehors, dans la neige. Oui, c’est l’hiver et il fait froid. Maintenant, je suis tout mouillé dans la neige. Les bouts de mes cheveux commencent à se geler. Lorsque je rentre chez moi, on me donne un biscuit délicieux. Après trois secondes, le biscuit est disparu. Je suis dehors une autre fois, mais maintenant je ne suis pas mouillé. Je me sens très doux, comme du satin. Je me promène dans mon jardin et je veux faire-ÉCUREUIL! Oh non, l’écureuil part toute de suite. Je ne me souviens plus de ce dont je parlais avant. Hhmm…Oh! Je me souviens. Reconnais-tu les sentiments de l’amour? Je connais une chienne qui s’appelle Cindy. Je l’adore, et je pense qu’elle m’adore aussi! Elle me regarde avec les yeux amoureux. Je dois développer la confiance de lui demandé de sortir avec moi. Là-voila maintenant, je peux la voir à l’autre côté de la rue. « Bonjour Cindy! » « Bonjour Ace. » « J’aimerais vous demander quelque chose. Voudriez-vous partager des biscuits chez moi? Nous pourrions surveiller mes maîtres parce qu’ils font des choses très amusantes de temps en temps. » « Mais oui! » « D’accord. Au revoir. » « À demain. » Aujourd’hui était un jour extraordinaire. J’ai un rendez-vous demain avec une chienne que j’aime beaucoup. Penses-tu qu’elle m’aime? Il faut que je parte maintenant parce que j’ai beaucoup à faire. Je dois brosser mes dents, peigner mes cheveux, nettoyer la maison, et acheter des biscuits! C’est beaucoup! Souhaite-moi de la chance et merci pour cette journée très amusante!

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LE SOLO

St. Michael TEACHER: Lyne Gratton SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Derek Thain UNIT: Eastern Ontario UNIT PRESIDENT: Barb Dobrowolski by

G A B R I E L TA M - P O U D R I E R

Les lumières intenses éclairent son visage Une goutte de sueur coule sur sa joue Le temps semble arrêté comme un trou dans l’espace Chaque moment de sa vie apparaît devant lui Il jette un coup d’œil sur les spectateurs Il semble n’y avoir personne Mais en regardant encore une fois Il remarque deux mille visages fixés sur lui Une sensation de nausée envahit son corps Accompagnée de sensations de fierté, De joie, de confusion, et d’impatience L’engourdissement se propage Les prochains pas vers le piano Ressemblant mille kilomètres Arrivée à sa destination Il reconnaît le confort de son instrument

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Il s’assoit, et regarde la surface noire et blanche Il commande l’attention de tout le monde La salle comblée devient tellement silencieuse Que ses oreilles lui fait mal Alors il joue la première note Pour remplir l’espace vacante de son La mélodie perce l’air Comme l’eau fend le diamant Son esprit se promène à travers l’univers Mais son corps est emprisonné sur terre Autant que la situation est terrifiante Il veut qu’elle dure une éternité Avec soulagement Il frappe la dernière note Le morceau est fini Mais il ne veut pas que la fin soit sentie Il souhaite reculer le temps Il cache un visage mélancolique Derrière une grimace Un énorme applaudissement résonne à travers la salle Il se tient debout et absorbe la nouvelle gloire Il réalise que ce n’est pas si grave Car tout ce qui existe se termine un jour

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L’ A N 2 0 5 0

St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: Gino Marcuzzi

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Matthew Kavanagh UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

E U N N A J U N G A N D A LYA N N A H K A S S A M

Narrateur:

Sarah et Jason, deux meilleurs amis, vont au ROM. Les deux amis sont aventureux et courageux.

Jason:

Oh mon dieu! Je suis très fatigué d’écouter le guide.

Sarah:

Oui! Oui! Je vais m’endormir.

(Elle ronfle.) Ralph (le guide):

Il est interdit d’entrer parce que c’est dangereux.

Jason:

Allons-y!

Sarah:

C’est une bonne idée.

