September 29 and 30- choose your own short story

We focused today's lesson on Point of View- 1st person, third person limited and third person omniscient.

For homework, students chose one short story to read and they also completed a worksheet with it. If you are in need of a story, come see me and I'll get you one.

September 25 and 28- Tell-tale Heart

In class we began with independent reading.

Next we read the short story- The Tell Tale Heart. We also discussed and answered questions about it as we read. Here is a copy of the story with the questions. Answer the questions as you get to them.

THE TELL-TALE HEART

by Edgar Allan Poe
1843

TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Why does he want to kill the old man?

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

So…is he crazy or isn’t he?

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back --but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; --just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief --oh, no! --it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself --"It is nothing but the wind in the chimney --it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel --although he neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.

It was open --wide, wide open --and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness --all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? --now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! --do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be heard by a neighbor! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once --once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

What finally helped him decide to kill the old man?

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye --not even his --could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search --search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: --It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!"

-THE END-

What causes the narrator to admit his guilt?

September 23 and 24- so I ain't no good girl

Today we discussed getting books for independent reading. We will read in class most days.

I also read to them the short story- "So I Ain't No Good Girl." There was a worksheet attached to the story that students should complete.

Here's the story and worksheet:

1. So I Ain't No Good Girl

PEOPLE SAY THINGS about me. Bad things. Momma says I give 'em reason to. That if I would just be a good girl -- like the girls who wait for the bus with me in the mornings -- then things wouldn't go so hard for me. But I don't wanna be like them girls: so plain and pitiful, boys don't even look their way or ask their names. I wanna be me. Ain't nothing wrong with that. Is it?

Me and them girls been standing on the same corner waiting for the same bus for a year now, and I don't even know their names. But I hate 'em just the same, mostly 'cause that girl with the red hair and gray eyes looks like the girl Raheem once left me for. She was a good girl too, so they say. She got straight A's. Worked in the principal's office, headed up the cheerleading team, and played flute for the marching band. You'd figure a girl like that wouldn't be no thief. But she was. She stole my man right from under me -- for a little while, anyhow.

"What you looking at?" I ask the girl in the green plaid skirt.

She keeps her mouth shut and her squinty, brown eyes looking down at the ground. And right when I go to tell her she better not even think about looking my way, I trip over my own two feet. The good girls laugh -- all four of 'em. Now, what they do that for?

"I should . . ." I say, going for the one with the red hair and run-over shoes.

She and her friends run to the other side of the street like they being chased by boys with bricks. I'm right behind 'em, with my fist balled up. But then, I see Raheem. Sweet, pretty Raheem. So I forget about them girls, and go back to be with my Boo.

Yellow phlegm flies out Raheem's mouth and onto the curb, right when I walk up to him. "Hey, baby," he says.

I give him a big one on the lips. "Hey."

He takes off his shades and eyes a girl passing by. Then out the blue he tells me to go to school without him, 'cause he's got things to do.

I push up against him. Stick my tongue in his ear and roll it around the fat gold stud I gave him for his seventeenth birthday. "Come on, Raheem. I skip English every day so me and you can ride to school together."

He yells at me. "Did I ask you to miss class for me?"

I snap out on him then, asking him why he's always wasting my time.

He hooks his thumb through my gold hoop earring and pulls down hard.

"Ouch! You trying to split my ear?"

He turns away from me and starts walking. But he don't get far -- I don't let him. I apologize. Then I press kisses to my fingers and touch his warm lips. I try not to sweat Raheem when he gets a little rough with me or says he's coming over my house and don't show up. He's the cutest boy in school: an amateur boxer with a six-pack and honey-brown muscles that girls reach for even when they don't know him. I can't keep him on no short leash; but I forget that sometimes.

Raheem puts his arm over my shoulder and tells me again to go to school without him.

"No," that's what I wanna tell him. But Raheem likes girls that do what he says and don't talk back. So I remind him that he's got a test third period. If he don't pass it, he flunks the class. If he flunks, he don't graduate next month. "So you just need to take your butt to school with me."

He rubs the back of my ear. "I know you been waiting on me," he says in a voice so sweet my knees almost give way. "But I ain't going. I got things to do."

I can't help it. I get mad all over again, and it's me that turns away from him this time. He tickles my neck. "Come on, baby. Don't be like that." He kisses my lips. Says it's me and him forever.

I give in. Tell him what he wants to hear -- I'll take the bus by myself. I'll do your homework, wash your clothes, lend you money, anything. . . . Just keep being my Boo. But then he takes off them sunglasses to wipe something out his eye, and before I say another word, his eyes crawl over one of them good girls, like worms sliding across wet dirt.

