7th Grade Personal Narrative Rubric (Evaluation for Essay)

Personal Narrative/Descriptive Writing Rubric

	Advanced—4	Proficient—3	Needs Improvement—2	Not Yet—1
Content
Lead	Strong lead makes the reader want to find out more	Good lead but could be altered though the reader still wants to continue	Lead is unremarkable and needs some work	Lead is unimaginative or too obvious and needs to be rewritten
Idea Development	Length of paper is appropriate and flows smoothly from one idea to the next	A few instances of clutter and/or not enough elaboration, but for the most part flows evenly	Good ideas but at times overshadowed by too much and/or too simplistic writing making paper seem choppy	Paper is far too long/short and loses focus or is boring because of overwriting and or no elaboration
Organization	Paper has excellent structure and is well organized	Paper has structure and organization though lacks unity because of occasional confusing details	Paper has some structure evident but at times is hard to follow or is not well organized	Paper’s structure is greatly lacking, interfering with reader’s ability to understand piece
Voice	Author’s voice is clearly evident and piece is thoughtful and well-written in a sophisticated and unique style	Author’s voice and personality is evident and effort was clearly put into the piece making piece enjoyable to read	Author’s voice is developing and shows some effort but at times the piece needs more work	Author’s voice is not evident and the entire story needs more work
Word Choice	Paper uses rich and sophisticated word choice and varied language throughout	Paper uses good word choice and some varied wording	Paper has simplistic word choice and some words are at times repetitive	Paper has too simplistic word choice and is far too repetitive
Sensory Details	Paper is rich in sensory details and shows rather than tells creating a vivid picture without overloading the reader	Paper has some strong sensory details making it enjoyable to read but there may be too few or not enough details, at times telling rather than showing	Paper has too few sensory details or far too many so the piece mainly tells rather than shows or use clichés causing reader to lose interest	Paper is lacking in sensory details and tells rather than shows using empty words and too many clichés
Closing	The final sentences clinch the piece well leaving the reader completely satisfied	The ending is good but does not fully clinch the paper, leaving the reader wanting more	The ending is too simple—it doesn’t fit the flow of the story or contains weak language leaving the reader confused	There is no real ending leaving the reader unsatisfied
	`Advanced—4	Proficient—3	Needs Improvement—2	Not Yet—1
Mechanics
Sentence Structure	Paper is well written using a variety of simple and complex sentence structures creating a smooth rhythm to the piece	Papers has a few sentence errors and/or is lacking in variety or complexity	Paper is beginning to be difficult to understand as there are many poorly constructed sentences or fragments	Paper is difficult to read because of too simplistic sentence structure and/or many fragments
Paragraph Placement	Strong paragraph placement throughout paper	Paragraphs are generally appropriate throughout though at times are too long and/or short	Paragraphs are only somewhat evident throughout paper	Paragraph placement is almost entirely or lacking all together
Conventions—spelling, punctuation, grammar, and capitalization	Paper is proofread well with only 1 or 2 errors	Paper has between 3 to 5 errors	Paper has between 6 to 8 errors as proofreading was not done well	Paper has more than 9 errors and shows little to no evidence of proofreading
Verb Tense	Verb tense remains consistent throughout	Verb tense is mainly consistent, though sometimes moves from past to present	Verb tenses are inconsistent throughout, affecting reader’s understanding of paper	Verb tenses are so inconsistent, paper is difficult to understand

Comments:

Grade _________

7th Grade Reading_ Coca Cola or Coco Frio

Are you more Coca-Cola or Coco Frio?

Read the Poem, “Coca-Cola and Coco Frio” by Martin Espada. While you read, take notes on the sides of any connections or inferences you make to this poem.

Coca-Cola and Coco Frio by Martin Espada	My Connections and Inferences
On his first visit to Puerto Rico, island of family folklore, the fat boy wandered from table to table with his mouth open. At every table, some great-aunt would steer him with cool spotted hands to a glass of Coca-Cola. One even sang to him, in all the English she could remember, a Coca-Cola jingle from the forties. He drank obediently, though he was bored with this potion, familiar from soda fountains in Brooklyn. Then, at a roadside stand off the beach, the fat boy opened his mouth to coco frio, a coconut chilled, then scalped by a machete so that a straw could inhale the clear milk. The boy tilted the green shell overhead and drooled coconut milk down his chin; suddenly, Puerto Rico was not Coca-Cola or Brooklyn, and neither was he. For years afterward, the boy marveled at an island where the people drank Coca-Cola and sang jingles from World War II in a language they did not speak, while so many coconuts in the trees sagged heavy with milk, swollen and unsuckled.

