Samantha's+Reading+Log

Date: 3/15 Title: Dream (Martin Luther King, Jr.) Pages:1-10 Quote: " Martin Luther King, Jr. was born on January 15, 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia, the heartland of the America South, a place deeply segregated and riven by entreched racial attitudes and atrocities toward black people. It was headquarters of the white racist organization, the violent Ku Klux Klan." Reaction: What is atrocities? Also what date was Ku Klux Klan invented?

Date: 3/16 Title: Dream (Martin Luther King, Jr.) Pages:10-20 Quote: " As I grew older & older, this feeling continued to grow [even though] my parents would tell me that I should not hate the white man, but it was my duty, as a Christian, to love him. " Reaction: Wow. I Never knew he was Christian I thought he was Cathalic. Oh, and strrong words :)

Date: 3/17 Title: Dream (Martin Luther King, Jr.) Pages:20-30 Quote: " After the tough-and-tumble, the meen dispersed to dress for dinner. An hour later King stepped onto the balcony of his first-floor room and paused there debating inwardly whether or not to take a jacket. Somewhere off to his right, a white man named James Earl Ray brought the cross hairs of his rifle sights onto King's neck and fired. " Reaction: Wowwwwwwwwwww. Thats a really messed up thing to do, I wonder how long he went to jail like forever or just 10-40 Yearsss?

That is James Earl Ray... ↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓ Date: 3/18 Title: Dream (Martin Luther King, Jr.) Pages:30-40 Quote: "We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love " Reaction: I didn't really get that, so basically you have to meet hate with the power of love? (Confused :l)

Date: 3/19 Title: Dream (Martin Luther King, Jr.) Pages:40-50 Quote: "The important thing about a man is not the color of his skin or the texture of his hair, but the texture and quality of his soul." Reaction: This is very true. And Very Stronnnnnnnnnnnnnng words that he used (

__**Week 7**__ []

Date: 3/22 Title: A Child Called It Author: Dave Pelzer Pages: 1-20  Quote: March 5, 1973, Daly City, California-- I'm late. I've got to finish the dishes on time, otherwise no breakfast: and since I didn't have dinner last night, I have to make sure I get something to eat. Mother's running around and yelling at my brothers. I can hear her stomping down the hallway towards the kitchen. I dip my hands back into the scaldind rinse water. It's too late. She catches me with my hands out of the water. SMACK! Mother hits me in the face and I topple to the floor. I know better than to stand there and take the hit I learned the hard way that she takes that as an act of defiance, which means more hits, or worst of all, no food. I regain my posture and dodge her looks, as she screams into my ears. I act timid, nodding to her threats. "Please," I say to myself, "just let me eat. Hit me again, but I have to have food." Another blow pushes my head against the title counter top. I let the tears of mock defeat stream down my face as she storms out of the kitchen, seemingly satisfied with herself. After I count her steps, making sure she's gone, I breathe a sigh relief. The act worked. Mother can beat me all she wants, but I haven't let her take away my will to somehow survive. Reaction: Wow she tortures him so much. In the next paragraph he finshes the dishes and he gets the leftovers of His little brothers ceral which is Lucky Charms but it only had a few bits and half a bowl of milk I hate that she is treating him like this, my mom will never ever do this to me, my mom is always telling me that to feel bad for the kids that have moms and treat them bad. It's just tooooooo sad :(

