Read the paragraph from Lucy’s narrative.I could see that my neighbor was struggling with the lone bag of groceries cradled in her arms, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. Grandma June—what all the neighborhood kids had called her for as long as I could remember—had always been the one to care for us, to help us build stronger forts, to grow better flowers, and to learn from our mistakes. To ask if she needed help with something as simple as carrying in one bag of groceries would be like shouting to the world that she was aging, that she was no longer as strong as she once had been. Hesitantly, I walked to the wooden gate that divided our front lawn from hers and stood there as the package she was carrying threatened to spill from her arms.
Read the excerpt from Spencer’s narrative.I could not have been more stunned. "He” was a "she”! Our new football coach was a female.My mind drifted to that day last week. We had all been waiting in the locker room to meet our new coach, secretly wondering what he would be like. Would he be tough but fair? Would he be demanding but understanding? Would he motivate us before each game with a rousing speech the way Coach Jackson always had? These thoughts were abruptly interrupted when our new coach entered the locker room, stood before us, and commanded our attention.
Read the excerpt from Dominique’s narrative.1 Tired of waiting for the bus, which was late for the fifth day in a row, I sat leafing through an old magazine I had stuffed in my purse the previous night. 2 It was terribly warm for a September afternoon, and the sun cast transitory shadows on the bus stop sign with each car that passed. 3 I fleetingly wondered when the weather would get cooler and when the new bus driver would start arriving on time. 4 It was about then that I first noticed the apparent agitation of the man sitting next to me.5 Finally, the bus arrived and ambled to a gradual stop directly in front of the restless man. 6 The doors widened, and the bus driver greeted the man with his usual banter in his usual monotone.7 "Good afternoon. How are you today?”
Read the excerpt from Dominique’s personal narrative.Tired of waiting for the bus, which was late for the fifth day in a row, I sat leafing through an old magazine I had stuffed in my purse the previous night. It was terribly warm for a September afternoon, and the sun cast fleeting shadows on the bus stop sign with each car that passed. I wondered when the weather would get cooler and when the new bus driver would start arriving on time. It was about then that I first noticed the apparent agitation of the man sitting next to me.Finally, the bus arrived and ambled to a gradual stop directly in front of the restless man. The doors widened, and the bus driver greeted the man with his usual banter in his usual monotone."Good afternoon. How are you today?”
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