common-core-toward-an-inclusive-appendix-b

Project Common Core: Toward an Inclusive Appendix B Prepared by the Collaborative for Equity in Literacy Learning (CELL) at Mount Saint Mary College Newburgh, New York July 2013

K-‐1 Band Biography and Autobiography Concept Books Folklore Informational Texts Picture Books Contemporary Realistic Fiction Fantasy Historical Fiction Poetry Poetry and Song Wordless Book

K-‐1 Band: Biography and Autobiography Catching the Moon: The Story of a Young Girl's Baseball Dream by Crystal Hubbard; Randy DuBurke, illustrator José: Born to Dance by Susanna Reich; Raul Colón, illustrator A Library for Juana by Pat Mora; Beatriz Vidal, illustrator My Name Is Celia by Monica Brown; Rafael López, illustrator Rosa by Nikki Giovanni; Bryan Collier, illustrator Seeds of Change: Planting a Path to Peace by Jen Cullerton Johnson; Sonia Lynn Sadler, illustrator Tito Puente: Mambo King/Rey del Mambo by Monica Brown; Rafael Lopez, illustrator

Catching the Moon: The Story of a Young Girl's Baseball Dream Hubbard, Crystal, and Randy DuBurke (Illus.). Catching the Moon: The Story of a Young Girl's Baseball Dream. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2005.

Annotation This biography is about the legendary Marcenia Lyle, who overcame the obstacles of race and gender to pursue her dream of becoming a baseball player.

Excerpt Marcenia Lyle loved baseball. She loved the powdery taste of dust clouds as she slid through them. She loved the way the sun heated her hair as she crouched in the outfield, waiting for fly balls. And she loved the sting in her palm as a baseball slammed into it, right before tagging a runner out. If there was anything in the world better than baseball, Marcenia didn’t know what it was. She dreamed of growing up to be a professional ball player, so she could play all the time. “I wish I knew why you liked baseball so much.” Mama sighed as she gently washed Marcenia’s hair. “It’s just fun.” Marcenia said, giving her mother the same response she always did.

Excerpt “Playing dolls is fun,” Mama said. Marcenia blew a puff of lather from her palm. “Not as much fun as baseball.” After Marcenia crawled into bed, Papa appeared in the doorway. “What did you learn in school today?” he asked. “Ummm…” Marcenia thought for a moment. “Some history?” Papa crossed his arms. “And how did your team do in the game after school?” “Harold got a triple in his first bat, and Clarence tagged out two runners,” Marcenia said eagerly. “I struck out my first time at bat, but then I caught a deep fly ball that would have scored the tying run for the other team if I’d missed it. We won, 11-‐0.”

Excerpt “And you also ripped another dress,” Papa said, dismayed. Then he kissed Marcenia’s cheek and turned off the light, leaving her alone with moonlight and shadows and her dream of becoming a baseball player. The tiny house was still. Marcenia could almost hear her mother’s needle and thread moving through the fabric as she sat at the kitchen table mending Marcenia’s dress. After a while Marcenia heard Papa’s voice. “I wish she would think about school as much as she thinks about baseball.” “She wants to be a baseball player when she grows up,” Mama said with a sad chuckle. “I just want her to be happy.”

José!: Born to Dance Reich, Susanna, and Raul Colón (Illus.). José: Born to Dance. New York: Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2005.

Annotation José Limon was born in Mexico but due to the civil war, he and his family left Mexico for the United States. The transition in school was hard but after three years José learned English and began drawing. After the death of his mother he decided to move to New York City to pursue his dream of becoming an artist. His dream as an artist came to an end, opening the door to a fulfilling dream of becoming a dancer. He developed his own style of dancing that made him known around the world.

Excerpt Months passed and the war raged on. Safety lay across the border in the United States. Perhaps Papa could find a job there. José’s family took a train to Nogales, close to the border. Soldiers sat on top of the train, their guns at the ready. The train crawled through the hot desert. As the sun set, José heard the sound of an accordion-‐ a slow, mournful song. “O, Soñador…” For two years José and his family lived in Nogales, waiting and waiting for permission to enter the United States. Finally Papa’s work permit arrived, stamped with an official seal. They packed their bags and set out across the northern frontier. Adiós, Mexico. At José’s new school the children gathered around the teacher to read aloud from their books. When José read, the other children laughed at his poor English

Excerpt At first José cried. Then he stamped his foot in fierce determination. PUM! I will learn this language better than any of you, he said to himself-‐-‐though it seemed nearly impossible. But within three years Jose could speak English with confidence. He was quick to learn new words and translated for Mama whenever they went. Carmesí. Radiante. Liberación. Crimson. Radiant. Liberation. By sixth grade Jose had become known for his colorful drawings. Among his many younger brothers and sisters he was famous for his pictures of trains. Everyone thought he would become an artist.

