Forgive me, if this is too long for a blog. My assignment was to observe a child and then to create an internal dialogue of that same child. I chose Mandy. Shelly asked me to put it here so that she could read something. Here goes:
She walks slowly toward the rock steps, peers down and tentatively steps on each uneven rock. Two shiny black ponytails hang down her back and swing from side to side, as she walks. She has long straight bangs that make a line above her straight, thick eyebrows. There are long wispies framing a strong, round face. She marches purposely toward the bench, stoops and puts her black and yellow backpack down. She wears a rounded necked dress with a bargello-print pattern of light pink, dark pink, brown and tan with a chocolate brown empire-waist ribbon tied on the left side in the front. Glancing down at ther brown slip on shoes trimmed in pink stars and hearts, she scoots the dirt in front of her.
She heads toward a large oak tree. Squatting on her sturdy legs, she gathers dried-brown leaves and small sticks. She continues to gather more leaves and moves with her treasure toward a weathered red stonewall that is chest high and piles her leaves into a neat circle. Crumbling her leaves with her fingers, she pushes them this way and that and continues to build a round pie shape.
Glancing over at the bench, she heaves a sigh and with a last look at her crunch-crunch pie, she heads for the bench. She pulls out a vivid purple notebook and a shiny pink pencil with an add-on purple eraser. Placing the notebook and pencil on the bench, she climbs onto the meal bench. She settles her notebook on her lap, opens it to a page and picks up her pencil. Grasping the pencil so hard that her knuckles turn yellow, she attacks her paper. Pressing hard on her paper and writing a few letters, she looks at them and then turns her pencil over and erases. She starts again, withdraws her pencil and again appraises her writing. More aggressively, she erases her letters and then gasps. She has torn her paper! Her body stiffens as she closes her notebook, throws her pencil and notebook into her backpack and jumps to the ground.
Her attention returns to her crunch-crunch pie and she wanders over to the wall. She purses her full heart-shaped lips and pretends to be a fish. A puff of wind stirs her leaves and then blows more strongly. She grasps her pile, throws it into the air and laughs as the wind takes her leaves away.
Dialogue
My bed is big and soft and feels like I'm lying in a cloud. I love to pile Jie-Jie, blue teddy bear, my lion, baby doll, pink blanket and jump into the middle of it all. I can see a, what do you call it - rainbow, no - reflection, I think, of the sunshine bouncing off my walls. It lights up my bright pink walls and the quilt Mama made for me, before I lived here. It makes the pinks and greens shine and glitter, kind of. I wish I could be like that and just shine all over.
Why couldn't I get it right? I push hard on my paper so that I can go straight and then the line isn't straight at all. I tried to get the letters just perfect and then I tore my paper from all of my erasing. I got mad. I can't do it, it's too hard.
Mama said, "Practice, it doesn't have to be perfect", but I want it to be! I can use my new Hannah Montana, pink and swirly pencil tomorrow. If I try so very hard, I can do it, maybe.