I am loud like my mother. When I holler, you can hear me up and down the street and around the corner. So when I go off on Raheem, people across the street turn and stare. "You my man! What you doing looking at her for?"

Raheem's hand smashes the words back into my mouth. "Girl! Don't make me . . ."

I apologize just like my momma does when my daddy slaps her. Like Raheem's momma does too.

Raheem says he's gonna forgive me this time. But I better check myself, 'cause he needs a cooperative woman. "Not a whole bunch of drama."

He's right. A boy like him can get any girl he wants. He ain't gotta take no stuff off nobody. "Sorry," I say, thinking 'bout how jealous girls be when they see me with him.

Raheem and me been together two years now. He my third boyfriend. The other ones, they was all right. But him, well, he's better than I deserve, I figure. I mean, like my mother says, I won't never win no beauty contest. But my body, well that's something else. It's the Mona Lisa. The sun and the moon,Raheem wrote in a poem once. It's too big in too many places, that's what I think. But Raheem likes it. That's all that counts, right?

Raheem don't never stay mad long. So a few minutes after our bus-stop fight, me and him are talking and laughing again. But when he bends down to wipe his sneakers, the good girl with the red hair and the dirty brown skirt comes back to our side of the street. She looks his way and smiles -- just a little. He stands, she bends way over and pulls up her long white socks. He smiles. She winks. I go to tell him what I seen, but his eyes let me know I'd better hold my tongue. I do.

Raheem rubs my butt. "You know you my Boo. Can't nobody take me off you." Then he asks me to spot him five. Before I get inside my purse, he unsnaps it. Takes out my wallet and puts ten bucks in his back pocket, right when the other girls return.

"Don't be going in my . . ."

"What's yours is mine, ain't it?"

The good girls watch him kiss my neck and whisper in my ear. "Yeah, he mine," I say loud enough for them to hear.

The redhead presses her books to her flat chest and rolls her eyes at me. I point to her. Say for her to step into the street if she got a problem with me.

Raheem tells me not to be like that. "You the only one I want," he says, crossing the street, heading for the doughnut shop.

I look over at the good girls. The redhead looks back my way, shakes her head, and just like that, I feel dirty -- like somebody rolled me in chicken fat and left me outside for the birds to snack on.

I wanna give them girls something they won't forget, but the bus is coming. The good girls step into the street, just when Raheem makes it back over to me. He wipes white powder off his mouth with the back of his hand and tells me he'll come to my place later.

He takes off his shades. Crosses his heart. "Sure."

When the bus finally pulls up, there's all this commotion, people pushing to get on. I head for the back, following right behind the good girls. A blind man steps on my foot. I tell him about it, too. Some fat woman blocks my way, so it's a few minutes 'fore I get back to where them girls are. When the bus jerks and takes off, I hold on to the rail and peek out between all the bodies to get one last look at my man.

"Oh no you didn't!" I say, digging my elbow into some girl's stomach. Slapping my hand up against another girl's back, trying to get to the front of this thing. But it's too late. The driver won't stop, even though I'm yelling at the top of my lungs for him to please, please let me off.

I lean over and stare out the window and see the redhead standing on the corner with Raheem. She must have sneaked out the back of the bus as soon as she got on. Raheem's all up in her face. Sunglasses off. Arms wrapped around her neck. His sweet, brown lips pressed tight to hers.

I wanna kill 'em both. But then my mother's words come back to me. You ain't no beauty prize.

The bus keeps rolling, just like my tears, down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. "Who I'm gonna be without him?" I whisper. I wipe my face clean on the bottom of my skirt, stand up, and head for the back of the bus. Then, well, I start thinking. Raheem don't never stay gone too long. Besides, he is cute. Really, really cute. And when you got a man like that, you can't be expecting to keep him all to yourself, not all the time anyhow.

The driver stops two blocks away. He eyes me. "Getting off?"

If I go after her, I think, Raheem's gonna be mad at me.

"Hey, you. Off or not?"

But if I act like I ain't seen nothing, he'll be by my place tonight -- like usual.

"Next stop, Seventeenth Street," the driver says, closing the door and pulling into traffic.

I sit down, cross my legs, and stare out the window. I'll go to his class, I think, and tell his teacher he was sick this morning. That he'll take the test tomorrow.

When the bus stops again, the good girls fly out the back door and head for their school.

I bang on the closed window. "You better run! Better not let me see you tomorrow, neither!"