(Ralph continue le tour guidé mais ne réalise pas que Sarah et Jason vont dans la chambre. Sarah et Jason ouvrent la porte et il fait noir, ainsi ils tombent sur le fil. Soudain, il y a de différentes lumières brillantes.) Jason:

Qu’est ce que c’est?

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Sarah:

Je ne sais pas.

Jason:

Regarde! C’est un bouton rouge qui dit « Poussez ».

Sarah:

Pousse-le.

Jason:

Un, deux, trois…On y va!

Narrateur:

Cinq minutes plus tard, ils arrivent dans une nouvelle dimension et ils tombent par terre. Ils ont la tête qui tourne et ils regardent autour d’eux. Tout est fondé sur la technologie. Il y a des voitures volantes, des robots, des monorails. Il n’y a pas de neige, ni d’hiver, ni d’arbres. Tout le monde est très grand. Ils sont maintenant dans le futur.

Jason:

Où sommes-nous? Qu’est ce qui se passe?

Sarah:

Je ne sais pas. Je suis très confuse.

Jason:

Regarde-là! Je vois notre ami, Thomas Anderson.

Sarah:

Où?

Jason:

Là!

Sarah et Jason:

THOMAS! THOMAS! VIENS-ICI!

(Ils font signe des mains pour l’appeler.) Thomas:

Salut ! Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?

Sarah:

Tout ce que je peux me rappeler, c’est d’être entré dans le musée.

Thomas:

Dans le musée…?

Jason:

Oui! Il y a une machine électrique énorme.

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Thomas:

C’est ma machine que j’ai créé. J’ai fait cela pour passer le temps.

Sarah:

Alors, où sommes-nous?

Thomas:

C’est l’an 2050!

Jason:

Pourquoi est-ce ainsi pollué? Où sont tous les arbres? Pourquoi?

Thomas:

Calmez-vous! La ville est polluée parce que le monde est devenu trop dépendant sur la technologie. Il n’y a plus d’arbres parce qu’ils ont besoin de plus d’espace pour des compagnies. Je sais que ce monde a changé.

Sarah:

Oh mon dieu! Je ne crois pas que le monde est devenu comme ceci.

Jason:

Le monde va être ainsi dans les prochaines quarante années! J’ai peur.

Thomas:

Oui! Je pense que nous devons préserver nos ressources avant que ça se passe.

Narrateur:

Thomas ramène Sarah et Jason au musée. Quand ils retournent à la maison, ils veulent sauver la planète. Ils deviennent respectueux de l’environnement. Sarah et Jason disent à tout le monde de devenir des amis de l’environnement.

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U N H É R O S M AG N I F I Q U E

St. Robert TEACHER: Nancy Torresan SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 9 and 10 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Denis Zmak UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

A S H L E Y A H YO U N G S H I N

l était passionné, tendre, et motivé. Il était vraiment un homme remarquable. Il s’appelait Kyung Soo Shin, mon cher grand-père. Bien qu’il fût mort avant ma naissance, mon père me parle de ses réussites depuis mon enfance. Quand je serai grande, je voudrai aussi devenir un exemple extraordinaire à suivre, comme lui. Mon grand-père est né en Corée. Comme les autres Coréens en 1918, il était pauvre. Alors, pour gagner sa vie, il vendait des journaux et il travaillait dans un restaurant jusqu’à ce qu’il eût assez d’argent pour faire ses études en Chine. Quand il est retourné en Corée, il est devenu éducateur, parce qu’il aimait travailler avec les jeunes. En fait, il a eu une forte influence sur eux. Pour cette raison, quand la guerre coréenne a commencé, les soldats de la Corée du nord l’ont cherché. Par conséquent, mon grand-père a fuit à la campagne où il s’est fait passer pour un fermier. Un jour, un groupe de soldats est arrivé chez lui. Un soldat a placé un couteau devant le cou de ma grand-mère. Il lui a demandé, « Ou est ton mari ? » Probablement qu’elle avait froid dans le dos, mais elle a refusé de parler. Évidement, ma grand-mère avait le cœur au ventre et aussi, elle aimait tellement son mari. Après la guerre, quand il est retourné chez lui, Kyung Soo Shin est devenu journaliste à Inchon en Corée. Il a écrit des articles au sujet de son

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expérience pendant la guerre. Son écriture a inspiré beaucoup de gens qui avaient éprouvé les mêmes difficultés. J’espère que je pourrai réaliser mes rêves dans ma vie, comme mon grand-père a fait en gagnant assez d’argent pour faire ses études. Je vais étudier assidûment pour que je puisse devenir avocate. Je suis vraiment reconnaissante de ses réussites. Je l’aime beaucoup.

