Notice and Note

H/W - All classes - Make sure you come to class with something you want to discuss from your book club book. Tonight - you should be on the look on for Notice and Note signposts and their impact.

Introduction to Book clubs

H/W - All classes - Make sure you come to class with something you want to discuss from your book club book.

Book Club note taking sheet

If you miss class on Monday - Make sure you read this entire story BEFORE Tuesday's class.

Thirteen and Half By Rachel Viel

Lesson recap - How to interact with ANY book...Level 1

IMPORTANT - Please return classroom reading books that you have finished reading after the break.

Parts of Speech: Retake

Reading Challenge Oct - Dec

Text for Meaning and Craft - Retake


Have a great holiday. Make sure you keep up with your reading. New reading challenge coming after the break.

Conferences

H/W - Conferences slideshow MUST be completed for tomorrow. You will have a dry run through speaking about your growth with a classmate.

Tomorrow, those who wish to do so, can take a 'Parts of Speech' retake. You must show evidence of further studying before you do so. e.g.  screenshot of online practice, an image that helps you remember the parts of speech

Because Membean has been down, I am pushing the Membean test back to tomorrow (Tue)

Unit 1 - Retake - Option tomorrow

Memoir Student Samples 

Enjoy Nikhil's piece. What stands out? Comments appreciated

Alternative;y - Enjoy Liam's superb piece. Full of powerful reflection starting with the title itself!!!

Shatt  ered

I am, indeed, a person of resilience, is what I wish I could say. I’m susceptible to peoples hate, letting people induce suffering in me. I used to cry at the thought of “mean” names, baffled at what they meant. I often let people do wrong to me, leaving me with less than I originally had. I let people spread rumors about me, talk behind my back, and let people who I thought were “friends” leave me. People's insults and anger clouded my thought, clouded what I should do. I would try to bottle my emotions, pushing them far down, but I couldn’t. I was a glass vase, always being dropped. Scratch that. I wasn’t a glass vase, I am a glass vase, inside a box labeled, “fragile”. I would let people look me in the eyes and break me, drop the fragile glass I am. I try to stop that, I try and take control of myself, but I never can. I see the path I have gone through, to be the person I am, but whatever happens, I am always hurt. I am always broken. I had been broken, until I had to glue myself together.

I had walked down the hall, finding my locker number. Reaching into my backpack, I took out my folder and computer. My friend slumped over me, waiting for me to be ready. His friend was right behind him, staring at me. At the time, I was hesitant to join them, thinking that the kid peering over my friends shoulder, at me, would only bring something complex. Something that I wouldn’t like. But, oblivious, I joined them. I started walking to their class first. “How’s it?” he had said.

“Good.” I replied with a solid tone. He continued to talk to me, becoming louder. A stereotypical “gay” joke, which he thought was funny, was how he started off our conversation. I didn’t think much of it, passing it off as the “normal” middle school humor. His friend, still trailing behind, asked, “Aren’t you gay, Liam? Can you explain the joke to me?” When hearing that, I wasn’t hurt, but shocked. Back then, I was shocked that this would still follow me around. Shocked that people would still be so cruel. Shocked that people who said things like these, were just like the first. Everyone who followed reminded me of the first. Everyone that followed could never fill me up with as much melancholy as the first, but they still made my eyes water. But, the first person didn't just make my eyes water, but they made my eyes swell with tears. The first person, was a boy with chocolate brown skin from a basketball camp. The first was scary, merciless, but not hateful. Not hateful, but insecure, looking for a laugh. He acted so confident, so brave, and was the favorite of all. The favorite of all inside the basketball camp.

I had been told I was going to basketball camp from my dad, which I was reluctant to go to. It had been my first time overnight for many days without my parents. And being a 9 year old, I was frightened, you know? I had been standing in line, waiting for my turn in the drill. It was a simple lay up drill, just normal practice, nothing special. A tall, thin teen with chocolate skin, a couple of people front of me, spun around, turning towards me, and started talking to his friends. He looked around and immediately spotted my blonde hair. His eyes met mine, and “scanned” me. His eyes went from up, to down, noticing my posture and movements. His eyes jolted back up, back to my eyes. A dirty, malevolent grin danced across his face, which only grew larger.

His mouth opened, and and I had been scared to hear what came out.

He said, “You’re so gay, just look at yourself. You look like a girl, you sound like a girl, you basically are a girl! You hand hangs like this,” he said, his hand slung forward, “You are so ******* gay”

At the time, Broken, filled with pain, I took a deep breath. Having an uncanny susception to hurt, pain filled me.