Vocabulary

Folklore: stories passed down by generations

Scalped: To cut off the skin of the top of the head with a knife

Swollen: When something is so full, it expands

Suckle: to drink milk from a nipple, like a calf suckles milk from a cow’s udder

In your journal, respond to this question: Are you more Coca Cola or Coco Frio? Why?

7th Grade Reading _ The Rabbit and The Tigger

The Rabbit and the Tiger

Translated and retold by Marisa Montes

Many years ago, all the animals were friends except for Tiger, who had sworn to eat all small animals that crossed his path. Especially Rabbit. Rabbit was agile and witty and very, very clever, while Tiger was clumsy and dull and quite stupid. And Tiger couldn't stand for anyone to be more clever than he. So Tiger made it his goal in life to rid himself of the pesky little rabbit. Rabbit knew this and was always on the lookout for Tiger. But Rabbit could not always avoid Tiger because they both enjoyed a good stroll in the forest.

One day, after a generous lunch, Rabbit lay in the shade of a huge boulder, ready to begin an afternoon siesta. As he was about to doze off, he heard a twig crack somewhere behind him. Always ready for a possible attack from Tiger, Rabbit jumped up and pushed his back against the boulder, as though he were holding it up.

Sure enough, an orange face with black stripes emerged from behind the boulder. The face alone was larger than Rabbit's entire body.

"Aha, amigo Conejo, I have caught you. Any last wishes?"

Tiger's voice was so deep and loud that it vibrated through Rabbit's bones, making him shake even harder than he was already shaking. But frightened as he was, Rabbit was determined to go through with his plan and save his life.

"Only, friend Tiger, that you help me save the world. I care not for myself. After we have saved the world, you can do with me what you will."

"What is this?" said Tiger, looking around in terror. "The world is in danger?"

Rabbit knew he had the foolish tiger hooked. "This boulder is slipping. If it rolls down the side of the hill, the world will collapse. I am trying to hold it up, but I am small and weak . . ."

"Of course, I will help! I do not wish the world to end!" Tiger pushed his back against the boulder and held it up with all his strength.

"I will go get help," said Rabbit, starting to hop away.

"Good idea," said Tiger. "What a smart rabbit you are!"

"I'll hurry. Don't move until I return with all our friends."

Rabbit bounced off, chuckling to himself and leaving the stupid tiger huddled against the rock. Hours later, Tiger finally collapsed next to the boulder, exhausted from pushing. Trembling and crying, he resigned himself to his fate and waited for the boulder to roll over him and for the world to end.

To his amazement, the boulder did not budge and the world did not come crashing down around him. He stood and touched the boulder. It was solid. In the treetops, monkeys giggled and birds chirped in amusement. It was then that Tiger realized he'd been tricked.

"Rabbit!" Tiger roared and shook his fist in the air. "Wait till I get my claws on you!"

Tiger hunted Rabbit for weeks, but Rabbit knew how furious Tiger was and kept out of his way. A few months later, it had been so long since he'd seen Tiger that Rabbit grew a bit careless. He was chatting with a monkey friend at the foot of an ancient tamarind tree, when a wide shadow slid over the two friends.

"Aha, amigo Conejo! I have you now. This time I will eat you in one bite!"

The booming voice vibrated Rabbit's bones. The monkey shrieked and scrambled up the tree. Rabbit knew he could not outrun Tiger. However, he might outwit him once more.

Rabbit turned to face his enemy. Tiger had a coil of rope around his shoulder, and he was grinning so hard, all his terrible teeth gleamed in the sunlight.

"Oh, friend Tiger, please do eat me! Hurry!" cried Rabbit. "It would be kinder than allowing me to suffer a more horrible death."

Tiger narrowed his glistening eyes. "What is this?"

"Friend monkey was doing his best to keep my mind off our dreadful fate, but--"

"What dreadful fate? Tell me Rabbit!"

"Haven't you heard? The hurricane that's approaching. It'll be here within the hour. The worst one in years."

"Hurricane!" Tiger began to tremble. He was terrified of hurricanes--the crashing trees, the howling wind, the pouring rain! "Help me Rabbit, please! You are small and can hide anywhere. But I am so large. And the hurricane will be here before I can return to my cave. What shall I do?"