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LA PEUR BLEUE

SCHOOL:

St. Theresa of Lisieux TEACHER: C. Sabatini

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Short Story

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Matthew Kavanagh UNIT: York UNIT PRESIDENT: Liz Stuart by

L O R I - B E T H G O N C A LV E S

lle s’est rappelée d’un matin quand tout avait changé soudainement. Les lumières de la ville se sont éteintes, les sons de la circulation des voitures n’étaient plus entendues, et la hâte du matin de la population sur la rue était disparu. C’était un jour calme; le ciel d’un bleu connu avait tourné gris. Le grand nuage a couvert la seule lumière qu’il y avait. C’était la crainte de Dame Nature qui a pris sur les gens. Les désastres naturels étaient le sujet de la ville, dans chaque maison, sur chaque chaine de télévision, qui diffusait la même histoire. Toutes les villes contenaient plusieurs pièces sécuritaires, normalement dans les maisons. C’était à ce temps-là que la population de la ville se mettait dans leurs pièces sécuritaires. Les pièces sécuritaires contenaient des lampes, de la nourriture, du chauffage, et d’autres nécessités pendant cette expérience naturelle. Elle s’appelait Natalie, une jeune femme de 19 ans. Elle était mince et petite avec des grands yeux bleus. À l’âge de cinq ans, elle avait perdu sa mère et son père dans un accident de voiture. Elle a commencé à pleurer, en regardant des photos de sa naissance, avec des souvenirs de ses parents. Depuis l’âge dont elle avait perdu ses parents, elle est restée avec sa mamie, la mère de son père. Elle était le seule membre de sa famille qui restait dans la ville de Sephoriste. C’était à ce moment là qu’elle se rappelait qu’elle avait tout perdu.

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Le jour du commencement du désastre, tous les gens de Sephoriste étaient inquiétés. La population entière dans leurs pièces sécuritaires. La petite Natalie, effrayée, descendait avec sa mamie. Elles se sont assises sur un canapé, en attendant que ce désastre se termine. À ce moment-là, elle à demandé à sa mamie, « Qu’est ce qui se passe? On va être bien mamie? On va s’en sortir? » La mamie a répondu avec une inquiétude dans ses yeux, « Oui, ma princesse. » « Qu’allons nous faire? Comment puis-je t’aider mamie? » Avant que sa mamie puisse répondre, les tremblements étaient survenus dans la cuisine et les sons des plats qui se cassaient sont devenus plus forts. Il n’y avait plus de lumière dans la maison. Elle criait pour l’aide. « Quelqu’un aide-moi! Quelqu’un m’entend? » Mais il n’y avait personne, chaque personne dans leurs pièces, il y avait une peur bleue. Pauvre petite, alarmée. Il y avait que sa mamie et ellemême dans la grande maison. Toute la ville pensait : « Qu’est ce qu’elle avait, Dame Nature? » La mamie de Natalie a survécu beaucoup dans sa vie. Elle était déjà âgée. Une dame de soixante-quatre ans, une dame qui n’avait plus rien, sauf sa petite fille. Tout d’un coup, la mamie de la fille est tombée. « Mamie? Mamie? Qu’est ce qu’il y a? » En la regardant, « Je suis désolée ma petite. Je ne me sens pas bien. Il faut que tu t’en sortes toute seule. Je ne peux pas t’aider. Est-ce que tu peux me chercher de l’eau? » « Mais, Mamie, qu’est ce que tu as? Dit-moi! Oui, bien sur, je vais t’en chercher. » Natalie ne savait plus quoi faire, tellement jeune, en sachant qu’elle a peut-être perdu quelqu’un d’autre dans sa vie. La mamie s’est fermé les yeux. En retournant, Natalie courrait et a laissé tomber le verre qui était rempli d’eau. C’était là que Natalie s’est rendu compte que c’était la fin de l’histoire pour sa mamie. Natalie se rappelait de tout ce que sa mamie l’avait enseigné. Elle a pris un oreiller et l’a mis en dessous de la tête de sa mamie. Là était sa mamie, les yeux fermés. Elle a subi une attaque cardiaque. Natalie était toute seule sans personne. Elle s’est mise à genou et à demandé au Seigneur qu’il puisse l’aider, que ce désastre s’arrête. Elle pleurait et pleurait. Ce désastre ne terminera jamais.