Excerpt But José loved music, too. As a teenager he practiced the piano at all hours of the day and night. When his fingers flew, his spirit soared. AHH! After José finished high school in Los Angeles, Mama became very sick.

A Library for Juana Mora, Pat, and Beatriz Vidal (Illus.). A Library for Juana: The World of Sor Juana Inés. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2002.

Annotation This biography of Juana Inés takes place in the 1600s . Since she was three years old she wanted to learn how to read. She wouldn’t let anybody tell her “no,” and was not going to settle for being a housewife. She followed her sister to school, and one day she asked the teacher if she could stay. She was quickly learning to read and write. When Juana turned ten years old, her parents allowed her to go live in Mexico City with her aunt and uncle. Though she was not permitted to go to the school, her uncle hired a tutor. Juana continued reading and learned new languages. She then went to live in the palace in Mexico City where she was a lady in waiting; she continued reading. In a scene where she was the only woman in the room she had to prove she was as knowledgeable as the male scholars. Finally, Juana decided to become a nun; she enjoyed the quietness of the convent, and there she created her own library. It was one of the biggest libraries in the Americas. Vidal used a microscope to paint her exquisite illustrations.

Excerpt One morning Juana’s big sister said, “Juana Inés, I can’t play with you today.” “Why?” asked Juana. “I’m going to learn to read at the neighbor’s house,” said her sister. “I’m going to read books like Abuelo.” “Me too! I want to go with you!” said Juana Inés. “Mama, I want to learn to read!” “But you’re too little, Juana Inés” her mother said. Everyday Juana and her mother watched her sister leave for school. One morning when her mother was busy, Juana followed her sister, hiding carefully behind trees and bushes. When the big girls went inside, Juana stood on her tiptoes and peeked in the window. She saw the girls reading and writing.

Excerpt The next day, Juana again followed her sister to school, but she didn’t hide. She walked up to the teacher and said, “Señora, I want to read. Por favor, will you teach me?” The big girls giggled at such a small student, but the teacher looked carefully at Juana. Finally, she said, “Yes, you may come to school, Juana Inés, but you must study and behave.” “I am quiet like a turtle,” said Juana. “First you must learn your letters—A, B, C, D … ,” said the teacher. “Why?” asked Juana. “We make words with letters. Look, r-‐o-‐s-‐a.” Juana Inés looked at the letters for rose and saw soft red petals. At home she wrote her letters again and again. She started reading, and she started writing her rhymes too. “Do you want me to write you a song for your birthday, Mama? I will say you shine like a beautiful star, una estrella bella, or maybe that you smile like a pretty rose, una rosa bermosa. Yes!”

My Name Is Celia: The Life of Celia Cruz/La vida de Celia Cruz Brown, Monica, and Rafael López (Illus.). My Name Is Celia: The Life of Celia Cruz/La vida de Celia Cruz. Flagstaff, AZ: Luna Rising, 2004.

Annotation Written in English and Spanish, this biography tells of the Cuban salsa dancer, Celia Cruz. Her loving and musical family helped launch her career, which led to her being named the “Queen of Salsa.” Her opening line, “Sugar,” was to remind her audience of all that she loved about Cuba even while living, and loving, New York City.

Excerpt SUGAR! My voice is strong, smooth, and sweet. I will make you feel like dancing. Close your eyes and listen. My voice feels like feet skipping on cool wet sand, like running under a waterfall. My voice climbs and rocks and dips and flips with the sounds of congas beating and flips with the sounds of congas beating and trumpets blaring. Boom boom boom! beat the congas. Clap clap clap! go the hands. Shake shake shake! go the hips. I am the Queen of Salsa and I invite you to come dance with me!

Excerpt Open your eyes. My costumes are as colorful as my music, with ruffles, beads, sparkles, and feathers. They shimmer and shake as I move my graceful arms and legs to the beat of the tropics and the rhythm of my heart. In my mind I carry that place I am from and the places that I’ve been. When I sing, memories of my childhood come back to me, spilling into my songs. I was born in Cuba, an island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. My Cuba was the city of Havana.

Excerpt Our family had a warm kitchen filled with the voices of women and men—grandparents, brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends. We ate rice, beans, and bananas and filled our bellies with love and warm coffee with milk and lots and lots of sugar. In the evenings, I would help my mother put the younger children to sleep by singing them soothing, sweet lullabies. My father worked long and hard on the railroad but loved coming home to us each day. He would sit in the backyard and sing with us. He gave us the gift of his music and filled our hearts with hope. …We may have been poor, but music cost nothing and brought joy to us all.

Rosa Giovanni, Nikki, and Bryan Collier (Illus.). Rosa. New York: Henry Holt, 2005.