Date: 3/23 Title: A Child Called It Author:Dave Pelzer Pages: 20-40 Quote: That summer, without warning, I was dropped off at my Aunt Joie's house on the way to the campsite. No one told me about this and I could not understand why. I felt like an outcat as the station wagon drove away, leaving me behind. I felt so sad and hollow. I tried to run away from my aunt's house. I wanted to find my family, and for some strange reason, I wanted to be with Mother. I didn't get far, and my aunt later informed my mother of my attempt. The next time Father worked the 24-hour shift, I paid for my sin. Mother smacked, punched and kicked me uintil I crumpled to the floor. I tried to tell Mother that I had runaway because I wanted to be with her and the family. I tried to tell her thhat I had missed her, but Mother refused to let me spek. I tried once more and Mother dashed to the bathroom, snatched a bar of soap and crammed it down my throart. After that, I was no longer allowed to spek unless I was instructed to do so. Returning to the first grade was a joy. I knew the basic lesson and was instantly dubbed the class genius. Since I was held back, Stan and I were in the same grade. During recess, I would go over to Stan's first0grade class to play. At school we were the best of freinds; however, at home, we both knew I was not to be acknowledged. One day I rushes home to show off a school paper. Mother threw me into her bedroom, yelling about a ltter she had received from the Morth Pole. She claimed the letter said that I was a "Bad boy" and Santa would not bring me any gifts for Christmas. Mother raged on and on, saying that I had embarrassed the family //again.// I stood in a daze, as Mother badgered me relentlessly. I felt I was living in a nightmare that Mother had created, and I prayed she would somehow wake up. Reaction: Wow this is really sad. How big a a bar of soap and how can it fit in his throat. Did she just shove it in there. & I also didn't really get the part that a letter came from the North Pole. Or maybe she was just making it up to hurt him. & also he was trying to show him a paper from school maybe it could have been a paper of his grades?

Date: 3/24 Title: A Child Called It Pages:40-60 Author:Dave Pelzer Quote: "you've made my life a living hell!" she sneered. "Now it's time I showed //you// what hell is like!" Gripping my arm, Mother held it in the orange-blue flame. My skin seemed to explode from the heat. I could smell the schorched hairs from my burnt arm. As hard as I fought, I could not force Mother to let go of my arm. Finally I fell to the floor, on my hands and knewws, and tried to blow cool air on my arm. "It's too bad yoour drucken father's not here to save you," she hissed. Mother hissed. Mother then ordered me to climb up onto watch me burn. I refused, crying and pleading. I felt so scared I stomped my feet in protest. But Mother continued to force me on top of the stove. I watched the flames, praying the gas might run out. Reaction: Wow. That is the meanest thing ever. Who would let their own son burn their hand on the stove. (Apperantly her.).... Really Sad. :'(

Date: 3/25 Title: A Child Called It Pages: 60-100 Author:Dave Pelzer Quote: Even when I was sure my plan was foolproof, I was too afraid to put it into action. During the lunch recess at school, I strolled around the playground making excuses to myself for my lack of guts to run to the store. I told myself I would get caught or that my timing calculations were not accurate. All thriugh the argument with myself, my stomach growled, calling me a "chicken." Finally, after several days without dinner and only the small leftover portion for breakfast, I decided to do it.A few moments after the lunch bell rang, I blitzed up the street, away from the school, with my heart pounding and my lungs bursting for air. I made it to the store in half the time I allowed myself. Walking up and down the aisle of the store, I felt si if everybody was staring at me. I felt as thought all the customers were talking about the smelly, ragged child. It was then that I knew my plan was doomed because I had not taken into account how I might look to other people. The more I worried about my appearance, the more my stomach became seized with fear I froze in the aisle, not knowing what to do. I slowly began to count the seconds away. I began to think about all the times I had been starving. Suddenly without thinking, I grabbed the first thing I saw on the shelf, ran out of the store and races back to school. Clutchedtightly in my hand was my prize--a box of graham crackers. Reaction: Awwwwwwhh! :( That is so sad he would ditch school to get food. I feel realllly sorry for him.

