1) Read the following micro-story.
2) In your group, meet at least one of the lesson
objectives.
Objectives
· - Demonstrate
your understanding of the overall meaning or message of the story through identifying
a theme. Be ready to discuss how the author explores this theme in the story.
· - Identify a
language device such as a metaphor, simile, repetition and share how the
author’s use of this language device contributes to the meaning of the story as
a whole.
3) Choose your own approach from the menu of
options.
·
Create and perform a song or short skit which
highlights the author’s theme or use of language.
·
Use technology to share your ideas with others.
·
Write a short reaction paper.
·
Identify and analyze a pattern in the author’ use
of language.
·
Write a letter to Yolanda to help her to feel more
comfortable in this new place.
·
Predict how living in a new climate will affect
Yolanda’s life.
·
Or, select your own method of demonstrating at
least one of the lesson objectives have been met.
(While you decide how your group will approach the
project, discuss what your group members have in common!)
“Snow” by
Julia Álvarez
Our first year in New York we rented a small
apartment with a Catholic school nearby, taught by the Sisters of Charity,
hefty women in long black gowns and bonnets that made them look peculiar, like
dolls in mourning. I liked them a lot, especially my grandmotherly fourth grade
teacher, Sister Zoe. I had a lovely name, she said, and she had me teach the
whole class how to pronounce it. Yo-lan-da. As the only immigrant in my
class, I was put in a special seat in the first row by the window, apart from
the other children so that Sister Zoe could tutor me without disturbing them.
Slowly, she enunciated the new words I was to repeat: laundromat,
cornflakes, subway, snow.
Soon I picked up enough English to understand
holocaust was in the air. Sister Zoe explained to a wide-eyed classroom what
was happening in Cuba. Russian missiles were being assembled, trained
supposedly on New York City. President Kennedy, looking worried too, was on the
television at home, explaining we might have to go to war against the
Communists. At school, we had air raid drills: an ominous bell would go off and
we'd file into the hall, fall to the floor, cover our heads with our coats, and
imagine our hair falling out, the bones in our arms going soft. At home, Mami
and my sisters and I said a rosary for world peace. I heard new vocabulary: nuclear
bomb, radioactive fallout, bomb shelter. Sister Zoe explained how it would
happen. She drew a picture of a mushroom on the blackboard and dotted a flurry
of chalk marks for the dusty fallout that would kill us all.
The months grew cold, November, December. It was
dark when I got up in the morning, frosty when I followed my breath to school.
One morning as I sat at my desk daydreaming out the window, I saw dots in the
air like the ones Sister Zoe had drawn random at first, then lots and lots. I
shrieked, "Bomb! Bomb!" Sister Zoe jerked around, her full black
skirt ballooning as she hurried to my side. A few girls began to cry.
But then Sister Zoe's shocked look faded.
"Why, Yolanda dear, that's snow!" She laughed. "Snow."
"Snow," I repeated. I looked out the
window warily. All my life I had heard about the white crystals that fell out
of American skies in the winter. From my desk I watched the fine powder dust
the sidewalk and parked cars below. Each flake was different, Sister Zoe had
said, like a person, irreplaceable and beautiful.