Annotation This book tells the story of Rosa Parks, and what happened on the day she did not give up her seat on the bus. Rosa was on her way home from work, thinking about the special dinner she would make for her husband. The bus driver rudely told her to get out of her seat on the neutral section of the bus, but when Rosa refused to move the police were called and she was arrested. This started a movement; it caused the people in Montgomery to stop using the bus; they walked instead. Then almost a year after Rosa was arrested the Supreme Court ruled that segregation on buses was not fair. Rosa Parks played a big part in helping African Americans gain civil rights.

Excerpt “I said give me those seats!” the bus driver bellowed. Mrs. Parks looked up in surprise. The two men on the opposite side of the aisle were rising to move into the crowded black section. Jimmy’s father muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “I don’t feel like trouble today. I’m gonna move.” Mrs. Parks stood to let him out, looked at James Blake, the bus driver, and then sat back down. “You better make it easy on yourself!” Blake yelled. “Why do you pick on us?” Mrs. Parks asked with the quiet strength of hers. “I’m going to call the police!” Blake threatened. “Do what you must,” Mrs. Parks quietly replied. She was not frightened. She was not going to give in to that which was wrong.

Excerpt Some of the white people were saying aloud, “She ought to be arrested,” and “Take her off this bus.” Some of the black people, recognizing the potential for ugliness, got off the bus. Others stayed on, saying amongst themselves, “That is the neutral section. She had a right to be there.” Mrs. Parks sat. As Mrs. Parks sat waiting for the police to come, she thought of all the brave men and women, boys and girls who stood tall for civil rights. She recited in her mind the Brown versus Board of Education decision, in which the United States Supreme Court ruled that separate is “inherently unequal.”

Excerpt She sighed as she realized she was tired—not tired from work but tired of putting white people first. Tired of stepping off sidewalks to let white people pass, tired of eating at separate lunch counters and learning at separate schools. … And the people walked. They walked in the rain. They walked in the hot sun. They walked early in the morning. They walked late at night. They walked at Christmas, and they walked at Easter. They walked on the Fourth of July; they walked on Labor Day. They walked on Thanksgiving, and then it was almost Christmas again. They still walked.

Seeds of Change: Planting a Path to Peace Cullerton, Jen, and Sonia Lynn Sadler (Illus.). Seeds of Change: Planting a Path to Peace. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2010.

Annotation This stunningly illustrated biography of Nobel Peace Prize Winner Wangari Maathai details her early life and education. Maathai’s mother had taught her from childhood that the mugumo trees of the Kikuyu in Kenya held a special place in the culture and must not be cut down. When Maathai came back from the United States where she had gone to study, she found that many mugumo trees had been cut down, leading to desertification and hunger. She initiated a community-‐led project to restore the environment by planting millions of trees, thus beginning the Green Belt movement.

Excerpt Wangari had an idea as small as a seed but as tall as a tree that reaches for the sky. “Harabee! Let’s work together!” she said to her countrywomen—mothers like her. Wangari dug deep into the soil, a seedling by her side. “We must plant trees.” Many women listened. Many planted seedlings. Some men laughed and sneered. Planting trees was women’s work, they said. Others complained that Wangari was too outspoken—with too many opinions and too much education for a woman. Wangari refused to listen to those who criticized her. Instead she told them, “Those trees [you] are cutting down today were not planted by [you] but by those who came before. You must plant trees that will benefit the community to come, like a

Excerpt seedling with sun, good soil, and abundant rain, the roots of our future will bury themselves in the ground and a canopy of hope will reach the sky.” Wangari traveled to villages, towns, and cities with saplings and seeds, shovels and hoes. At each place she went, women planted rows of trees that looked like green belts across the land. Because of this they started calling themselves the Green Belt Movement. “We might not change the big world but we can change the landscape of the forest,” she said. One tree turned to ten, ten to one hundred, one hundred to one million, all they way up to thirty million planted trees. Kenya grew green again. Birds nested in new trees. Monkeys swung on branches. Rivers

Excerpt filled with clean water. Wild figs grew heavy in mugumo branches. Mothers fed their children maize, bananas, and sweet potatoes until they could eat no more. As the Green Belts moved farther across Kenya, powerful voices rose up against Wangari’s movement. Foreign business people, greedy for more land for their coffee plantations and trees for timber, asked, “Who is this woman who can change so many lives with a sapling? Why should we give up our land and profits for trees?” They made a plan to stop Wangari.

Tito Puente: Mambo King/Rey del Mambo Brown, Monica, and Rafael Lopez (Illus.). Tito Puente: Mambo King/Rey del Mambo. New York: HarperCollins Children’s Books, 2013.

Annotation Tito Puente was born to play music. Born on the streets of Harlem he grew up winning school talent shows. With the support of his family and friends he became an Grammy award winning musician. He was known as the King of Mambo and began the Latin Jazz movement.

