She has begun to write her book!
But first, Day 2 of HAYVEN Homeschool
Here’s our schedule and her quick write. We always warm up with a read aloud and write.
Here is part 1…first draft.
On our break, she popped this out!
Vans are disgusting and smelly. They are even more disgusting and smelly when you have four people squished against you. This was my life; a very disgusting and smelly van with four strangers digging their elbows into my rib cage. Strangers who know nothing about me and who could be serial killers, and one wrong move and I could be dead. Strangers who have the smelliest farts in the whole entire world. And if you had to be in my shoes, you would be dead in one millisecond. None of them are black people.
There are usually older people on this van but once in a while, there will be kids my age with parents. Kids who are white. Kids who board onto this van both their mother and father clutching their hands. White kids who stare me down as if I was dead, and sometimes I wish I was dead. Kids who have a thick, bold accents will never speak to me, and will sit five aisles in front of me. No black people. White kids whose shoes are new and clean Jordans and Nikes.
Chapter 1: Black
I’m Black. No,no I’m a White American, my name is Black. Kids at school call me blank, but my name is Black. I had no clue why my mother called me that because I have blue eyes that resemble the ocean, not black eyes and I have brown musty hair, not black hair.
I love to run. I love to smell the dew on the trees, dripping down, while I race across the fields, being careful not to slip down the slippery slope. I love to race across dry open fields going full speed while the dirt clings to the souls of my shoes.
I was born into a small family. My older siblings had to work the crops for food and would come home all sweaty and tired. They would bark at me if I sat down funny.
When I was 12 years old I couldn’t remember my parents. You see I was blind. I wasn’t born blind, in fact I could see up until my tenth birthday. Then I stopped being able to see. It was hard for me to comprehend that I would never be able to see again. By then I was used to it. I knew why I was named Black, because then everyone and everything was black.
About two months before I had had a really bad heart attack which is why I was in the hospital bed lying there my oxygen tank failing.
I gasped for air. My lungs were failing me. I felt dizzy and nauseous. My heartbeat got faster. Then it stopped. I floated up. I could clearly see my body in the hospital bed. I could see!
I heard one of the nurses cry out “the boy is dead.” Was she talking about me? Was I really dead? I could clearly see my body laying there, not moving. I kept lying there, well, not really me more my body kept lying there. I saw my mother. Her face was as red as a cherry from crying. I saw my older brother grasping her arm probably coaxing her. And I saw my sister red-faced her head buried in her hands. Then I saw my adopted sister, Jade, who was black, and who nobody paid attention to. But I didn’t see my dad. My family was all there except my dad.
Life continued on. Being black was hard. Especially, here in Applo, Dracton. School was especially hard. My name is Jade. I’m 14 years old. I’m adopted. Losing my little brother was very hard, but I moved on since I had only known him for four weeks. Then I started getting tempted to do wrong things. But there was always one car that I was always in, a smelly and disgusting van.
I always had to be in it, picking and dropping off strangers. Being squished in the middle next to total complete strangers who could be serial killers. I got made fun of on that van. I got bullied on that van. I got squished and hurt on that van. And let me tell you something being black is the worst on that van.
The only wrong things that I could do on that van was try to pickpocket somebody. But my “father” would scold me every single time. One time I actually got away with it but what I got was only some lint. That’s why I think my “father “ didn’t scold me, because he probably couldn’t care less about me stealing lint.
My favorite show growing up was Thomas the train. I used to watch it for three hours a day. But my favorite character was Percy. I used to chant, “Percy marry Thomas”, four times a day. But a black three year old wearing a Thomas the train shirt was probably really embarrassing for my mother and father, so at four I stopped watching it.
MORE TO COME