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Soudainement, le bruit s’est arrêté. Natalie est sortie de la pièce sécuritaire. Elle a monté les escaliers avec impatience. En courant, elle passait les couloirs, en direction de la porte. En ouvrant la porte, elle a élevé sa tête lentement et elle a regardé l’extérieur de sa rue. Les arbres étaient tombés par terre, sur les voitures, et le terrain du voisin; les vieilles maisons étaient aussi tombées. Il n’y avait plus personne dans la ville. Elle frappait sur la porte des voisins, elle a essayé d’appeler les secours: personne. Personne ne l’avait répondu. Elle était seule, plus personne dans ce monde. Mais comment allait-t-elle s’en sortir? À ce moment, Natalie s’est assise par terre, en criant. La peur bleue continuait. Natalie, seule au monde, un nouveau commencement.

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LE CÔTÉ AMER DE LA VIE

St. Mary’s TEACHER: Cidalia Sousa SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Poem

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Patty Shea UNIT: Waterloo UNIT PRESIDENT: Mike Devoy by

B R A N D O N TO R R A L B A

Tous les moments dans une vie Sont pris par le monstre de l’envie Étrangler, le piège, capturant et suffoquant La seule chose dans le désert sont les retentis Épuisés par d’interminable saisi de jalousie Entre moi-même, mon cœur, mon esprit L’envie est l’esprit du diable. Avarice, avec moi-même et dans moi-même Première, deuxième, troisième, quatrième Chaque chance est sèche, pas de générosité Vouloir, la seule chose qu’est anathème Le débat constant pour casser le système L’avarice est les yeux du diable. Fierté, le mirage de l’importance N’est rien, avec grande circonstance C’est bien avec humilité Et meilleur pas d’abondance La fierté est l’âme du diable.

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La mort de la génération prochaine Dans le désert, c’est la haine Essayer, essayer, pour succès La paresse est les pieds du diable. Tentation, l’amour d’une autre Engouement, la chance pour un mauvais futur Le désir est le cœur du diable. La faim est fixée par satisfaction La gloutonnerie est l’estomac du diable. Courroux est la douleur du diable.

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ROMIETTE ET JULIO

Loretto Abbey TEACHER: Anthony Tommasane SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Play

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Marcel Cigna UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal by

K E LT I E C H A N - T S I A P - S I O N G A N D M I R I A M H Y G I N U S

SCÈNE 1: (Petite ville en Ontario. Maison où une fête se déroule et ça bouge!) Romiette :

Je me demande qui va se présenter ce soir. J’espère de pouvoir rencontrer au moins un beau gars. Ça fait déjà trois jours que je suis sans petit copain! C’est presqu’une éternité!

Tibaulta:

Tu es comique, Romiette. Moi j’espère que les gars de l’Académie Montague ne viennent pas sans êtres invités, comme l’année passée! C’était un désastre qui a terminé avec beaucoup de blessures. Tu sais à quel point nos gars les détestent. Ils se battent tout le temps!

Jean:

J’ai entendu dire que lors de leur dernier affrontement, les policiers ont dû intervenir et ont saisi une douzaine de couteaux! Apparemment, quelqu’un avait aussi un fusil!