Excerpt Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, clap your hands for Tito Puente… The Mambo King plays and sways as people dance The mambo, the rumba, and the cha-‐cha! Before he could walk, Tito was making music. He banged spoons and forks on pots and pans, windowsills and cans. Tum Tica! Tac Tic! Tum Tic! Tom Tom! He was so loud his neighbors in Spanish Harlem said, “Get that boy some music lessons!” And that is exactly what his mother did. Tito loved to dance too! Tap Tippy! Tap Tip! Tap Tap! Every year his church held a Stars of the Future Contest. Little Tito danced and spun and tapped and drummed and… Tito won! He was named King of the Stars. Over the years, Tito became the King four times! When he wasn’t playing music, Tito played baseball with sticks on the streets of his neighborhood. Tito performed at parties, restaurants, and clubs. His first band was called Los Happy Boys, and their music made people happy.

Excerpt During World War II, Tito was in the navy. He joined the ship’s band and learned to play the saxophone and write music. After the war, Tito went to the Julliard School of Music and dreamed of having his own band. On weekends Tito played magical mambos and beautiful cha-chas with different bands at the Palladium Ballroom in New York City. People loved dancing to salsa and the rhythms of Tito and his timbales. Still, he wished he could be the bandleader…

K-‐1 Band: Concept Books ABeCedarios: Mexican Folk Art ABCs in English and Spanish by Cynthia Weill and K. B. Basseches; Moisés and Armando Jiménez, wood sculptors Just in Case: A Trickster Tale and Spanish Alphabet Book by Yuyi Morales Just a Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book by Yuyi Morales My Colors, My World/Mis colores, mi mundo by Maya Christina Gonzalez

ABeCedarios: Mexican Folk Art ABCs in English and Spanish Weill, Cynthia, K. B. Basseches, and Moisés and Armando Jiménez, (wood sculptors). ABeCedarios: Mexican Folk Art ABCs in English and Spanish. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos, 2007.

Annotation This abecedarian teaches letters of the alphabet while introducing children to the intensely colorful and delicate folk art of wooden sculptures of Mexico. Children are also introduced to many animals. Written in English and Spanish, English Language Learners can see the relations between cognates, for example, “elephant” and “elefante.”

Excerpt the Armadillo * el Armadillo the Buffalo * el Búfalo the Coyote * el Coyote el Chapulín Ch is no longer a letter in the Spanish alphabet, but the sound is still in use. the grasshopper the Dolphin * el Delfín the Elephant * el Elefante the Flamingo * elf Flamenco the Gorilla * el Gorila the Hippopotamus * el Hipopótamo

Excerpt the Iguana * la Iguana the Jaguar * el Jaguar the Koala * el Koala the Lion * el León la Llama Ll is no longer a letter in the Spanish alphabet, but the sound is still in use. the llama the Monkey * el Mono the Nutria * la Nutria el Ñu Ñ is in the Spanish alphabet only. the gnu the Ocelot * el Ocelote

Just in Case: A Trickster Tale and Spanish Alphabet Book Morales, Yuyi. Just in Case: A Trickster Tale and Spanish Alphabet Book. New York: Roaring Brook, 2008.

Annotation This is a story written in mostly English, but includes one Spanish work for every letter in the alphabet. In the story the skeleton is trying to find the perfect gift to bring to the party and the name of all the gifts are written in Spanish; these Spanish words are then followed by the English meaning. This Spanish alphabet book is a great way to help students who are learning English.

Excerpt Oh, my. He had forgotten a present for Grandma Beetle! “Don’t worry.” Zelmiro smiled. “You surely must know, the best present to give a friend is the thing she would love the most.” Of course! Señor Calavera went looking and chose especially for Grandma Beetle… Un Acordeon. An accordion for her to dance to. Bigotes. A mustache because she had none. Cosquillas. Tickles to make her laugh. Un Chiflido. A whistle he trapped in a bag.

Excerpt The ghost clapped. “Your gifts are a vision!” Señor Calavera hummed while he tried the presents to his bike. “But, I wonder,” Zelmiro said, “are they what Grandma Beetle would love the most? Why don’t you look again, my friend? Just case …” Señor Calavera thought for a moment. He still had some time. So, he searched once more and packed … Dientes. Teeth for a good bite. Una Escalera. A ladder to reach past the sky. Una Flauta. A flute he made from a branch. Granizado. A snow cone flavored with syrup.

Excerpt “Your presents stop me cold!” The ghost squirmed in delight. Señor Calavera didn’t know he could be so good at finding presents! “But, I wonder,” Zelmiro said, “are they what Grandma Beetle would love the most? Why don’t you look again, my friend? Just in case …” It wasn’t late yet, Señor Calavera realized. So, he poked around and picked … Una Historieta. A one-‐of-‐a-‐kind comic book. Instucciones. Instructions to find all things lost. Un Jaguar. A jaguar to keep her safe. Un Kilo. More than two pounds for balance and weight.

