A letter to My Teachers

Michael G

September 6, 2007 Period 6

Dear Mr. Tipane and Mr. Brown,

My name is Michael G. Some people call me Mike but I prefer Michael. My hobbies are skateboarding, video games, and basketball. My primary language is English. My mom and step mom teach me a little bit of Tagalog because I am part filipino. My goal is to finish school and graduate. After that I would like to go to college at USC. My dream is to become a professional basketball player and play in the NBA. I am very proud of myself for graduating the 5th grade and making it to Junior High. I have 2 dads, 2 moms, 4 brothers, and 1 sister. I had a dog named Smokey but we had to give him away.

I think I am a very good student. I pay attention in class and when I don't understand I raise my hand and ask questions. I consider my education to be at the top of my list of priorities. The subject I excel in is math. I find English very frustrating. My favorite class is F.E. because I am very energetic and I love basketball. I believe that my work habits are good because I finish my class work and homework to the best of my abilities. During test time I do okay. I think I can do better by having more confidence. I get so nervous sometimes.

My most memorable moment in math is when I first learned how to make a graph. I thought it was cool so I started making different kinds of graphs. My favorite math topic is multiplication and my least favorite topic is algebra. This year I look forward to getting a better understanding of algebra so it won't be so hard for me. I expect to get at least a “B" but would really love to get an “A". To achieve that I must work hard and pay attention in class. I also need to ask questions if I don't understand. I look forward to being in your class and learning the most that I can.

Sincerely, Michael G

*****

In The Shadows He Lurks
by Joshua P
Grade 7

A tall man, dressed in dark clothing, silently crept through a shadowy alley in New York City. His sweaty grip on his pistol tightened, and he donned his black mask.

He paced further down the lifeless alley, undetected, and rain began to fall, dampening his clothes. The drizzle made them appear darker. Good.

The shady man eyed a window.

An open window.

Had there been any one around, and if he wasn't wearing his mask, they would have surely been chilled by the way his grin covered his sweaty face. Onlookers would have been even more chilled by how it grew wider as he hoisted himself up through the window. The ones who had so carelessly left it ajar would be quite surprised by their armed midnight guest.

The man reached the top of the window, and then quietly jumped down, letting his strong legs bend to quiet his fall. After waiting for his eyes to adjust, he scanned the room. It was a bedroom, with one small twin bed, a closet, one dresser, with a tall lamp set in the corner. A girl occupied the little bed. The man noticed that the young girl's eyes were just a little too tightly shut. He leaned close to her and produced his gun. A gloved finger went over his masked face and he murmured, “Shhhhh.”

Her eyes opened, for she realized that the robber was aware of her consciousness. The girl nodded to him, knowing what very well could happen if she didn't cooperate.

The otherwise-undetected guest slipped out the bedroom door, and into the pitch-dark living room.

Approximately five minutes later, he emerged back into the well-alert girl's bedroom. He leapt out of the window, and the soft sound of the cool rain covered what remained of the sound produced by his short fall. He carried a pistol in his right hand, and a new wallet in the other.

His footsteps melded with the continuous sound of the sky's tears.

That man made a lot of money that night. He was never caught. No one knows who he is. No one but me.

You wanna know a secret? Alright. Lean in closer.

Closer. Nobody else can know.

No one can ever know that it was me.

Those who were awake that rainy night all say they heard a deep, distant laugh.

But perhaps it was only the sound of the rain.

*****

Sailor's Son
by Joshua P
Grade 7

For me, home is wherever the Navy decides my father needs to be. I sometimes wish that they would just pick one place. Not always, but sometimes. It can be hard to leave your friends. Fortunately, I'm a loner and don't have too many friends, usually. I suppose that's a pro.

Another thing that can be hard to deal with is having your father go to war. There was a light sprinkle, a mist, on the day my dad was sent to war. I felt the mists were symbolic of the sky's tears; I knew some of the soldiers in the parking lot that I was in would never again step foot on American soil.

There is a light.

Burning ever so softly.

The light's warmth is rejuvenating.

I move closer to its precious heat.

I saw something chilling on that horrid day: looking across the parking lot, I saw a soldier. There was nothing unusual about him, until I took a closer look. Suddenly I realized that he was only eighteen years old. He must have been; he was so young. And he was being sent to war. I kept the military in my prayers while my father was away, and I still do today. Good Lord, have mercy.

I reach the light.

I touch it.

The flame sputters and dies.

But this life I live is by no means all bad. I do love moving to new places every year or two. It adds lots of variety in my life. My nomadic life style is enjoyable, in some ways. In a lot of ways, really. I mean, I have been in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. I have crossed through many states, more than most people do in their entire life time, as a matter of fact. Twenty-four. Born in Jacksonville, North Carolina, I have moved six times, and been in three regions of the United States of America as of age twelve. Yes, it is fun…hard, too, but there are definitely pros about this life.

I see a light.

Burning ever so softly.

Its warmth is rejuvenating.

I move closer to its precious heat.

Now I have reached it.

I reach out to the light.

The flame sputters and dies.

I am a sailor's son.

*****