When I was in that situation, I didn’t understand, I was filled with hurt. I didn’t understand that all he wanted to do was give himself a laugh. I should’ve known that he didn’t actually care about me enough to be mad with me or hateful towards me. Now that I look back at that moment, the pain inside of me was a jumble of confusion and shock, not actual hurt. But, I wasn’t mature enough to make an adult - like situation.

So, all I could muster to the head coach was, “Can I go to the bathroom?”

I ran to the bathroom, my feet pounding, my head hung low. When I reached the bathroom, I looked into the mirror, noticing my red eyes. Tears poured out of my eyes, almost as if a river sprung free, almost as if a dam had been destroyed, and all the water was gushing out. My 9 year old self couldn’t fathom what just happened. I had trouble understanding what gay even was! I was shocked, and surprised that someone waaaay older than me, would do this. This 15 year old had no care for what I felt, and only wanted to laugh at me, because he had nothing to laugh at. I walked out of the bathroom, and saw the head coach of the entire camp, and ran over to him. I told him everything.

The head coach brought me upstairs, to a sort of gym area. He had a talk with me, telling me what to do. He told me that I was walking a trail, one up a mountain, rough and rigid. I had to walk it, persevering through it. The mountain I had to climb was the insult thrown at me, a long hot walk. I had to get to the end, to walk past the issue. If I ended up walking past the problem, I would have closure, I would feel better, I would feel fulfilled.

He had told me stories, many of them, actually. But, the one that stuck with me was the story of him and his brother. One time he was making fun of his brother, teasing him for everything he did wrong. When his brother didn’t listen, and instead ignored him, he got pissed. So pissed in fact, that he would go make fun of his other brother because it made him laugh and made him feel in a strange way, “good”. He loved making fun of his brothers, but when they learned to ignore him, he hated it, and got mad. “Got it?” he had said. My tears stopped flowing out, and instead, they were contained. Instead of tears, I had formed a smile, not a joyous smile, but a smile ready for the future.

I was at the summit of my mountain adventure, just about to walk down it. The easy part. That’s what I had thought. Little did I know that walking down and getting past the problem was the hardest part. That finding “closure” which I didn’t know what was, was the hardest part. taking one more step forward, I got to the stairs. I slowly walked down, looking around me. The courts were silent, no one still playing. I walked out of the building, and walked to my room. On the way, I saw the guy who earlier had called me gay, called me a girl. He looked at me with disgust, and turned the other way, facing his friends. He turned around one more, and just stared at me. I did mind but, instead of focusing my energy on him, I walked past him, trying to be as emotionless as I could. His face turned into a red mess seeing me not react. At the time, I had still felt the pain, but I had tried to hide it. I had thought that I understood what I was supposed to do. What I didn’t know was that my perception was a mess of what it actually was. Thinking that I just had to not get sad. But, I realized that when he continued to press me, that I had to not just be emotionless, but I had to tell him to stop. “Stop! Okay?” I had said. Instead of swelling up with anger, his face settled. He looked at me, annoyed, and stopped. I realize now that I am a lot weaker than I was, It still shocks me by how strong I had been. I had thought that resilience was to cut off my emotions. But looking back at this moment, it’s quite the opposite. I embraced my emotions, I showed him that I wouldn’t let him take control of my emotions. I needed to learn from this, I needed to be like my past self. I needed to walk the road of resilience once more, without my fragile self cracking.

I had walked a road of resilience, the road I had journeyed through to get people to stop calling me names. Steve Goodier said “My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds. That in itself is an accomplishment...” I guess, in a sense, that surviving my wounds was an accomplishment, and it reminded me of how I learned about resilience, about how I had built up this resilient wall at that time, and that I let people just tear it down. People calling me names happened, and it would always happen, and all I could do was to try and ignore them, and leave the situation with a bigger smile on my face then when I came in. I had to be like the past strong me.

Smiling as bright as I could, smiling like my past self, I looked back at the guy behind me, and focused right on his eyes. “I am not gay. So, stop saying things like these, please.” He looked at me in disbelief, before a wash of red fell over his face. I walked into RLA, and sat down. I started to unpack my supplies, and unzipped my computer. My eyes swelled just a bit, and I bit my lip to stop the tears from falling out. All I could think was, thank god I had been called gay in basketball camp, thank god that I was given a lesson, thank god that I now know how to deal with hurt.