Just a Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book Morales, Yuyi. Just a Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book. San Francisco: Chronicle, 2003.

Annotation This is a story written in mostly English, but goes through numbers one through ten in both Spanish and English. In the story the skeleton is trying to get Grandma Beetle to go out for her birthday, but she stalls by listing all the things she has to do. She says each number in Spanish and then says the number in English. This Spanish counting book is a great way to help students who are learning how to count in English.

Excerpt “Just a minute, Señor Calavera,” Grandma Beetle said. “I will go with you right away, I have just THREE pounds of corn to make into tortillas.” Señor Calavera rolled his eyes. He had to be patient sometimes. TRES Three stacks of tortillas, counted Señor Calavera, and he put on his hat. “Just a minute, Señor Calavera,” Grandma Beetle said. “I will go with you right away, I have just FOUR fruits to slice.” Señor Calavera frowned. This was taking more time than he expected. Cuatro Four fruit made into salad, counted Señor Calavera, and he motioned that they should go.

Excerpt “Just a minute, Señor Calavera,” Grandma Beetle said. “I will go with you right away, I have just FIVE cheeses to melt.” Señor Calavera tapped his fingers. This was getting out of hand! Cinco Five melted cheeses, counted Señor Calavera, and he hurried to help Grandma Beetle with her sweater. “Just a minute, Señor Calavera,” Grandma Beetle said. “I will go with you right away, I have just SIX pots of food to cook.” Señor Calavera threw up his hands. What else could he do? SEIS Six pots of delicious food, counted Señor Calavera, and he offered Grandma Beetle his arm.

Excerpt “Just a minute, Señor Calavera,” Grandma Beetle said. “I will go with you right away, I have just seven piñatas to fill with candy.” Señor Calavera shook his head in disbelief. It was getting late. SIETE Seven pinatas full of candy, counted Señor Calavera, and he held open the door for Grandma Beetle.

My Colors, My World/Mis colores, mi mundo Gonzalez, Maya Christina. My Colors, My World/Mis colores, mi mundo. San Francisco: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2007.

Annotation Written in English and Spanish, the author recalls all the colors she sees in the desert and among her family.

Excerpt Sometimes, in the desert where I live, the wind blows very, very hard. Desert sand covers everything. Everything the same color… I open my eyes extra-‐wide to find the colors in my world. Of all the colors I find, I like hot Pink the best. It’s the color of the desert sunset. I wear Pink in the morning. I wear it in the afternoon. I wear it all the time.

Excerpt On hot day, I go to the shady side of the house. I make mud pies with squishy brown mud and orange marigold flowers. I invite purple irises to be my guests for tea. Yellow pollen peeks at me. Back on the sunny side of the house, the cactus grows green and sharp. In the backyard, I sway on my swing. I helped my Papi build it and paint it the perfect shade of red. When my Papi comes home from work, I see his shiny black hair.

Excerpt I love all of the colors in my world. Every day I watch the hot pink sky turn into dark blue night.

K-‐1 Band: Folklore Baby Rattlesnake retold by Lynn Moroney, as told by Te Ata I, Doko: The Tale of a Basket by Ed Young Little Oh by Laura Krauss Melmed; Jim Lamarche, illustrator

Baby Rattlesnake Moroney, Lynn, Te Ata, and Mira Reisberg (Illus.). Baby Rattlesnake. San Francisco: Children's Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 1989.

Annotation Baby Rattlesnake is desperate for his own rattle, but when he gets one he doesn’t know how to use it responsibly. He begins to play tricks on his neighbors and continues to misuse his rattle until a tragic event strikes leaving Baby Rattlesnake with only his family to comfort him. This book teaches young children the importance of responsibilities and that there are consequences when they take it for granted.

Excerpt One day, Baby Rattlesnake said to his mother and father, “How will I know a chief’s daughter when I see her?” “Well, she’s usually very beautiful and walks with her head held high,” said Father. “And she’s very neat in her dress,” added Mother. “Why do you want to know?” asked Father. “Because I want to scare her!” said Baby Rattlesnake. And he started right off down the path before his mother and father could warn him never to do a thing like that. The Little fellow reached the place where the Indians traveled. He curled himself up on a log and he started rattling. “Chh-‐Chh-‐Chh!” He was having a wonderful time. All of a sudden he saw a beautiful maiden coming toward him from a long way off. She walked with her head held high, and she was very neat in her dress. “Ah,” thought Baby Rattlesnake. “She must be the chief’s daughter.”