Tibaulta:

Je crois que ce serait mieux s’ils ne se rencontraient pas ce soir.

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(Julio arrive avec ses amis, il est déguisé en costume de diable. Romiette le remarque.) Romiette:

C’est qui ce gars en costume de diable? Il semble à mon goût. Je vais aller lui parler! Souhaite-moi la chance!

Tibaulta:

Bonne chance! Fais attention!

Romiette (à Julio) : Je ne t’ai jamais vu par ici. T’es qui, toi? Julio:

Shhh…cesse de parler. Dansons!

(Julio et Romiette dansent ensemble et tombent en amour.) Romiette:

Quittons cette fête et allons-y chez moi. Nous pourrions apprendre à nous connaître d’avantage.

(Ils quittent la fête et se rendent chez Romiette.)

SCÈNE 2: (Escaliers de secours, derrière l’appartement de Romiette) Julio :

C’est là que tu habites?

Romiette:

Oui. Alors vas-tu enlever ton masque afin que je peux te voir?

Julio:

Pas encore. Pourquoi ruiner le mystère? Tu sais, tes yeux brillent comme des étoiles. Ton sourire fait fondre mon cœur. Tu es belle, ma chérie. Trop belle.

Romiette:

Je t’aime. Malgré tout, je t’aime. Je t’aimerai pour toujours!

Julio:

Tu me promets, Romiette? Malgré tout?

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Romiette:

Oui, je te promets que je t’aimerai pour toujours! Maintenant, enlève ce masque!

(Julio enlève le masque et révèle sa figure.) Romiette:

Ce n’est pas vrai! Tu es Julio? Le leader des Montagues?!

Julio:

Oui. Mais tu m’as promis, Romiette, que tu m’aimerais pour toujours!

Romiette:

Ah oui. D’accord, Julio. Je t’aimerais pour toujours!

Julio:

Ah, je suis rassuré. Je t’aime ma chère. Je veux te marier!

Romiette:

Oui, oui, d’accord, Julio. Je te rencontre demain à l’église! (La mère de Romiette appelle sa fille.) Ah non! Ma mère. Personne ne peut apprendre au sujet de notre amour tout de suite. Je monte les escaliers. Toi, pars chez toi mon cher Julio. Je t’aime. À demain!

Julio:

Oh, que mon cœur bat fort. Je ne peux pas attendre jusqu’à demain pour te voir, ma chère.

SCÈNE 3: (Romiette attend Julio devant l’église.) Romiette:

Tu es en retard! Le prêtre nous attend!

Julio:

Pardonne-moi, ma chère. Je devais distraire mes amis!

Romiette:

Bon, d’accord. Allons-y. Rentrons.

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(Ils entrent dans le bureau du Père Laurentien.) Père Laurentien:

Bienvenue à la paroisse St-Louis de Paris, les jeunes. En quoi puis-je vous être utile?

Julio:

Merci, Père. Nous désirons nous marier, Romiette et moi.

Père Laurentien:

Eh bien, quel âge avez-vous, les jeunes?

Romiette:

Moi, j’ai quinze ans. Je crois que Julio a dix-sept ans. C’est vrai, mon chéri?

Julio:

Oui, ma chère. Comme nous nous connaissons bien!

Père Laurentien:

Je crois que vous êtes un peu trop jeunes pour le mariage. Parlez-moi à propos de votre relation. Comment est-ce que vous vous êtes rencontrés?

Julio:

Tout a commencé le soir de l’Halloween. On a dansé ensemble et cela a été le coup de foudre. C’est après ça que j’ai appris qu’il était Julio, de l’Académie Montague, mon école ennemie. Mais je l’avais promis que je l’aimerais pour toujours. Alors, nous voilà!

Romiette:

Je savais qu’elle était de l’École Secondaire Capulet mais ça ne me dérangeais pas. J’étais trop ébloui par sa beauté.

Père Laurentien:

Ah, je vois. Selon moi, je crois que vous êtes un peu trop jeunes pour vous marier. Je vous conseille de ralentir les choses. Vous devrez avoir des autres expériences avant de faire quelque chose que vous allez regretter!