Date: 3/25 Title: A Child Called It Pages: 100-128 Author:Dave Pelzer Quote: After the knife incident, Father spent less and less time at home and more at work. He made excuses to the family, but I didn't believe him. I often shivered with fear as I sat in the garage, hoping for some reason he might not leave. In spite of all that had happened, I still felt Father was my protector. When he was home, Mother only did about half the things to me that she did when he was gone. When Father was home, it became his habit to help me with the evening dishes. Father washed and I dried. While we worked, we talked softly so neither Mother nor the other boys could hear us. Sometimes, several minutes would pass without us talking. We wanted to make sure the coast was clear. Father always broke the ice. "How ya doing, Tiger?" he would say. Hearing the old name that Father used when I was a little boy always brought a smile to my face. "I'm OK," I would answer. "Did you have anything to eat today?" he often asked. I usually shook my head in a negative gesture. "Don't worry," he'd say. "Some day you and I will both get out of this madhouse." I knew father hated living at home and I felt that it was all my fault. I told him that I would be good and that I wouldn't steal food anymore. I told Father I would try harder and do a better job on my chores. When I said these things, he always smiled and assured me that it wasn't my fault. Sometimes as I dried the dishes, I felt a new ray of hope. I knew Father probably wouldn't do anything against Mother, but when I stood beside him I felt safe. Like all good things that happened to me, Mother put an end to Father helping me with the dishes. She insisted that The Boy needed no help. She said that Father paid too much attention to me and not enough to others in the family. Without a fight, Father gave up. Mother now had complete control over everybody in the household. After awhile, Father didn't even stay home on his days off. He would come in for only a few minutes. After seeing my brothers, he would find me wherever I was doing my chores and say a few sentences, then leave. It took Father no more than 10 minutes to get in and out of the house, and be on his way back to his solitude, which he usually found in a bar. When Father talked to me, he'd tell me that he was making plans for the two of us to leave. This always made me smile, but deep inside I knew it was a fantasy. One day, he knelt down to tell me how sorry he was. I looked into his face. The change in Father frightened me. He had dark black circles around his eyes, and his face and neck were beet-red. Father's once rigid shoulders were now slumped over. Gray had begun to take over his jet-black hair. Before he left that day, I threw my arms around his waist. I didn't know when I would see him again. After finishing my chores that day, I rushed downstairs. I had been ordered to wash my ragged clothes and another heap of smelly rags. But that day, Father's leaving had left me so sad that I buried myself in the pile of rags and cried. I cried for him to come back and take me away. After a few minutes of self-comfort, I settled down and began scrubbing my "Swiss cheese" clothes. I scrubbed until my knuckles bled. I no longer cared about my existence. Mother's house had become unbearable. I wished I could somehow manage to escape the place I now called the "Madhouse." During one period of time when Father was away, Mother starved me for about ten consecutive days. No matter how hard I tried to meet her time limits, I couldn't make it. And the consequence was no food. Mother was completely thorough in making sure I was unable to steal any food. She cleared the dinner table herself, putting the food down the garbage disposal. She rummaged through the garbage can every day before I emptied it downstairs. She locked the freezer in the garage with her key and kept it. I was used to going without food for periods up to three days, but this extended time was unbearable. Water was my only means of survival. When I filled the metal ice cube tray from the refrigerator, I would tip the corner of the tray to my mouth. Downstairs I would creep to the wash basin and crack the faucet tap open. Praying that the pipe would not vibrate and alert Mother, I would carefully suck on the cold metal until my stomach was so full I thought it would burst. By the sixth day I was so weak when I woke up on my army cot, I could hardly get up. I worked on my chores at a snail's pace. I felt so numb. My thought responses became unclear. It seemed to take minutes for me to understand each sentence Mother yelled to me. As I slowly strained my head up to look at Mother, I could tell that to her it was a game -- a game which she thoroughly enjoyed. "Oh, poor little baby," Mother sarcastically cooed. Then she asked me how I felt, and laughed when I begged for food. At the end of the sixth day, and those that followed, I hoped with all my heart that Mother would feed me something, anything. I was at a point that I didn't care what it was. One evening, towards the end of her "game," after I had finished my chores, Mother slammed a plate of food in front of me. The cold leftovers were a feast to my eyes. But I was wary; it seemed too good to be true. "Two minutes!" Mother barked. "You have two minutes to eat. That's all." Like lightening I picked up the fork, but the moment before the food touched my mouth, Mother snatched the plate away from me and emptied the food down the garbage disposal. "Too late!" she sneered. I stood before her dumbstruck. I didn't know what to do or say. All I could think of was "Why?" I couldn't understand why she treated me the way she did. I was so close that I could smell every morsel. I knew she wanted me to cave in, but I stood fast and held back the tears. Mother had another favorite game for me while Father was away. She sent me to clean the bathroom with her usual time limits. But this time, she put a bucket, filled with a mixture of ammonia and Clorox, in the room with me and closed the door. The first time she did this, Mother informed me she had read