Excerpt All of a sudden he saw a beautiful maiden coming toward him from a long way off. She walked with her head held high, and she was very neat in her dress. “Ah,” thought Baby Rattlesnake. “She must be the chief’s daughter.” Baby Rattlesnake hid in the rocks. He was excited. This was going to be his best trick. He waited and waited. The chief’s daughter came closer and closer. When she was in just the right spot, he darted out of the rocks. “Ch-‐Ch-‐Ch-‐Ch-‐Ch!” “Ho!” cried the chief’s daughter. She whirled around, stepping on Baby Rattlesnake’s rattle and crushing it to pieces. Baby Rattlesnake looked at his beautiful rattle scattered all over the trail. He didn’t know what to do. He took off for home as fast as he could. With great sobs, he told Mother and Father what had happened. They wiped his tears and gave him big rattlesnake hugs. For the rest of that day, Baby Rattlesnake stayed safe and snug, close by his rattlesnake family.

I, Doko: The Tale of a Basket Young, Ed. I, Doko: The Tale of a Basket. New York: Philomel, 2004.

Annotation This is the story about a basket that was bought by a married couple. This basket was used for many tasks such as carrying the baby in the field, carrying items, and eventually bringing the woman to her funeral when she passed away. The basket is passed down to the couple’s son and he and his wife use the basket for similar tasks. Then one day the man and his wife decide to use the basket to carry the man’s father away because he is becoming to much to care for, until their son who is very wise talks his father out of it. Then they all go back to living together, thanks to the young boy.

Excerpt The boy became a man and soon married a girl from a nearby village. For that grand occasion, I was scrubbed and cleaned to carry her dowry to her new home. Children cheered as we passes. I was proud. Within a year, a baby was born, and we named him Wangal. Now Wangal rode in me when his mother helped in the fields. But another disaster struck. Working one day culling grain, Yeh-‐yeh slipped and broke his hip. From then on, he and I stayed home with the baby. Wangal, Yeh-‐yeh and I became inseparable as everyday we sat by the cooking fire and listened to Yeh-‐yeh’s wonderful stories.

Excerpt When Wangal turned ten, he, too, helped in the fields, leaving the aging Yeh-‐yeh home alone. I was often left too. I was also growing old. One day, a log rolled out of the fire near me and caused an alarm. Luckily, a neighbor stopped it from spreading. The man and the woman were nervous. How could Yeh-‐yeh have let the fire start! Now quarrels often broke out between Yeh-‐yeh and the young couple. One night, I heard whispers from the man and the woman after everyone had retired to bed. “Yeh-‐yeh is too old. It is time to put him on the temple steps,” the woman said. “The priest will take better care of him.” Wangal heard, too. So did Yeh-‐yeh! He was not happy. “Even a bird like a crow would feed his feeble father,” he said in a trembling voice. What could I, a basket do!

Little Oh Melmed, Laura Krauss, and Jim LaMarche (Illus.). Little Oh. New York: Lothrop, Lee & Shepard /Morrow, 1997.

Annotation This is a story about a woman who makes an origami girl one night; when she wakes up the origami girl has come to life. The woman calls the origami girl Little Oh. She spends hours singing and telling stories to Little Oh, but this causes her to stop doing her work. The woman notices that they are out of food, so she decides to make a tea set and sell it at the market. Little Oh goes along with her mother to the market and is then lost when a dog knocks over the basket. Little Oh, a paper doll, is outside on her own. With the help of a crane she is brought to the home of a man and his son. The man and his son return Little Oh to her mother, and then to everybody's surprise Little Oh turns into a real girl. Her mother then marries the man and Little Oh and the boy become brother and sister.

Excerpt Just when she feared she would surely melt away, the door flew open and out dashed a boy on his way to school. he picked up the paper heart and handed it to his father. “A message for you!” he teased. The man turned it over and read the smudged writing. “Number One Pink Petal Lane,” he said. “That’s just around the corner.” The man walked his son to school, then knocked at Number One Pink Petal Lane. Little Oh mother opened the door. She moved slowly, her shoulders bent with grief for her lost origami daughter. Bowing, the man held out the paper heart. The woman reached for it. As their fingers met, the heart vanished, and before their amazed eyes appeared a real little girl. No one was more astonished than the girl herself, who spun around laughing, then shouting, “I’m Little Oh, mother!” and danced into the woman’s arms.

Excerpt “You know the rest,” said the mother, sitting by the window with her son. “The man and woman fell in love and married, and Little Oh and the boy became sister and brother. As for the white crane, she built her nest on their rooftop above the beautiful garden that the whole family tends together.” Smoothing the boys hair, the woman concluded, “And now my telling is over, though the story is far from done.” The boy smiled at his mother and father. Then he stood up and stretched and ran outside to play with Little Oh.

Buchmann, Stephen, Diana Cohn, and Paul Mirocha (Illus.). The Bee Tree. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos, 2007. The Bee Tree

Annotation The author and the illustrator traveled to Malaysia’s rainforest to write about the way honey is collected there. The book begins with a narrative of a young boy, Nizam, whose grandfather will climb the extremely tall tualang tree for its honey. A ritual of prayer and story are part of the process. Informational text follows on the Malaysian people, rainforests, honey, and honeybees.