"There is only one thing you can do, amigo," said Rabbit, eyeing the coil of rope. "You must tie yourself up to this tree. It is very strong and has withstood many hurricanes."

"Sí, friend Rabbit, that is a splendid idea. But I cannot tie myself . . . will you do it for me?"

"Well . . . I should be looking for a hiding place. It will take time to tie you--"

Tiger threw himself on his knees. "Please, friend Rabbit, have pity!"

Rabbit tried not to smile. "Sí, sí, I will tie you. But please stop blubbering."

Rabbit took the coil of rope and wrapped it round and round and round the tamarind tree, firmly tying Tiger to the trunk.

"Good luck, amigo Tigre. I must find a place to hide." Rabbit hopped from branch to branch till he was high in the tamarind tree. He settled back to watch Tiger.

A few minutes later, a herd of young goats passed by the tree. When they saw Tiger tied firmly to the tree, they laughed and jumped for joy.

"Laugh now, but you won't be laughing for long," said Tiger.

"Why not?" asked one of the goats.

"Haven't you heard? A horrible hurricane is coming. There isn't much time."

"A hurricane!" The goats laughed and laughed.

A frisky young goat leapt forward. "We have been traveling up and down the hills for hours, and we've neither seen any signs of a hurricane nor heard anyone speak of one."

"There is no hurricane!" cried another goat and rolled on the grass, giddy with laughter.

As Tiger watched the plump goats cavort about, he began to grow hungry. Soon his hunger overpowered his fear. His mouth drooled as he imagined how tasty a tender little goat would be.

"Say, little goat, won't you please untie me?"

But the goats saw the gleam in Tiger's eye, and they bounded away, down the mountain trail. As they ran, they told all they passed that everyone could celebrate because Tiger was firmly tied to the tamarind tree.

In the meantime, Tiger pulled and tugged and tried to wiggle free. But nothing he did would loosen the rope. Just then, the little monkey who'd been playing with Rabbit grew restless and began to swing above Tiger's head.

"Little monkey," said Tiger. "Won't you please untie me?"

"Not I," said the monkey. "If I do, you will eat me."

"No, no! I promise not to eat you if you'll just untie me. I will even repay you with a bunch of ripe bananas."

Now, the young monkey had a serious weakness for bananas. And it had been weeks since he'd taken a bite of the sweet fruit. He couldn't resist Tiger's offer.

The monkey swung to the next tree. "If my friends will help, I'll untie you."

He scampered up the tree and returned with a dozen monkeys. They each gnawed and pulled at the rope till it broke loose.

Meanwhile, Tiger's hunger had been growing and growing. The moment the rope fell to the ground he pounced on the monkeys. He clawed and gnashed his teeth, but the slippery little monkeys were too fast for him.

They all escaped, but one--Rabbit's friend.

Just as Tiger was about to pop the monkey in his mouth, Rabbit called down:

"Tiger, shame on you! That's no way to eat a monkey."

"Oh?" said Tiger, swinging the terrified monkey in front of his nose. "So how would you do it?"

"It's much more appetizing to throw the monkey into the air and catch him in your open mouth."

"I can do that."

So Tiger tossed the little monkey high in the air and waited for the tender delicacy to drop into his open mouth. As he floated up into the branches, the agile monkey hooked his tail on a branch to break his fall and scampered higher into the tree.

Rabbit shook a branch full of tamarinds, dropping several large, tart pods into Tiger's open mouth. Tiger choked and coughed and spit up the sour fruit. He tore off into the forest, his mouth puckering as though he had eaten a dozen limes. As he ran, he swore he would devour Rabbit the very next time he saw him.

For many months, Rabbit managed to avoid Tiger. One day, as he was hopping down a steep mountain trail, he passed a farmer and his donkey who were going to market. The donkey carried heavy covered baskets on his sides. The baskets were full to the brim with large rounds of cheese.

As Rabbit passed under the donkey, he noticed something. "Señor," he said. "You are in danger of losing one of your banastillas."

The farmer stopped the donkey and examined the baskets. Sure enough, the basket nearest the edge of the cliff was coming loose. If he didn't fix it soon, the entire basket--cheese and all--would topple down the steep incline.

"Gracias, little rabbit," said the farmer after he had secured the basket. "You saved my cheese and a great deal of income for my family. You deserve a reward. Do you like cheese?"

"Oh, sí Señor," replied Rabbit. "I love a good queso."

"Well, this is a very good cheese." And the farmer handed Rabbit two large rounds for his good deed.

