Saturday, July 30, 2005

Splat! a story.

Yesterday, I told you I was procrastinating working on my staff development presentation in favor of the more fun planning. I wrote a story to do as a write aloud for the kids when we start learning the writing process in a few weeks. Sadly, it is a true story with minimal embellishment. I will accept all suggestions at the end.

"I'm going to Dana's!" I called to my mom through the front door, closing it behind me. I carefully stepped down the two steps onto our front sidewalk. On rollerskates, this was no easy task, but I was quite the rollerskating expert by this time. I was going into 5th grade and I had been rollerskating for years.
I pushed off from my driveway and rolled toward my friend Dana's house, not a care in the world. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Step on a crack, break your mama's back, I thought and I challenged myself on the sidewalk squares. My friend Dana lived right around the corner and we spent most of our days skating and hanging out around her house.
Glancing around the neighborhood, I was surprised not to see the usual huddle of 7th grade boys that always hung out in one of the driveways on the way to Dana's house. They were the neighborhood bullies, everyone knew to steer clear of them. Spending their days shooting things with BB guns and terrorizing small children did not earn them a lot of buddies. I was relieved by their absence today.
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot...I felt the wind blowing through my hair. I loved the sensation of rollerskating. I expertly stepped over a stick on the sidewalk and swerved around a crack rising above a willful tree root. I smiled, proud to be such a practiced and confident skater. I looked ahead of me to bask in the breeze when I was snapped from my reverie by a roundish white object soaring through the air in my direction. More specifically, the direction of my face.
"Aughhhhhh!" I screeched as I felt the solid object strike me in the face. Instinctively, I put my hands out in front of me; I was completely blinded by What was this? Slime? I rolled to a stop to investigate. Had I hit a bird? I hadn't seen a bird. Surely I wasn't going that fast. Tentatively patting at my face, I felt shards mixed in with the cold slimy substance. I heard peals of laughter behind me as it all came together in my mind. The humiliation washed over me like a wave.
The 7th grade bullies had egged me. Whoever heard of egging a person? How cruel can you be? I felt angry tears rise into my eyes as I swiped the egg from my glasses, trying to see ahead of me. I refused to let them see how furious I was. Turning around, I carefully headed back to my house, yolk streaming from my bangs that I had so carefully sculpted and sprayed into shape that morning, egg white stringing from my glasses to my cheeks, blood running down my face from what was certainly a cut from the eggshell, and tears of embarrassment and pain mixing with it all to form quite the messy concoction on my face by the time I got home.
My mom angrily cleaned me up, patched my wound, and told my dad. After taking a look at his bedraggled, bespectacled, and yolky daughter, he went to inform the Bully's parents of their son's criminal activities. Much to my satisfaction, the Bully had to come apologize to me later, a moment I gloated through.
After that day, I found a new route to Dana's house and kept my eye on the windows, instead of the sidewalk. I began traveling by bicycle more frequently figuring it's a more difficult target. Lots of people have battle wounds from accidents or sports injuries. Me? I have an eyebrow scar from an attack of a raw egg.

Now, if we were my students, we would add the line right here, "And then I woke up. It was all a dream! The End." as fourth graders are prone to do. I don't love my ending. This is the part when you are to do a writing conference with me, remembering that this is for a 4th grade audience. In a writing conference, you state what you like and make suggestions for improvement for the final copy. Go!

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