Julio:

Alors vous n’allez pas nous marier! Partons Romiette! Ne gaspillons pas notre temps ici!

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Romiette:

D’accord. Au revoir, Père. Merci pour votre temps.

(Ils quittent l’église et se tiennent debout devant l’arrêt d’autobus.) Julio:

Qu’allons-nous faire maintenant?

Romiette:

Regarde l’affiche!

« Mariage rapide pour $300! Appelez le 1-800-MARIAGES55 » Julio:

Bonne idée! Combien d’argent as-tu?

Romiette:

Je n’ai que $299. Je voulais m’acheter une paire de souliers au centre d’achats aujourd’hui.

Julio:

Parfait! J’ais $1! Allons-nous marier, chérie!

(Ils font un coup de fil, se rendent au centre de mariages rapides et se marient officiellement.)

SCÈNE 4: (Dans le stationnement, les amis de Romiette et Julio se rencontrent.) Ben volio:

Regardez, les gars, ce sont les misérables de l’École Capulet! Ha ha!

Mercucci:

Oui, on doit les aider, non? (Éclats de rire) On doit les rendre contents!

(Il donne un coup de poing à Jean, Jean lui donne un coup de pied. Tout le monde commence à se battre.) Tibaulta:

Eh, Mercucci!! Viens-ici, si tu es courageux!

(Mercucci y va, et Tibaulta le poignarde. Mercucci meurt. Les gens de l’Académie Montague s’enfuient. Julio arrive.)

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Julio:

Mercucci!! Noooon!! Qui a fait ça?! Qui?! Dis-moi!! Dis-moi!!

(Mais Mercucci, qui est mort, ne répond pas. Julio voit Tibaulta avec son couteau.) Julio:

Toi!! C’est toi, mauvaise fille!! Je te hais!! Je te hais!

(Il court vers elle, et lui donne un coup de poing violent. Elle, étant délicate, tombe à terre, son crâne se fend en deux et elle meurt.) Julio:

Oh non, qu’est-ce que j’ai fait?! Je suis un meurtrier!! Je dois quitter cette ville… Je vais apporter Romiette avec moi car sens elle, je mourrais sans doute!

SCÈNE 5: (Motel à Toronto, chambre à coucher. Il y a des affiches des gens célèbres, y compris une de Heath Ledger.) Julio:

Ici, ma chère Romiette, on sera sauf.

Romiette:

Correction: tu seras sauf. Moi je n’ai rien fait. Hi, hi!

Julio:

Oui, c’est correct. Ah, je suis très fatigué!

Romiette:

Peut-être c’est parce que tu as tué ma chère cousine?

Julio:

C’est une possibilité. Tu n’es pas fâché, chérie?

Romiette:

Oh, pas du tout. Elle était seulement ma meilleure amie. Hi hi!

Julio:

Donc, couchons-nous.

(Il éteint la lumière et commence à ronfler.)

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Romiette (chuchoté):Je ne peux pas dormir. Je vais prendre mes somnifères. Ah, que je déteste Julio! (Elle avale les pilules, et s’endort immédiatement.) (Le matin prochain) Julio:

Ah! J’ai bien dormi!! Et toi, chérie?

(Romiette ne répond pas. Elle est immobile. Julio la secoue. Elle ne bouge pas.) Julio:

Romiette! Romiette! Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé? (Il voit les somnifères.) Elle a eu trop de médecine, la chérie! Mais pourquoi? Est-ce parce que cette vie n’était plus supportable? Ou parce qu’elle m’aimait trop? POURQUOI?!

(Dans un acte de désespoir, il fait une overdose aussi, en regardant l’affiche de Heath Ledger.) Julio:

Je vais me suicider, comme toi, Heath! (Il meurt.)

(Trois minutes plus tard: Romiette rentre de la salle de bain avec des bouchons anti bruit dans ses oreilles. Elle voit le cadavre de Julio.) Romiette:

Eh bien, c’était plus facile que je pensais! Il a vraiment cru que ce ballot de vêtements était moi! Hi, hi! Pauvre Julio! Je vais téléphoner à la police pour leur informer de son suicide. Oh là là! Je suis une veuve à l’âge de quinze ans!