Pleased with his reward, Rabbit tucked a cheese under each arm and bounced away to a nearby lagoon. In the shade of several palms, Rabbit lay back and enjoyed a lunch of fresh cheese and fruit.

Before long, his peace and solitude was shaken by a booming voice that rattled his bones. "Aha, this time you will not escape! I will finally eat you."

"Right you are, amigo Tigre, you have me at last," replied Rabbit. "But why don't you eat a bit of queso as an appetizer first?"

Tiger took the cheese Rabbit offered. "Mmm-mm, I do enjoy a good cheese. And so fresh. Wherever did you find it?"

 "Why, right down there at the bottom of the lagoon. See,"--Rabbit held up the remaining round of cheese--"I have another right here."

The cheese was so delicious, Tiger forgot his promise to eat Rabbit. "How did you gather them?"

"Quite simple, really. I just tied heavy stones to my legs and jumped in. There are dozens of rounds of cheese floating near the bottom."

Tiger nodded. "I must do the same!"

"I won't keep you then. I'll just take my queso and be on my way."

Before Tiger could remember his threat, Rabbit disappeared into the forest. Tiger tied one large rock to each of his four legs and jumped into the lagoon.

"Glug-glug-glug!" As he sank deeper and deeper, Tiger swallowed large gulps of water. He glanced around him, but he could not see the promised cheeses. Soon he realized Rabbit had fooled him again.

 Sure he would drown, Tiger began to struggle against the ropes. But he had tied them so well, he could not free himself. Fortunately a strong current carried him to shallow water. He dragged himself to the edge, gasping for air. When he could breathe normally again, Tiger untied the ropes.

This was it! Never again would that nasty little Rabbit fool him. Next time, Tiger would have Rabbit pie for lunch!

Tiger looked for Rabbit everywhere, but was unable to find him. After many months, he lost interest.

During that time Rabbit had been cleverly hiding from Tiger. One day, while Rabbit was visiting his friend Fox, the topic of Tiger came up.

"He is such a clever, intelligent fellow," said Fox, who was a great admirer of Tiger. "No one can outsmart Tiger!"

Hearing this, Rabbit began to howl with laughter. The laughter turned to silly giggles that made him wiggle and squirm until he fell off his chair and rolled around on the ground.

"What is so funny?" Fox said, rather annoyed.

"It's--it's just that Tiger is fool! There is no bigger bobo. Why, he will even let himself be used as a horse by his friends."

"Not amigo Tigre! I cannot believe it!"

"Someday, I will prove it to you," said Rabbit. "I will ride by on my Tiger-horse, and I'll even make him rear up while I wave to you."

"Humph!" With a flick of his bushy tail, Fox dismissed Rabbit's talk of nonsense.

Soon, Fox forgot their conversation. A few weeks later, Fox decided to have a ball at his home. He would serve a lavish feast and hire an orchestra. With Tiger's help, Fox lined up the best musicians in the land. The best, that is, except for a guitarist.

"How can I have a fabulous ball without a guitarist?" whined Fox.

Tiger hated to see his friend so distraught. He wanted Fox's ball to be a success, and he agreed that it would fall far short of that without a guitarist. He was determined to help Fox find a guitarist.

Tiger asked around and discovered that the best guitarist in the forest was Rabbit. Tiger set out to find him. He had often gone to Rabbit's home looking for him, but Rabbit was far too clever to let Tiger know he was home.

This time when Tiger knocked at the door, Rabbit was waiting for him. Rabbit had heard about the ball and knew why Tiger was looking for him.

"Go away," Rabbit called from his bedroom. "I'm sick, and I don't want visitors."

"Rabbit, it's Tiger." His booming voice rattled the door and shook the windows. "I've come on Fox's behalf. He needs you to play your guitar at his ball tonight."

"Too sick. Can't go."

Tiger knocked again. "Open up, Rabbit. You must come. The ball will be a disaster without you."

Rabbit chuckled to himself. Tiger was begging for him to play at the ball. Rabbit's plan was beginning to work. He wrapped a handkerchief around his head and grabbed a cane. He hobbled to the door and opened it.

Leaning on the cane, Rabbit said, "As you can see, I cannot walk."

Tiger was anxious to get Rabbit to the ball. "No problem, amigo, I will carry you."

Rabbit tried to climb on Tiger's back, but he kept slipping off. "Ay, ay, ay! I cannot get onto your back without a saddle. But I do have one in the back . . . "

Annoyed, Tiger twitched his long tail. But he couldn't disappoint Fox. "Fine, get the saddle."