Excerpt There are more than 20,000 kinds of bees in the world. Surprisingly, most of them do not make honey! There are only about 660 kinds of bees that make honey. These include bumble bees, stingless bees and true honey bees. True honey bees are domesticated, kept by beekeepers in white hive boxes, like our familiar European honey bees. Honey bees store surplus honey in their wax combs, making it easy for people to harvest. This is the honey sold in farmers markets and on supermarket shelves. Many wild honey bees live in the tall Asian rainforests. The giant honey bee, called Apis dorsata, is the world’s largest honey-‐maker. The bees are one inch long, with colorful bands of orange, black and brown, and smoky dark wings. They make their nests under the wide branches

Excerpt of the tallest trees, especially the tualang trees. The bees make beeswax which they shape into huge two-‐sided combs. Their nests hang like half-moons under the protective tree branches. Each comb is six feet across and three or four feet wide! Thirty thousand or more giant honey bees live on the surface of the nest. Their bodies form a living “bee blanket” several bees deep—it keeps the nests dry even during a monsoon downpour. The most amazing thing about these Asian honeybees is their migration as a colony from place to place—following the new blooms—to harvest nectar and store it as honey. Each October or November in the forests surrounding Pedu Lake in Peninsular Malaysia, the migrating bees arrive at the bee trees and build new wax nests.

Over in Australia: Amazing Animals Down Under Berkes, Marianne, and Jill Dubin (Illus.). Over in Australia: Amazing Animals Down Under. Nevada City, CA: Dawn, 2011.

Annotation The author and illustrator convey the richness and variety of Australian life. Readers are introduced first through poetry, building phonological awareness. Then, through informational text, readers are introduced to marsupials, monotremes, and other aspects of life science endemic to Australia.

Excerpt Over in Australia In a swamp in the sun Lived a fierce crocodile And her little hatchling one. “Snap,” said the mother. “I snap,” said the one. So they snipped and they snapped In a swamp in the sun. Over in Australia Looking like a kangaroo Lived a small waalby And her little joeys two. “Hop,” said the mother….

Excerpt Australian Animals Are Amazing! Although Australia is called a continent because it’s so big, it is also an island, surrounded by vast areas of ocean. Because of its isolation, some animals established themselves there and nowhere else. In other word, they are endemic, or native to the country. Australia is unique in that around 80 percent of its animals are endemic. They live in Australia’s primary ecosystems: desert, forests and grasslands. Many Australian mammals are marsupials …, a special kind of mammal in which the mothers give birth to their young and then carry their babies in a pouch until they are able to survive on their own. The best known marsupials are kangaroos. There are 46 different kangaroo species in Australia. Koalas and wombats are also familiar marsupials. Only a few marsupial species are found outside of Australia, one of them being the opossum.

Excerpt Marsupials aren’t the only unusual mammals in Australia. There are also mammals that lay eggs! These are called monotremes. Two such animals that live in Australia are the platypus and echidna. Australia also has the greatest number of reptiles of any country—917 species. Reptiles mentioned in this book include the crocodile, gecko, lizard, and python.

When the Shadbush Blooms Messinger, Carla, and Katz, Susan, and David Kanietakeron Fadden (Illus.). When the Shadbush Blooms. Berkeley, CA: Tricycle Press, 2007.

Annotation This beautifully written book gives information about Lenape life hundreds of years ago, and Lenape life now. On a two-‐page spread, throughout the book, are represented traditional life of days gone by, and contemporary life. Today’s Lenape have picnics, play soccer, rake leaves, and sled in the snow. Then and now, Lenape life is tied to the cycle of the seasons.

Excerpt When the leaves fly like red and yellow wings, and nuts tumble from the trees, Dad makes the house snug and warm before cold weather. My brother and I rake a huge pile of leaves and jump in. When gray skies drop flakes that glitter like falling stars, my brother and I climb the hill. Grandpa gives us a push at the top, and we fly down. The dog races after us, barking. When the days grow short, and the trees creak and crack with the cold, Grandma mends our winter clothes and Grandpa tells us all stories. While we settle in, Mom fixes a snack. I ask to hear my favorite story twice. When the berries ripen, dangling like tiny hearts, we go berry picking. My brother and I race to see who can pick the fastest. The baby tastes her first berries. Her smeared face makes me laugh.

Excerpt When the air hums with the wings of bees, my brother and I chase the crows from our garden. Together we gather honey. My brother ducks when a bee buzzes too close. I lick from one finger a drop as sweet as summer. When tall stalks rustle and the ears of corn have grown fat, we roast corn with our friends. While Grandma carefully takes her corn off the cob, I gobble mine fast. The baby plays a new doll, and my brother scores a goal for his team. When grasshoppers patter in the fields and the evenings echo with insect song, we enjoy the autumn harvest. Mom finds a pumpkin so big she can hardly carry it. Grandma shows the baby a beautiful gourd. My brother and I catch grasshoppers.