about it in a newspaper and wanted to try it. Even though I acted as if I were frightened, I really wasn"t. I was ignorant about what was going to happen. Only when Mother closed the door and ordered me not to open it, did I begin to worry. With the room sealed, the air began to quickly change. In the corner of the bathroom I dropped to my hands and knees and stared at the bucket. A fine gray mist swirled towards the ceiling. As I breathed in the fumes, I collapsed and began spitting up. My throat felt like it was on fire. Within minutes it was raw. The gas from the reaction of the ammonia and Clorox mixture made my eyes water. I was frantic about not being able to meet Mother"s time limits for cleaning the bathroom. After a few more minutes, I thought I would cough up my insides. I knew that Mother wasn't going to give in and open the door. To survive her new game, I had to use my head. Laying on the tiled floor I stretched my body, and using my foot, I slide the bucket to the door. I did this for two reasons: I wanted the bucket as far away from me as possible, and in case Mother opened the door, I wanted her to get a snoot full of her own medicine. I curled up in the opposite corner of the bathroom, with my cleaning rag over my mouth, nose and eyes. Before covering my face, I wet the rag in the toilet. I didn't dare turn on the water in the sink for fear of Mother hearing it. Breathing through the cloth, I watched the mist inch its way closer and closer to the floor. I felt as if I were locked in a gas chamber. Then I thought about the small heating vent on the floor by my feet. I knew it turned on and off every few minutes. I put my face next to the vent and sucked in all the air my lungs would hold. In about half an hour, Mother opened the door and told me to empty the bucket into the drain in the garage before I smelled up her house. Downstairs I coughed up blood for over an hour. Of all Mother's punishments, I hated the gas chamber game the most. I wondered what Mother had planned for me next. I prayed it was not another gas chamber session. She yelled from the garage for me to follow her upstairs. She led me to the bathroom. My heart sank. I felt doomed. I began taking huge breaths of fresh air, knowing that soon I would need it. To my surprise there wasn't any bucket or bottles in the bathroom. "Am I off the hook?" I asked myself. This looked too easy. I timidly watched Mother as she turned the cold water tap in the bathtub fully open. I thought it was odd that she forgot to turn on the hot water as well. As the tub began to fill with cold water, Mother tore off my clothes and ordered me to get into the tub. I got into the tub and laid down. A cold fear raced throughout my body. "Lower!" Mother yelled. "Put your face in the water like this!" She then bent over, grabbed my neck with both hands and shoved my head under the water. Instinctively, I thrashed and kicked, trying desperately to force my head above the water so I could breathe. Her grip was too strong. Under the water I opened my eyes. I could see bubbles escape from my mouth and float to the surface as I tried to shout. I tried to thrust my head from side to side as I saw the bubbles becoming smaller and smaller. I began to feel weak. In a frantic effort I reached up and grabbed her shoulders. My fingers must have dug into her because Mother let go. She looked down on me, trying to get her breath. "Now keep your head below the water, or next time it will be longer!" I submerged my head, keeping my nostrils barely above the surface of the water. I felt like an alligator in a swamp. When Mother left the bathroom, her plan became more clear to me. As I laid stretched out in the tub, the water became unbearably cold. It was as though I was in a refrigerator. I was too frightened of Mother to move, so I kept my head under the surface as ordered. Hours passed and my skin began to wrinkle. I didn't dare touch any part of my body to try to warm it. I did raise my head out of the water, far enough to hear better. Whenever I heard somebody walk down the hall outside the bathroom, I quietly slid my head back into the coldness. With the start of school in the fall, came the hope of a temporary escape from my dreary life. Our fourth-grade homeroom class had a substitute teacher for the first two weeks. They told us that our regular teacher was ill. The substitute teacher was younger than most of the other staff, and she seemed more lenient. At the end of the first week, she passed out ice cream to those students whose behavior had been good. I didn't get any the first week, but I tried harder and received my reward at the end of the second week. The new teacher played "pop hits" on 45-rpm records, and sang to the class. We really liked her. When Friday afternoon came, I didn't want to leave. After all the other students had gone, she bent close to me and told me I would have to go home. She knew I was a problem child. I told her that I wanted to stay with her. She held me for a moment then got up and played the song I liked best. After that I left. Since I was late, I ran to the house as fast as I could and raced through my chores. When I was finished, Mother sent me to the backyard to sit on the cold cement deck. That Friday, I looked up at the thick blanket of fog covering the sun, and cried inside. The substitute teacher had been so nice to me. She treated me like a real person, not like some piece of filth lying in the gutter. As I sat outside feeling sorry for myself, I wondered where she was and what she was doing. I didn't understand it at the time, but I had a crush on her. I knew that I wasn't going to be fed that night, or the next. Since Father wasn't home, I would have a bad weekend. Sitting in the cool air in the backyard, on the steps, I could hear the sounds of Mother feeding my brothers. I didn't care. Closing my eyes, I could see the smiling face of my new teacher. That night as I sat outside shivering, her beauty and kindness kept me warm... Reaction: Wow She Is Like One Of The Meanest person's On Earth. If I Were Him I Would Eitherrrr tell Or runway :(