The driver tells me to settle down. I let him know I paid my money and I can talk as loud as I like. He says something else, but I don't know or care what it is. My head's back to thinking on Raheem. Tonight, when I see him, I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna . . . make him something nice to eat, I think. And act like I ain't seen nothing at all.

So I ain’t no good girl

Why does she act the way she does?

Why does he act the way he does?

Is this girl a static or a dynamic character?  Why do you say that?

What would you say the theme of this story was?  Give me specific reasons from the story that support this answer.

Come up with a list of things that would have to happen for her to change/be more self-confidant.

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September 21- education argument reflection-Scavenger hunt

4th block:

We setup a Portfolio in our Google Doc. You may need to come see me during lunch to get that figured out.

Find your Education Argument and open it.

START A GOOGLE DOC AND TITLE IT “Reflection on Education Argument”

Copy and paste the following into the document:

What is your score out of 20?  _____

What is your score for Development and Elaboration?  _____

What could you have done to improve your score?

What is your score for Organization and Focus?  _____

What could you have done to improve your score?

What is your score for Language and Clarity?   _____

What could you have done to improve your score?

Then answer all the questions.

Add this doc to your English 1 Portfolio

1st and 3rd block

We watched a short film called "Underground"
http://www.break.com/video/ugc/underground-short-film-by-kristen-dehnert-aimee-lagos-551043

Then students worked on the following worksheet:

Name: ____________________________

Short story scavenger hunt

Using “Adventures in Reading” pages 722-742, define these terms:

THEME

SETTING

CLIMAX

CHARACTER—STATIC

CHARACTER— DYNAMIC

FORESHADOWING

POINT OF VIEW—1^ST PERSON

POINT OF VIEW—3^RD PERSON OMNISCIENT

POINT OF VIEW—3^RD PERSON LIMITED

FLASHBACK

Say in your own words what the theme of the short movie “Underground” is.

What is the climax in “Underground”?

Give me the name of your favorite movie.  What’s the setting?

Name 4 of your favorite characters from a movie, book or TV show.

1.	2.
3.	4.

DEFINE Plot Structure:

Using each of these words: Rising action, Conflict, Climax, Falling action, Resolution,

List the Dynamic Character from Beauty Lessons.

List two Static Characters from Beauty Lessons.

There was no flashback in “Coming Attractions.” But if there had been one, what might it have been about?

Extra Credit:

On page 741-742, it tells you what the Theme of the poem, “Bears” is.  Write what you think the Theme is, using your own words.

September 16 - reflection on education argument

1st block and 3rd block:

We setup a Portfolio in our Google Doc. You may need to come see me during lunch to get that figured out.

Find your Education Argument and open it.

START A GOOGLE DOC AND TITLE IT “Reflection on Education Argument”

Copy and paste the following into the document:

What is your score out of 20?  _____

What is your score for Development and Elaboration?  _____

What could you have done to improve your score?

What is your score for Organization and Focus?  _____

What could you have done to improve your score?

What is your score for Language and Clarity?   _____

What could you have done to improve your score?

Then answer all the questions.

Add this doc to your English 1 Portfolio

4th block:

We watched a short film called "Underground"
http://www.break.com/video/ugc/underground-short-film-by-kristen-dehnert-aimee-lagos-551043

Then students worked on the following worksheet:

Name: ____________________________

Short story scavenger hunt

Using “Adventures in Reading” pages 722-742, define these terms:

THEME

SETTING

CLIMAX

CHARACTER—STATIC

CHARACTER— DYNAMIC

FORESHADOWING

POINT OF VIEW—1^ST PERSON

POINT OF VIEW—3^RD PERSON OMNISCIENT

POINT OF VIEW—3^RD PERSON LIMITED

FLASHBACK

Say in your own words what the theme of the short movie “Underground” is.

What is the climax in “Underground”?

Give me the name of your favorite movie.  What’s the setting?

Name 4 of your favorite characters from a movie, book or TV show.

1.	2.
3.	4.

DEFINE Plot Structure:

Using each of these words: Rising action, Conflict, Climax, Falling action, Resolution,

List the Dynamic Character from Beauty Lessons.

List two Static Characters from Beauty Lessons.

There was no flashback in “Coming Attractions.” But if there had been one, what might it have been about?

Extra Credit:

On page 741-742, it tells you what the Theme of the poem, “Bears” is.  Write what you think the Theme is, using your own words.

September 15 and 16- Story maps

We read two different stories the past two days- Beauty Lessons and Coming Attractions. For each story, students filled out a Story map for it.