When Rabbit had saddled Tiger, he tried again to get on, but slid right off. "I'm afraid I'll need a bridle and some spurs . . . "

"Fine, fine, fine! Just hurry up!"

Saddled and harnessed, Tiger trotted down the forest path to Fox's house. On Tiger's back sat Rabbit, wearing spurs and carrying a riding crop. As Tiger trotted, he moaned and groaned as though he were in horrible pain.

"It would be best to pick up the pace," said Rabbit. "The sooner we arrive, the sooner I'll be out of pain."

Tiger began to run at a quick clip. When Rabbit saw Fox's house, he tossed off his kerchief, snapped the whip, and dug the spurs into Tiger's sides. Tiger reared up and began to race toward the house.

"Amigo Fox, come out, come out!" cried Rabbit. "It's your friend Rabbit riding his Tiger-horse!"

Fox dashed out to the porch. When he saw his friend Tiger saddled and harnessed and ridden like a horse, he put his paws on his head. "Rabbit was right. Tiger is truly a fool. A very great bobo!"

Rabbit gave Tiger one more kick with the spurs and made him rear up in front of Fox's house. Rabbit waved and whooped. With another snap of his whip, he sent Tiger racing through the forest.

In a dense area of the forest, Rabbit hopped off Tiger's back and hid in the bushes until Tiger was far away. Then he went home, packed up, and found a new home, where Tiger wouldn't find him.

To this day, Tiger still looks for Rabbit, swearing to gobble him up before he can utter a word.

7th Grade Reading The Pesky Goat

The Pesky Goat

Translated and retold by Marisa Montes

Doña Josefina lived on the outskirts of Ciáles, a small town in the highlands of Puerto Rico. Her tiny house was as spotless as a porcelain teacup. Although she lived alone, except for her dog, Ladrón, and her cat, Misifú, Doña Josefina was too busy to ever be lonely.

She spent all her waking moments tending her beloved garden. Doña Josefina was known throughout the island for her mano santa--the blessed hand that turned all plants she touched into breathtaking specimens of splendrous color and robust good health.

In the garden, she grew prize-winning roses and orchids, hibiscus and hydrangea, and dozens of jewel-colored flowers that grow only in the tropical climate of the lush Caribbean Islands. The garden air was forever perfumed with the scent of roses and honeysuckle.

Since Doña Josefina had no children of her own, she watched over her garden as a mother watches over her children. Each of her flowers was precious to her. She thanked God daily for the gift of being the caretaker of such a delightful paradise.

During the day, her paradise attracted butterflies and hummingbirds, bees and ants, and nightingales whose song was as sweet and pure as the water from a secret spring. At night, the garden attracted worms and toads and coquíes, tiny Puerto Rican tree frogs. One unfortunate night, the garden paradise also attracted a pest.

The next morning, Doña Josefina noticed, much to her distress, that the blossoms and tender branches of several young hydrangea plants had been badly chewed. The following morning, the leaves and flowers at the bottom of the large vine in front of the house had disappeared. On the third morning, Doña Josefina discovered that her begonias were gnawed almost to the root. Only stubby, mangled fingers remained, protruding from the rich, black soil.

On each occasion, Doña Josefina searched the ground for footprints or other signs as to what was destroying her precious garden. But she could find no clue.

That night, Doña Josefina didn't sleep. She stayed up all night watching from her window for the culprit to appear. Just before dawn, something crept into the garden. Doña Josefina held her breath and waited. As she watched, the thing seemed to rise into the air and take the shape of a small white goat. The goat floated toward a hydrangea plant. When it reached the plant, the goat began to feast on the large balls of blossoms.

"Ay, ay, ay!" cried Doña Josefina. "A cabra is destroying my precious darlings!"

Doña Josefina ran through the living room and out the front door. When she raced down the slick, tile-covered steps, her heel slipped, and she twisted her ankle.

"Oh, no!" she cried. "What shall I do?"

Unable to continue into the garden, Doña Josefina hobbled back into the house and called her dog.

"Ladrón, I will give you an extra helping of meat today if you'll go into the garden and chase away that cabra."

"¡Seguro!" Ladrón replied with an enthusiastic bark. "Of course I'll do it!"

Ladrón raced to the garden, his jowls drooling at the thought of an extra helping of meat. He sniffed loudly as he trotted around the flower beds, searching for the goat.

