Writing	N=15    24%	Writing Invented spelling letter formation Text-based writing Language Experience writing performance historical writing assisted writing w think sheets Literary argument writing moves using sources text structure writing peer-reviewing writing mini-lesson, peer conf, revision argument tasks composition queer literacy
Words	N=13    21%	Morphological analysis Word forming with phonemes morphological awareness Word knowledge Vocabulary Vocabulary Vocabulary word identification oral vocabulary word learning morphemes and transfer vocabulary instruction word structure, morphology
Comprehension	N=8    13%	Differentiating for comprehension Comprehension Comprehension social studies Reading motivation and comprehension knowledge activation/comprehension reading comp strategies comprehension, vocab, morph, syntax comprehension content literacy
Books	N=6    10%	Mentor Texts leveled books Self-selected reading Muslim literature leveled text/ listen read discuss classroom library
Affect	N=6    10%	affective evaluation dialogical approach remedial curriculum remedial reading classroom spaces care in classrooms
Scaffolding	N=5   8%	scaffolded summer reading Scaffolding reading shared reading Rereading for Fluency, Word Work, and Guided Oral guided reading questions
Cognitive strategies	N=4    6%	Strategy Internet reading Rereading collaborative strategic reading Reading strategies
Language	N=3    5%	Standard lang privilege book clubs emergent bilingual mother tongue reading
Semiotic	N=2    3%	Semiotic landscape schooled literacy sign making

 

A Day at the Park

Blair Marie Hammett

Memior Response



               Ever since I can remember he was the one I looked up to. He could take chairs and blankets and turn them into amazaing tents. He could climb the tallest trees faster than anyone I knew. He could draw amazing pieces of artworks. He had the biggest and most caring heart of anyone that I knew. He was the kind of person I wanted to be when I grew up. Therefore, I made sure whatever he did, I was right behind him copying his every move. However, I shortly learned that there were just some things I couldn't do.

             My parents had recently filed for divorce and my dad was currently living with his parents. It was a hot summer day and my brother, Brad, my cousin, Marshall, and I were outside sitting on the grass. "It is so hot outside and there is nothing to do!," said marshall as he threw his arms up and fall back on the soft grass. Suddenly Brad's eyes lit up. "I have an idea! Let's go to the park. I'll go inside and convince my dad to take us." Brad was always good at convincing people to do things. After all, he once convinced me to trade him my dollar for his two quarters by telling me that the number 2 was bigger than the number 1.

            Minutes later, Brad came out of the hosue and behind him was my dad with his car keys. We all piled into the car and headed for the park. When we arrived, there weren't too many people around. Therefore, we got to have the whole playground to ourselves. We didn't have to worry about waiting for an empty swing or waiting for the slide. When we were done playing, Brad had the most brilliant idea, so I thought at the time. "Let's go walking in the creek and play in the water!"Marshall and I thought it was a good plan because after all it was very hot outside and the creek would cool us off. However, my dad didn't think the idea was very good but at the age of 8 no child ever listens to their parents.

            We took off our shoes and socks as fast as we could and jumped into the creek. While I was busy making the best mud pies ever, Brad and Marshall decided to leave me and walk futher up the creek. I tried to catch up with them but with every step I took, my feet kept sinking into the mud. I was trying to watch where I walked but the creek was too murky. I was almost caught up with them when I felt something sharp on the side of my foot. At first I thought it was just a stick that scratched my foot. Suddenly, I felt a sharp stinging pain. As I was lifting my foot up through the water, I saw blood, which I knew couldn't be good at all.

            Brad and Marshall quickly ran to where I was and helped my dad lift me out of the creek. There was a fire station nearby and instantly my dad thought to take me there. Marshall took his sock and wrapped it around my foot to try to stop the bleeding. We arrived at the fire station where the firemen tried to clean up the deep cut but unfortnately they told my dad that he would need to take me to the hospital because I was going to need stitches.

           On the way to the hospital, my dad called my mom and step-dad and told them to meet us at Lexington Hospital. I don't remember arriving at the hospital so much as I do actually getting the stitches. The doctors informed my parents and me that the cut was an inch deep and I would need four stitches. I laid back on the table and prepared myself for the pain that was to come. My mom covered my face so I couldn't see anything and with one deep breathe I felt the needle go through my skin. The pain was bearable. I had to be on crunches for two weeks.

           To this day, I still have a scar on the side of my right foot that sets as a reminder of the summer day.



My School

Walking through the hallways you see dancers stretching, students reciting monologues, and gorgeous sketches on the wall.  In the background you can hear people singing opera, instruments tuning, and a piano playing music from Swan Lake.  This is the Governor's School for the Arts, my high school.

In the cafeteria is Barbara, the main cook.  All the cereal you can imagine line the walls.  The courtyard is the most relaxing place to eat, with all your friends surrounding you on a summer day.  There is an amphitheater which has been often used for practicing monologues and plays when spring peaks around.