If you missed class, you will need to get the story from me as well as a copy of the story map to complete.

Also, students should turn in their Book List homework. They should be getting three suggestions of possible books to read from: three friends, one family member, and one teacher.

September 9 and 10- Education argument

Today we worked on our Beginning of the Year assessment. We wrote an argument with the goal of carefully tracking our writing skills through the course of the year. Here is the format we used today:

Grade 9 Beginning-of-Year Assessment

Name: _____________________________________ Date: ______________

Task Overview

Malala Yousafzai, a teenager from Pakistan, became an activist and spokesperson for female education when religious extremists, including Taliban officials, began shutting down schools and imposing harsh restrictions on females’ lives.  On Tuesday, October 9, 2012, Malala was shot in the head on her way to school.  Surviving, she has become an international spokesperson for universal education and human rights.  She addressed the United Nations on her 16th birthday in July of 2013, and her memoir, I Am Malala, was the 2014-2015 University of Wisconsin-Madison Go Big Read selected book.  

Jonathan Kozol and Catherine Meek are writers who discuss educational inequalities in the United States.

You are going to read excerpts from these three authors in order to consider their arguments that education is important for every nation, that all citizens should have access to education equally.  As Malala writes, “Going to school, reading and doing our homework wasn’t just a way of passing time.  It was our future.”  

Why is equal education important to nations and their citizens?  Cite evidence from at least two of the three authors as well as your own experiences to form your argument. Things to think about: Why is it beneficial to have equal education for everyone? Why do some powerful people want to take away education from others? Is education the future in the United States as Malala says it is in Pakistan? What evidence do the articles provide to show why an education is important?

Purpose for reading: to consider Malala’s description of conditions she believes should be changed through education in Pakistan and Kozol’s and Meek’s descriptions of unequal resources for education in the United States in order to explore the importance of equal education for a country’s well being.

Directions for interacting with the text:  Please mark places where Malala, Kozol, and Meek describe unequal educational practices and places where their examples show the importance of education with a (*).  

After you’ve marked the texts, please write your thinking next to two (*)’s  →  why did you mark them as you did?

from I Am Malala by Malala Yousafzai 1 Islamic laws in Pakistan reduced a woman’s evidence in court to count for only half that of a man’s.  Soon our prisons were full of cases like that of a thirteen-year-old girl who was raped and became pregnant and was then sent to prison for adultery because she couldn’t find four male witnesses to prove it was a crime.  A woman couldn’t even open a bank account without a man’s permission.  The leader of the Taliban in my Swat Valley, Fazlullah, would broadcast radio shows often aimed at women.  He must have known that many of our men were away from home, working in coal mines in the south or on building sites in the Gulf.  Sometimes he would say, “Men, go outside now.  I am talking to the women.” Then he’d say, “Women are meant to fulfill their responsibilities in the home.  Only in emergencies can they go outside, but then they must wear the veil.” 2 (One Taliban leader) proclaimed that there should be no education for women, even at girls’ madrasas (religious schools).  “If someone can show any example in history where Islam allows a female madrasa, they can come and piss on my beard,” he said.  Then Fazlullah turned his attention to schools.  He began speaking against school administrators and congratulating girls by name who left school.  “Miss So-and-so stopped going to school and will go to heaven,” he’d say, or, “Miss X of Y village has stopped education at Class 5.  I congratulate her.”  Girls like me who still went to school he called buffaloes and sheep. 3 Then, at the end of 2008, Fazlullah’s deputy announced on the radio that all girls’ schools would close.  From 15 January girls must not go to school he warned.  First I thought it was a joke.  “How can they stop us from going to school,” I asked my friends.  They don’t have the power.  My father used to say the people of Swat and the teachers would continue to educate our children until the last room, the last teacher and the last student was alive.  My parents never once suggested I should withdraw from school, ever.  Though we loved school, we hadn’t realized how important education was until the Taliban tried to stop us.  Going to school, reading and doing our homework wasn’t just a way of passing time.  It was our future.  The Taliban could take our pens and books, but they couldn’t stop our minds from thinking. I began to speak out, “How dare the Taliban take away my basic right to education?”  I said.   4 Our words were like the eucalyptus blossoms of spring tossed away on the wind.  The destruction of schools continued.  On the night of 7 October 2008 we heard a series of faraway blasts.  The next morning we learned that masked militants had entered (a school for girls and a school for boys) and blown them up using improvised explosive devices (IEDs). 5 I wanted people to know what was happening.  Education is our right, I said.  Just as it is our right to sing. Islam has given us this right and says that every girl and boy should go to school.  The Quran (Islamic holy book) says we should seek knowledge, study hard and learn the mysteries of our world.  I wanted to start an education foundation.  This had been on my mind ever since I’d seen children working on a rubbish mountain.  I still could not shake the image of the black rats I had seen there, and a girl with matted hair who had been sorting rubbish.  We held a conference of twenty-one girls and made our priority education for every girl in Swat (our valley) with a particular focus on street children and those in child labor.   6 (The Taliban ruled that all girls’ schools must close in January of 2009).  How could they stop more than 50,000 girls from going to school in the twenty-first century?  I kept hoping something would happen and the schools would remain open.  But finally the deadline was upon us.  I cried and cried.  I didn’t want to stop learning.  I was only eleven years old, but I felt as though I had lost everything.  I told (the media), “They cannot stop me.  I will get my education if it’s at home, school or somewhere else.  This is our request to the world -- to save our schools, save our Pakistan.”   7 (I had seen) a young girl selling oranges. She was scratching marks on a piece of paper with a pencil to account for the oranges she had sold as she could not read or write.  I took a photo of her and vowed I would do everything in my power to help educate girls just like her.  This was the war I was going to fight.