The goat heard him and prepared herself for an attack. She climbed onto a boulder that was hidden behind a bush. Then she took a deep breath to make herself appear larger and said in a deep, loud voice:

"Heed my words

and stay away.

I'll devour the first

to disobey!"

To Ladrón, the tiny goat seemed to have grown ten times its size. He swore that the goat's evil eyes glowed like burning coals. Its teeth would put a crocodile to shame. He didn't want to put those terrible teeth to a test, not for all the delicious meat in Puerto Rico!

Ladrón became a blur of spots and dust. He didn't stop running until he was safely under Doña Josefina's bed. There, he turned into a mass of trembling fur and clattering teeth. He refused to come out until morning, untempted by Doña Josefina's promises of roasted meats and spicy sausages.

"Ay, ay, ay!" cried Doña Josefina. "Now, what shall I do?"

At that moment, Misifú rubbed up against the old woman's leg.

"Ah, Misifú!" said Doña Josefina, stooping to pick up the white cat. "I'll give you two extra helpings of fish tonight if you'll just go into the garden and chase away that pesky cabra."

"Why not?" Misifú replied with flick of her tail. "¿Porqué no? It might be interesting to chase a goat."

In no particular hurry, Misifú sauntered out to the garden. Because she made no effort to hide herself, the goat spotted her strolling down the main garden path.

The pesky little goat prepared herself for battle. She climbed halfway up a sturdy trellis, poking her head between the vines. In a deep, loud voice, the pesky goat said:

"Heed my words

and stay away.

I'll devour the first

to disobey!"

Misifú froze in her tracks. Her luminous eyes widened and searched the darkness like lanterns for the owner of the voice. High above her head, Misifú saw a horrible head, the shape and size of a dragon's. Huge horns stuck out above its eyes. At its sides flapped large, wide wings. Its serpentine body entwined itself around the trellis. Misifú swore that from the creature's nostrils flames escaped and licked the sky.

This was no pesky goat--this was a dragon! And there weren't enough helpings of fish in all of Puerto Rico to tempt Misifú to tangle with a dragon. Misifú became a streak of white in the darkness and didn't stop running until she was safely under Doña Josefina's bed next to Ladrón. No promises of sweet cream and tender giblets could entice her out.

Doña Josefina placed her hands on top of her head. "Ay, ay, ay! ¿Qué haré? What shall I do?"

In the meantime, a bee had flown into the house through an open window. "¿Qué pasa, Doña Josefina? What's the problem?"

"Ah, brave abejita," began Doña Josefina, feeling some hope returning, "I'll give you ten drops of honey if you'll chase that pesky, pesky cabra from my garden."

The bee considered Doña Josefina's proposition, and replied: "¡Seguro! It'll be easy. The pesky goat will be gone in no time."

The bee buzzed out the window and into the garden. He buzzed in and out of the flowers and vines looking for the pesky goat. But the goat heard him and was ready. Rearing up on her hind legs, she said in a deep, loud voice:

"Heed my words

and stay away.

I'll devour the first

to disobey!"

The bee stared at the white phantom that loomed up before him. Never had he seen anything so large and hideous! It had to be the ghost of a dreadful ogre. No amount of honey was worth standing up to a phantom ogre!

In the next instant, the bee zoomed from the garden and didn't stop flying until he had passed two barrios. He had no intention of ever returning to Doña Josefina's garden paradise.

Doña Josefina waited and waited for the bee to announce that the pesky goat was gone for good. When the bee did not return, Doña Josefina began to cry.

"Ay, ay, ay! My beloved garden. That pesky, pesky, pesky cabra is going to destroy it all!"

The elderly woman felt a sting on her ear. "No llores, Doña Josefina. Please, don't cry," said a tiny voice. "Tell me your problem and perhaps I can help."

Doña Josefina flicked her ear and a little black ant dropped onto the palm of her hand. She stared at the little ant in disbelief. If her faithful Ladrón, her irascible Misifú, and a brave little bee could not chase away that pesky goat, how could a tiny little ant?

"Hormiguita," began Doña Josefina, feeling desperate, "are you brave enough to chase that pesky, pesky, pesky cabra from my garden?"

"I'm willing to try," said the little ant.

She crawled off Doña Josefina's hand and into the garden. Because the little ant was so tiny and quiet, she was able to sneak up on the pesky goat. Before the goat realized what was happening, the little ant climbed onto the goat's hind leg. She stung the goat in the leg, then on the stomach, then on the chest, and headed for her ear.