You can tell when it is performance time.  Every one in the school becomes stressed and serious, practicing day and night.  Once the performance ends, however, smiles fill each and every student (including the audience).  There is a certain passion at this school that is rare to find. 

Our get-away is the reedy river park.  Peeking out through the dance studio window, you can see all the "Govies" making their home in downtown Greenville.  Memories take up the park, restaurants, and streets of this downtown area.  Having this school is extremely special to me.  It makes sure every student can pursue their dream and make best friends while doing it. 

My First Hair Cut

Snip, snip, snip.  Maria, my best friend, had just gotten a haircut.  She was very excited; I was jealous.  May hair was so long, it touched my butt.  It always got in the way.  I wanted more than anything to have shorter hair like Maria.

                Just our luck! My mom had parent-teacher conferences, so Maria’s mom was watching my younger sister and me.  We scurried into the basement to assume out positions.  We climbed over couches and boxes to get to the perfect little nook to set up shop where no one could see us.  We made a sign for Maria’s salon on her chalkboard easel and set up couch cushions as Maria’s work station.  Maria was the four year old hair cutting genius, and I was her three year old client.  Now, since Maria knew what she was doing, she lifted my hair up and cut it really short underneath. 

                My hair looked beautiful…if you asked me.  We knew we had to hide the evidence, so we raided the family filing cabinets full of her dad’s research.  He has a super-secret office that we were not allowed to enter.  We didn’t care, we had to hide the hair!  We hid the hair and sighed because we were in the clear.  No one would ever notice my new do!

                Next up—the dog.  Jordy looked beautiful when Maria was done with him.  But that hair had to go, too.  We sprinted to the deepest, darkest corners of the basement to get rid of the evidence.  Maria’s basement had A LOT of stuff in it, so we found some wonderful hiding places.  We opened boxes and lifted carpet corners, anything we could get our hands on, to hide the hair.  No one would know what had happened if there wasn’t any evidence, right?

                Just as Ms. Margie, Maria’s mom, was wondering what we were up to Stephanie, my younger sister, took her place in the chair.  We didn’t get too far on her hair, but wow was my mom in for a treat!

                As we heard Ms. Margie coming down the stairs I made sure that I sat up super straight against the wall.  Obviously, no one would notice my shorter look if it was hidden by the wall.  Boy were we wrong!  Ms. Margie knew something was up right away.

                She was beyond mad!  And so was my mom.  “Tracy Nicole, you get in the car right now!!”  That’s how I knew my mom was mad; she used my middle name.  She marched me to the salon.  It smelled nice and clean and looked pretty, but I did NOT want to be there.  What was wrong with my hair? It looked perfect!  The nice hair cutting lady saved my “disastrous” hair…barely.  I looked like a little boy!  To save my hair, she had to cut it super short.  Man, oh man, was I mad.

                At three years old I cried over my hair for the first time.  However, it would certainly not end up being the last time tears were shed over a haircut.  As Maria and her family packed to move, they were finding Tracy and Jordy hair everywhere.  Four years later my mom received a present from Maria and her family… a baggy of my hair.

I learned a few valuable lessons that day: don’t let four year old cut your hair, and it’s just hair…it’ll grow back.

Kappa Kappa Gamma

               When I came to college, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  I went to the same school from seventh through twelfth grades with the same 36 people in all of my classes.  I had never been to a public school, let alone a public college.  I decided to sign up for sorority recruitment as a way to meet girls that were around my age, little did I know I was going to meet some of the best people I would ever meet in my lifetime.  

Recruitment was a struggle for me.  There were roughly 1700 freshman girls fighting to be a member of one of the nine sororities.  The days were long and the nights were short, full of anxiety because you did not know what houses were going to ask you back.  There were a lot of life lessons learned that week about everything happening for a reason, staying humble, and most importantly, being yourself.   

When it was finally Bid Day, every girl that made it through recruitment gathered on the Horseshoe where we received our bid cards. My Pi Chi lined us all up and had us put our hands behind our backs and close our eyes.  She placed our t-shirts and bid cards in our hands and counted to three; every girl in the group went silent. It felt like she was taking years to finally get to "three," but when the word came out of her mouth, there was a brief pause, and then mass chaos erupted. There were so many emotions on the Horseshoe that day; there were sad girls, mad girls, happy girls, and girls that were just glad that recruitment was finally over.  Words cannot explain how happy I was when I opened my eyes and saw that Kappa Kappa Gamma had invited me to become a new member in the Fall 2008 pledge class.  I felt a sense of joy, comfort, and relief wash over me as I ran to the 200+ girls that would soon become my sisters. 

Since joining Kappa, I have truly become the woman I always wanted to be.  Through the leadership positions that my sisters have elected me for, I have become more responsible and confident, and challenged myself in more ways than I can count.  I know that if I am ever having a bad day or just need to talk to someone, I just have to walk through those double doors on the huge front porch and there will be a sister willing to drop what she is doing to help me with whatever I am going through. The friends that I have made in Kappa truly are my sisters.  We share a ritual and a bond that have tied us together for the rest of our lives, and I couldn't ask for anything better.