excerpt modified from Savage Inequalities by Jonathan Kozol 1 The city of Detroit.. is poor…. and its school system is so poorly funded that three classes have to share a single set of books in elementary schools.  ‘It’s not until the sixth grade,’ the Detroit Free Press reports, ‘that every student has a textbook.’ At MacKenzie High School in Detroit, courses in word processing are taught without word processors.  ‘We teach the keyboard...so if they ever get on a word processor, they’d know what to do,’ a high school teacher says.  Students ask, ‘When are we going to get to use computers?’ But, their teacher says, the school cannot afford them.  Of an entering ninth-grade class of 20,000 students in Detroit, only 7,000 graduate from high school, and, of these, only 500 have the preparation to go onto college.  Educators in Detroit, the New York Times reports, say that ‘the financial pressures have reached the point of desperation.’ 2 According to a survey by the Free Press, the city spent $3,600 yearly on each child’s education.  The suburban town of Grosse Pointe spent some $5,700 on each child.  Bloomfield Hills spent even more: $6,250 per pupil.  Birmingham, at $6,400 per pupil, spent the most of any district in the area.

from “We Must Help Our Homeless Children Get an Education” by Catherine Meek 1 Frankie is nine years old. He has a rash all over his face and body -- stress-related said the doctor. He has trouble focusing on his homework and paying attention in school; he has fights in the schoolyard; he has serious mood swings; he has no friends. He lives with his mother and two sisters in one room in a homeless shelter. Frankie is one of our students. 2 The devastating impact of homelessness on children has become starkly clear from decades of study. While poverty alone creates health, developmental, behavioral, and educational problems for children, homelessness compounds these problems by adding additional stress, fear, anxiety and instability to children's lives. Can you imagine how hard it is to learn when you don't have a home? The statistics stacked against homeless students are staggering: More than 20 percent of homeless children do not attend school. Homeless children are -- on average -- four grade levels below their housed peers. Homeless children are nine times more likely to drop out of school altogether. 3 Homelessness is extreme poverty. Lack of affordable housing, poverty, and unemployment -- the top three causes of family homelessness -- will not diminish any time soon. And when kids become homeless, their education suffers immensely. Huge cuts in education budgets (mean) our homeless children are less and less likely to get any kind of education. How can a seven-year-old child learn when she has not slept the night before because she's scared and hungry and doesn't know where she'll sleep that night? How can we expect a 15-year-old to care about graduating when he has to study in a closet because the shelter lights have been turned off? 4 What is more important for a child than learning? What is more important for a country than educated citizens? Our students persevere every day against seemingly insurmountable odds. Despite desperate living conditions, hunger and other unimaginable challenges, our students show us courage, resilience and determination in their pursuit of education. We should show them the same courage.

After reading, you will discuss the text in small groups, keeping the overall writing prompt as a basis for your discussion.

1. Share what you annotated - where is unequal education happening and what are the

consequences?

2. Where in the story did the authors talk about the importance of education?

3. How does this connect to your own life? Your partner’s life?

4. So, why is it beneficial to have equal education for everyone?

Finally, you will independently plan your writing and complete the argument writing task.  Revise as necessary. Remember… your question is: Why is equal education important to nations and their citizens?   *Cite evidence from at least two of the texts as well as your own experiences to form your argument.