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SCÈNE 6: (Dans le cimetière, aux funérailles de Julio. Les membres de sa famille et ses amis pleurent. Romiette est aussi présente.) Mère de Julio:

Bonjour, Romiette.

Romiette:

Bonjour. (Elle sanglote.)

Mère de Julio:

Amusez-vous avec l’assurance de vie de mon fils? Ah, comme je te déteste!

Romiette:

Ah, comme vous êtes cruelle! (Elle sanglote encore.)

(Le cercueil est enterré. Tout le monde retourne chez eux.) Narrateur:

L’histoire tragique de cet amour est terminée. Les amoureux sont séparés. Romiette reste célibataire jusqu’à la prochaine fête. Elle a oublié Romeo avec un mouvement de la tête. Il n’y avait jamais une fille qui a fait plus de maux que Romiette a fait à son pauvre Romeo!

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BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME ET BOURGEOIS GENTLEMAN

Loretto Abbey TEACHER: Marcel Cigna

SCHOOL:

Secondary Grades 11 and 12 Nonfiction

SCHOOL STAFF REPRESENTATIVE:

Marcel Cigna UNIT: Toronto Secondary UNIT PRESIDENT: René Jansen in de Wal by

M-E. KAMIE ARABIAN

e bourgeois gentilhomme et Le bourgeois gentleman sont deux livres très similaires, mais aussi très différents. Ce sont deux pièces assez semblables, mais aussi individuellement distinctes. Cette composition va démontrer les différences et les indéniables similarités qu'on retrouve dans ces deux pièces de théâtre. Premièrement, on a une comparaison brève des deux auteurs de ces comédies, Molière et Antonine Maillet. Ensuite, on a une analyse des temps durant lesquels ces livres ont été écrits et des personnages créés par chaque auteur. Finalement, on a un bref compte rendu des histoires et comment elles se comparent. Jean Baptiste Poquelin, aussi connu comme « Molière » est l’auteur original de Le bourgeois gentilhomme. II est né en France, à Paris, en 1622 et a été considéré un des plus grands maîtres de la comédie en ce qui concerne la littérature occidentale. Ses pièces de théâtre les plus célèbres sont: Le misanthrope, L'école des femmes, Tartuffe ou L'Imposteur, L'avare, et bien sur, Le bourgeois gentilhomme. D'autre part, Antonine Maillet est l'auteure de l'adaptation de Le bourgeois gentilhomme qu'elle va appeler Le bourgeois gentleman. Née au Nouveau-Brunswick en 1929, elle a une perspective de la vie complètement différente que celle de Molière. Elle est une auteure acadienne qui a appris son métier comme raconteuse d'histoire de sa parenté pionnière, du folklore rural, des artistes du village et pendant les rencontres électorales. La plupart du temps Maillet est