Houdini

Houdini

He wakes up from a deep warm sleep all alone. Startled at first, but nothing is around him. His bright eyes slowly open to scan the room. He lets out a huge yawn; one that would make a giant exhausted, and then begins to stretch. Out goes an arm, then the other. His fingers open and stretch as far as possible. Like he’s reaching for something a mile away. Next come his legs followed by his toes. Slowly he stands for he is in no hurry. He stretches his back high to the sky and sits down again; all the while observing the room. Corner to corner, ceiling to floor, left to right.

He gets out of bed and makes no sound. His footsteps are quiet- that is until he reaches the stairs. The wood on the stairs is weathered. They have been there much longer than he. He scurries down them. Thump, thump, thump, thump. His feet on the wood resemble rain on the roof.

He looks around to see if he is still alone. He is. He is the king and this is his castle. He wanders with grace in every step. His bright green eyes examine everything carefully. He hears something in the distance. What was that? The wind softly making its way through the leaves on a distance tree. His body is still- stiff with fear- his eyes larger- his heart racing.

He approaches the window. (This is his favorite view). He carefully observes the birds and squirrels. He sees the trees swaying with the wind. The details he notices are incredible. He watches a veiny leaf fly across the ground. He hears the birds chirping to one another. He watches a butterfly hoover over tulips on the ground. He observes the squirrels running around on the ground then up the tall oak trees. He wants nothing more than to be outside with them but he knows he is confined to stay inside his quarters.

All of the sudden he hears a loud rumble. He jumps. He knows he has company. Then he sees her. She is tiny. Is she an orphan? Where did she come from? Why is she here? Is she friend or foe? Something he will have to decide. She wants to be friends but he wants nothing to do with her- he is too regal to waste his time with a small wiry peasant. Neither make a sound, only watch each other’s every move.

She walks around him as he watches her. She jumps at the thought of having a new friend and instead frightens him. He has made his decision- she is no friend of his.

Quickly he hurries back upstairs, thump, thump, thump, thump, trying to escape. She follows. Quickly. He is tense. This time she stays away but both watch each other. He wonders where she came from and why she is in his kingdom. This has always been his kingdom and he has never had anyone come into his space. He positions himself in a corner where he can still see her clearly.

His lair is brightly lit. There is not a cloud in the sky as the sun creeps through the windows. Everything is oversized but this is very typical for a king. The walls are rich in color and the furniture is royal. Whenever he is needed, he can always be found in his corner.

As he curls his body, his grey hair shimmers with sun shining through the window. The warm air in the room relaxes him. He begins to fall back asleep. While drifting off, he wonders, “Who is this in my domain?” “When will she be leaving?” “Will we one day get along?”. His last thought before falling asleep, “No, I will always be the king and she will never replace me.”

That Old House

That Old House Lindsey Selph Some of my fondest memories took place in my old house. The house was small and filled with the warmth of a loving family. It was a place where imagination took flight. There were always exciting things happening at that house. I remember the smell of a home cooked meal bringing us closer, around the family table. From what I remember the atmosphere was very playful, which often times led to dress-ups, performances, dance parties, and much more. I have so many great memories of that house. One of the things I can vividly remember was my sister and I playing dress up. We are three years apart in age but we were glued to the hip when we were younger. My mom made a costume box for us with some of her old clothing. In that cardboard box there were hats, dresses, high heel shoes, jewelry, scarves, and a whole lot of other accessories. My mom would help my sister and I put on make-up and jewelry. Then we would proceed to walk around the house as if we owned the place, modeling our new look. We had so much fun playing dress-up and mom and dad always went along with whatever the theme was for the day. My sister and I would drag our little brother into the action, which I know he is not very proud of now but back then he seemed to have a laugh or two about it. Another memory that sticks out to me had to do with laundry baskets… yeah I said it, laundry baskets.  My brother, sister and I used to play with laundry baskets, the kind of baskets that were long and rectangular. I remember climbing in them with our bankies (what we called our blankets) and take turns pushing each other around the house. I am not sure how we got to this point but I do remember my dad having a big part in it. He was the one who invented the game in the first place. Some other major moments that I remember taking place in that house were: my mom’s water breaking and my baby brother being born, our back porch being built with the help of my grandfather, by brother backing our car into the neighbor’s house when he was 5 years old, and much more. I could go on and on about that old house and the memories that I have of my childhood in it but I would be writing for a lifetime. When my parents decided it was time to move in to a bigger house it was a very hard for me to hear. I loved that house and never wanted to leave. Soon after though I realized that with a new home comes new memories to be made. Sometimes I still drive by my old house just to see how the new owners are taking care of it. Every time I pass by it I think about all the things that I remember about living there. Almost everything is the same from what I can see on the outside. The door is still that dark blue color that always stuck out to me, the bushes in the front still line the sidewalk, and the small lamppost is still at the foot of the driveway. Although not everything is today what it was in the past, our memories of those things keep us attached in ways that we can never explain. There is a quote from a show called The Wonder Years that says, “Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.”