All the while, the pesky goat jumped and kicked and scratched. She rolled and rolled on the ground. But she couldn't make the stinging stop. Suddenly, a voice sang out:

"Heed my words

and go away.

I'll sting the one

Believing the garden had been invaded by an army of nasty stinging ants, the pesky goat ran off, never to be heard from again.

Doña Josefina rewarded the spunky little ant with all the sugar and bread crumbs she and her friends could carry to their ant hill. When her ankle healed, Doña Josefina went back to tending her beloved garden. With her help, the flowers and vines that the goat had chewed quickly mended and all traces of the pesky goat disappeared.

8th. Grade Reading - The First Day of School

The First Day of School

Edward P. Jones

Directions: As you’re reading, stop and make INFERENCES.

On an otherwise unremarkable September morning, long before I learned to be ashamed of my mother, she takes my hand and we set off down New Jersey Avenue to begin my very first day of school. I am wearing a checkered-like blue-and-green cotton dress, and scattered about these colors are bits of yellow and white and brown. My mother has uncharacteristically spent nearly an hour on my hair that morning, plaiting and replaiting so that now my scalp tingles.

Whenever I turn my head quickly, my nose fills with the faint smell of Dixie Peach hair grease. The smell is somehow a soothing one now and I will reach for it time- and time again before the morning ends. All the plaits, each with a blue barrette near the tip and each twisted into an uncommon sturdiness, will last until I go to bed that night, something that has never happened before. My stomach is full of milk and oatmeal sweetened with brown sugar. Like everything else I have on, my pale green slip and underwear are new, the underwear having come three to a plastic package with a little girl on the front who appears to be dancing. Behind my ears, my mother, to stop my whining, has dabbed the stingiest bit of her gardenia perfume, the last present my father gave her before he disappeared into memory.

Because I cannot smell it, I have only her word that the perfume is there. I am also wearing yellow socks trimmed with thin lines of black and white around the tops. My shoes are my greatest joy, black patent-leather miracles, and when one is nicked at the toe later that morning in class, my heart will break.

I am carrying a pencil, a pencil sharpener, and a small ten-cent tablet with a black-and-white speckled cover. My mother does not believe that a girl in kindergarten needs such things, so I am taking them only because of my insistent whining and because they are presents from our neighbors, Mary Keith and Blondelle Harris. Miss Mary and Miss Blondelle are watching my two younger sisters until my mother returns. The women are as precious to me as my mother and sisters. Out playing one day, I have overheard an older child, speaking to another child, call Miss Mary and Miss Blondelle a word that is brand new to me. This is my mother: When I say the word in fun to one of my sisters, my mother slaps me across the mouth and the word is lost for years and years.

All the way down New Jersey Avenue, the sidewalks are teeming with children. In my neighborhood, I have many friends, but I see none of them as my mother and I walk. We cross New York Avenue, we cross Pierce Street, and we cross L and K, and still I see no one who knows my name. At I Street, between New Jersey Avenue and Third Street, we enter Seaton Elementary School, a timeworn, sadfaced building across the street from my mother’s church, Mt. Carmel Baptist.

Just inside the front door, women out of the advertisements in Ebony are greeting other parents and children. The woman who greets us has pearls thick as jumbo marbles that come down almost to her navel, and she acts as if she had known me all my life, touching my shoulder, cupping her hand under my chin. She is enveloped in a perfume that I only know is not gardenia. When, in answer to her question, my mother tells her that we live at 1227 New Jersey Avenue, the woman first seems to be picturing in her head where we live. Then she shakes her head and says that we are at the wrong school, that we should be at Walker-Jones.

My mother shakes her head vigorously. ”I want her to go here,” my mother says. ”If I’da wanted her someplace else, I’da took her there.”

The woman continues to act as if she has known me all my life, but she tells my mother that we live beyond the area that Seaton serves. My mother is not convinced and for several more minutes she questions the woman about why I cannot attend Seaton. For as many Sundays as I can remember, perhaps even Sundays when I was in her womb, my mother has pointed across I Street to Seaton as we come and go to Mt. Carmel. ”You gonna go there and learn about the whole world.” But one of the guardians of that place is saying no, and no again. I am learning this about my mother: The higher up on the scale of respectability a person is—and teachers are rather high up in her eyes—the less she is liable to let them push her around. But finally, I see in her eyes the closing gate, and she takes my hand and we leave the building. On the steps, she stops as people move past us on either side.