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reconnue pour son écriture de Lex Cracceux, Gapi, Mariaagelas, Argot la folle et Pélagie la charrette. Enfin, même si ces deux auteurs ont des biographies très différentes, leur amour du théâtre les unit. Ces deux pièces ont été écrites à des périodes différentes. Le bourgeois gentilhomme au dix-septième siècle tandis que Le bourgeois gentleman a été écrit au vingtième siècle. Pendant le dix-septième siècle, les études étaient plus concentrées dans les domaines des arts. Donc en parallèle, dans la pièce de Molière, il y a beaucoup de maîtres d'arts. Par exemple, les maîtres d’art, de danse et de philosophie sont des personnages importants à l’intrigue de la pièce. Cependant, au vingtième siècle, les choix des études changent et les leçons des maîtres changent. Dans Le bourgeois gentleman, les maîtres enseignent l’éducation physique et les langues. D'ailleurs, Molière a été influencé par les événements de son temps. Le roi Louis XIV voulut faire un voyage à Chambord pour décompresser en faisant de la chasse et il voulut donner à sa cour un ballet. Comme l'idée des Turcs, qui venaient fréquenter Paris, il crut qu'il serait bien de les faire apparaître sur la scène. Donc en novembre 1669, Louis XIV s'est présenté dans les plus grands fastes. Par exemple, « Son brocart d'or était tellement couvert de diamants qu'il semblait entouré de lumière et son chapeau était aussi orné d'un bouquet de plumes magnifiques ». À la réception, le Turc, d'un ton glacial et austère a dit que «lorsque le Grand Seigneur se montrait au peuple, son cheval était plus richement orné que l'habit qu'il venait de voir. » Donc, voilà l'inspiration de Molière en décidant d'ajouter «la turquerie » dans sa pièce. À son tour, Maillet a été inspiré par Molière d'écrire une version plus moderne. Les personnages dans ces deux livres sont très similaires, mais en même temps très différents. Premièrement, il y a un petit changement de nom. Monsieur Jourdain devient Monsieur Bourgeois dans la pièce de Maillet. Essentiellement, ces deux personnages ont la même personnalité. Ces deux messieurs sont très stupides et obtus. Ils ne comprennent pas que 1'intégrité est plus importante que tout 1'argent du monde. Similairement, Madame Jourdain devient Mme Bourgeois dans la pièce de Maillet. Ces deux personnages ont le même caractère. Elles ont, toutes les deux, leurs pieds sur terre et l'argent ne les aient pas corrompus. Elles sont des dames honorables et très intelligentes, elles sont très attachées aux valeurs. Nicole, dans Molière et la Joséphine de Maillet sont toutes les deux très comiques. Elles se moquent toujours du pauvre Bourgeois, de ses costumes et de ses airs extravagants. Même si elles sont les servantes, la plupart du temps, Joséphine et Nicole sont très audacieuses et ne font pas les tâches que M.

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Bourgeois/Jourdain leur revendique. Lucile devient Lucille et elle est toujours amoureuse de quelqu'un que son père n'accepte pas. Pareillement, Dorante, le vilain dans Le bourgeois gentilhomme devient Sir Harold Featherstonehaugh dans Le bourgeois gentleman. II est le même homme égoïste, méchant et escroc. Cependant, dans le théâtre de Molière il y a plusieurs autres personnages qui ne sont pas inclus dans la pièce d'Antonine Maillet. Dans Le bourgeois gentilhomme, l'amant de Lucile n'est pas un chauffeur, mais le fils d'un bourgeois appelé Cléonte. En plus, Cléonte a un valet du nom de Covielle qui est l'amant de la servante de M. Jourdain, Nicole. Néanmoins, les personnages dans la version de Molière sont beaucoup plus complexes et intelligents. Finalement, dans la comparaison des deux histoires, même si elles ont le même concept, Le bourgeois gentilhomme est beaucoup plus complexe. Molière a inclus beaucoup plus de personnages dans sa pièce et une intrigue plus compliquée. Par exemple, à la place d'avoir juste un seul amant, il a créé deux amants, l'un pour Lucile et un l'autre pour Nicole. La cérémonie turque a été une autre scène que Maillet n'a pas incluse dans son adaptation et ainsi j'ai cru que l'original Le bourgeois gentilhomme était beaucoup plus drôle que l'adaptation moderne. Aussi, les occupations des bourgeois différent: pendant que M. Bourgeois gagne sa fortune en fabriquant les claques, M. Jourdain gagne sa vie en vendant des tissus. Finalement, dans la pièce de Molière, M. Jourdain veut devenir royale comme les marquis. Cependant, dans Le bourgeois gentleman, M. Bourgeois veut être comme les riches de son temps, les Anglais. En conclusion, ces deux livres étaient un bon choix pour faire une comparaison. Ils avaient beaucoup de similarités, mais aussi des différences. En tout cas, les deux sont des pièces de théâtre impressionnantes et très amusantes.

Maillet, Antonine. Le bourgeois gentleman. Montréal: Lémeac, 1992. Molière. Le bourgeois gentilhomme. Paris: Éditions Larousse, 2007.

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