__**Week 8**__

Date: 3/29 Title: Drama Queen Pages: 1-20 Author: Lara Bergen Quote: " Don't look now!" the breathless voice behind charlie warned." And whateveryoudo, don't oen that squeaky locker." The voice belonged to Charlie's best freind since first grade, Nicole Bauer. The locker, unfortunatley, belonged to Charlie. "He's coming!" Nicole whispered. Reaction: Charlie likes this boy named Kyle's & She he's perfect even though nobody in the world is perfect.

Date: 3/30 Title: Drama Queen Pages: 20-40 Author: Lara Bergen Quote: " Er... Um... So..." Charlie swallowed in an effert to get some moistu back in her mouth. "Are you guys gonna practice right now?" she finaly mummbled. "None of your business" Sean snapped back. Reaction: Sean is Charlie's brother and she doesnt really like him. She is just hanging around with him because Kyle is Sean. Date: 3/31 Title: Drama Queen Pages: 40-60 Author: Lara Berge Quote: That afternoon at Nicole's house was a blast. Almost all of the Amber Drama was forgotten as Charlie & Nicole lost themselves in music. Finding a Web site with lyrics was a snap, and by the second song,to their profound amusement, they were inserting "Kyle". Reaction: Wow she likes him that much that she would put his name in their song.(:

Date: 4/1 Title: Drama Queen Pages: 60-80 Author: Lara Berge Quote: By 4-period chorus ( after probably failing her math quiz), Charlie had made two very important decisions: one, she would start studying a ot harder from now on, since it was clear she wouldnt make a living as a Broadway star: and two, she would //not// be doing the school musical. Reaction: Wow. She failed on her math quiz. That really suck, now she cant join the School Musical.

Date: 4/2 Title:Drama Queen Pages: 80-100 Author: Lara Berge Quote: Charli shook her head.Nicole was so naive. Reaction: What doe Naive mean?!?!?!!?! "/