“Mama, I can’t go to school?”

She says nothing at first, then takes my hand again and we are down the steps quickly and nearing New Jersey Avenue before I can blink. This is my mother: She says,”One monkey don’t stop no show.”

Walker-Jones is a larger, newer school and I immediately like it because of that. But it is not across the street from my mother’s church, her rock, one of her connections to God, and I sense her doubts as she absently rubs her thumb over the back of her hand. We find our way to the crowded auditorium where gray metal chairs are set up in the middle of the room. Along the wall to the left are tables and other chairs. Every chair seems occupied by a child or adult. Somewhere in the room a child is crying, a cry that rises above the buzz-talk of so many people. Strewn about the floor are dozens and dozens of pieces of white paper, and people are walking over them without any thought of picking them up. And seeing this lack of concern, I am all of a sudden afraid.

“Is this where they register for school?” my mother asks a woman at one of the tables.

The woman looks up slowly as if she has heard this question once too often. She nods. She is tiny, almost as small as the girl standing beside her. The woman’s hair is set in a mass of curlers and all of those curlers are made of paper money, here a dollar bill, there a five-dollar bill. The girl’s hair is arrayed in curls, but some of them are beginning to droop and this makes me happy.

On the table beside the woman’s pocketbook is a large notebook, worthy of someone in high school, and looking at me looking at the notebook, the girl places her hand possessively on it. In her other hand she holds several pencils with thick crowns of additional erasers.

“These the forms you gotta use?” my mother asks the woman, picking up a few pieces of the paper from the table. ”Is this what you have to fill out?”

The woman tells her yes, but that she need fill out only one.

“I see,” my mother says, looking about the room. Then: “Would you help me with this form? That is, if you don’t mind.”

The woman asks my mother what she means.  “This form. Would you mind help in me fill it out?” The woman still seems not to understand.

“I can’t read it. I don’t know how to read or write, and I’m asking you to help me.” My mother looks at me then looks away. I know almost all of her looks, but this one is brand new to me.

“Would you help me, then?” The woman says “Why sure,” and suddenly she appears happier, so much more satisfied with everything. She finishes the form for her daughter and my mother and I step aside to wait for her. We find two chairs nearby and sit. My mother is now diseased, according to the girl’s eyes, and until the moment her mother takes her and the form to the front of the auditorium, the girl never stops looking at my mother. I stare back at her. ”Don’t stare,” my mother says to me. ”You know better than that.”

Another woman out of the Ebony ads takes the woman’s child away. Now, the woman says upon returning, let’s see what we can do for you two.

My mother answers the questions the woman reads off the form. They start with my last name, and then on to the first and middle names. This is school, I think. This is going to school. My mother slowly enunciates each word of my name. This is my mother: As the questions go on, she takes from her pocketbook document after document, as if they will support my right to attend school, as if she has been saving them up for just this moment. Indeed, she takes out more papers than I have ever seen her do in other places: my birth certificate, my baptismal record, a doctor’s letter concerning my bout with chicken pox, rent receipts, records of immunization, a letter about our public assistance payments, even her marriage license—every single paper that has anything even remotely to do with my five-year-old life. Few of the papers are needed here, but it does not matter and my mother continues to pull out the documents with the purposefulness of a magician pulling out a long string of scarves. She has learned that money is the beginning and end of everything in this world, and when the woman finishes, my mother offers her fifty cents, and the woman accepts it without hesitation. My mother and I are just about the last parent and child in the room.

My mother presents the form to a woman sitting in front of the stage, and the woman looks at it and writes something on a white card, which she gives to my mother. Before long, the woman who has taken the girl with the drooping curls appears from behind us, speaks to the sitting woman, and introduces herself to my mother and me. She’s to be my teacher, she tells my mother. My mother stares.

We go into the hall, where my mother kneels down to me. Her lips are quivering. ”I’ll be back to pick you up at twelve o’clock. I don’t want you to go nowhere. You just wait right here. And listen to every word she say.” I touch her lips and press them together. It is an old, old game between us. She puts my hand down at my side, which is not part of the game. She stands and looks a second at the teacher, then she turns and walks away. I see where she has darned one of her socks the night before. Her shoes make loud sounds in the hall. She passes through the doors and I can still hear the loud sounds of her shoes. And even when the teacher turns me toward the classrooms and I hear what must be the singing and talking of all the children in the world, I can still hear my mother’s footsteps above it all.