CCSS.ELA-LITERACY.RL.11-12.1

It’s a Boy! “Congratulations, you have a new baby boy!” my child-development teacher said as she handed over the 10-pound bundle. Last year in my high school child-development class, each student had to take the “Think-It-Over” baby home for a night to get a taste of parenthood. Even before I received the baby, I knew I was not ready to be a parent as a senior in high school. I could still remember when my brother and sister were little and I would have to take care of them all the time.

Take Me to Casablanca My day in Africa was one I’ll not soon forget. I toured two major cities of Morocco—land of mystery, enticement, and enchantment. I was expecting belly dancers, snake charmers, and many exotic sights filled with color and intricate decoration. While I did see some of what I expected, the majority of what I saw was totally unexpected and will haunt me forever. As I boarded the ship that was to take me across the Mediterranean Sea to the northern shores of Morocco, I felt an array of mixed emotions. Mainly, I was excited.

My Greatest Instrument Some people express themselves through beautiful art; others are masters of the page and speak silently through writing. I, on the other hand, express myself with the greatest instrument I have, my voice. I make my living by speaking to groups large and small. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than public speaking, and my interest in public speaking began when I was quite young. At age eight I realized that I belonged in front of an audience.

Snapshots Most of the snapshots of my life are held in the photo albums of my mind. Some were captured by a camera, and those pictures I keep in a shoebox under my bed. I’m lucky to have “shoebox photos” of the earliest things I can remember. For example, three days after my third birthday, Katherine Emily arrived. I remember my dad taking me to see my new baby sister; we stopped at a gas station on the way to the hospital and bought my mom candy and a cola. That day, the camera caught the tiny smile only a big sister could have as she holds one of the best birthday presents ever.

H’s Hickory Chips I look at the old tin building; it seems to have been there since the beginning of time. Its strong posts and nonchalant slouch make me wonder if it will be rooted in the same place forever. As soon as I walk in, the strong, rustic smell of hickory wood assails me. It takes me back to my family’s last Fourth of July barbeque, when the hickory chips smoking the ribs gave off their thick aroma. I wait for my eyes to adjust in the dark, humid place, not taking a step until they do because of the ageless spider that could have made its home in my path.

The House on Medford Avenue I have lived in three places in my entire life. The first home I remember living in was mis abuelos house. I lived in the upper flat of their duplex until I was three years old. My brother was fifteen years old, and my sister was six years old. I am the youngest in my small family. We moved out of that house because mi abuela and my mother were not getting along very well. They argued constantly, screaming so loudly that the neighbor’s windows started to shake. When we left, we only moved 20 blocks away.

Huddling Together “Let’s kill ’em!” Bob exclaims as we walk toward the stadium. “I’d love to see Zach Thomas crush Thurman Thomas,” I reply. We are not brutal people; we are simply expressing our need to win at all costs. The Miami Dolphins are playing the Buffalo Bills, their most hated opponent. We had this game circled on the calendar since training camp began.

Adam’s Train of Ghosts Something happens inside of me when I listen to the music of the Counting Crows. Raw, uncensored emotion pours from the mouth of lead singer Adam Duritz.

Diary of Gaspard May 12, 1780 How can I go on living? My one and only child was taken away from me tonight. It started out as a calm and normal night. It never occurred to me that in only a few short hours I would lose my child, my world, my life. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew something was going to happen. I do not know why I sent my child outside. But as soon as he left, I heard horses. It sounded as if they had hit something. I ran out of the house as quickly as possible, but I was too late. My child was on the road, bleeding from the head. I ran to my child’s side.

My Interpretation of The Joy Luck Club Children, as they become adults, become more appreciative of their parents. In The Joy Luck Club, the attitudes of four daughters toward their mothers change as the girls mature and come to realize that their mothers aren’t so different after all. As children, the daughters in this book are ashamed of their mothers and don’t take them very seriously, dismissing them as quirky and odd. “I could never tell my father . . . How could I tell him my mother was crazy?” (p. 117).