K-‐1 Band: Picture Books: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Bringing Asha Home by Uma Krishnaswami; Jamel Akib, illustrator Featherless/Desplumado by Juan Felipe Herrera; Ernesto Cuevas, Jr., illustrator Going Home, Coming Home by Truong Tran; Ann Phong, illustrator The Good Luck Cat by Joy Harjo; Paul Lee, illustrator Hot Hot Roti for Dada-‐ji by F. Zia; Ken Min, illustrator I Love Saturdays y domingos by Alma Flor Ada Jingle Dancer by Cynthia Leitich Smith; Cornelius Van Wright and Ying-‐Hwa Hu, illustrators Keepers by Jeri Watts; Felicia Marshall, illustrator

K-‐1 Band: Picture Books: Contemporary Realistic Fiction, continued My Very Own Room by Amanda Irma Pérez; Maya Christina Gonzalez, illustrator On My Way to Buy Eggs by Chih-‐Yuan Chen Quinito’s Neighborhood/El vecíndario de Quinito by Ina Cumpiano; José Ramírez SkySisters by Jan Bourdeau Waboose; Brian Deines, illustrator What Are You Doing? by Elisa Amado; Manuel Monroy, illustrator What Can You Do With a Paleta? by Carmen Tafolla; Magaly Morales, illustrator When I Am Old With You by Angela Johnson; David Soman, illustrator

Bringing Asha Home Krishnaswami, Uma, and Jamel Akib (Illus.). Bringing Asha Home. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2006.

Annotation At Rakhi, the festival of siblings, a young boy waits in anticipation of his adopted sister to arrive from India. After long delays, finally Asha arrives.

Excerpt During winter break in December it’s cold and snowy. One day, when I’m folding paper airplanes, Mom shows me a picture that has come in the mail. “This is your baby sister,” she says. “Her name is Asha.” It’s only a picture, but it feels as if she’s looking right at me. “Did you choose her name?” I ask. “No,” says mom. “She was given her name when she was born. Asha means ‘hope.’” too. India. “I hope she’s here for my birthday,” I say. Mom says she hopes so My eighth birthday comes and goes in March, but Asha is still in

Excerpt One Sunday morning I go out in the backyard with Dad. He checks the bolts on the swing set. He oils the links on top. I try out one of the swings. It goes high without squeaking. “We could get a special baby swing seat for Asha,” I say. “Like in the playground.” “We certainly could,” Dad replies. “What a good idea.” All spring we wait. More pictures of Asha arrive in the mail, and I make more paper airplanes. I pretend that India is in the living room and America is upstairs. “Look, Mom,” I call. “My plane’s taking Dad to India.”

Excerpt Then I scoot down to the living room and send the plane zooming back toward the stairs. “Where’s it going now?” Mom asks. “It’s bringing Asha home, to America,” I tell her. Mom smiles and sighs. She gets a faraway look in her eyes, and I know she’s thinking about Asha, too.

Featherless/Desplumado Herrera, Juan Felipe, and Ernesto Cuevas, Jr. (Illus.). Featherless/Desplumado. San Francisco: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2004.

Annotation Tomasito, who has spina bifida, lives in a trailer with his father. Tomasito’s father gives him a pet bird that has a deformed leg; their stories, and successes, parallel each other. Tomasito overcomes alienation and hopelessness by learning to believe and rejoice in himself when he is given the opportunity to play in a soccer game in his wheelchair. The story is told in both English and Spanish, the two translations complimenting each other on the page. This book is also significant because it reflects working class life and a nontraditional family.

Excerpt Under the morning sun, Papi waits with me for my school bus. “You’ve been grumpy all morning,” he says, “You didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to go to school. What is it, Tomasito?” “At school nobody ever invites me to play! At recess, I sit alone and count soccer balls slamming into the net!” “Things take time, Tomasito, Paciencia,” Papi says. The chairlift screeches and jerks me into the bus. Patience? On the soccer field, Coach Gordolobo blows the whistle. “We are the Fresno Flyers!” shouts Marlena as she throws her arm around the goalie. “Not me, I’m from Mendota, remember?” I yell from the sidelines.

Excerpt I look down at my wheelchair. Flyers? After the game, I push-‐push and huff over to Marlena. “You want to play?” she asks. “But I can’t kick the ball,” I say. “Be a Flyer!” she says. “Use your wings!” Wings? Does she mean my wheelchair? At night, in our trailer, I pull a feather from my pillow and place it at the pebble foot of the featherless bird. “This is so your toes will warm up, and maybe your own feathers will grow,” I say as I stroke Desplumado’s scrunchy leg.

Excerpt Windy clouds swirl around the moon like a soccer net of mist. “Fresno Flyers! Practice! Let’s go!” Marlena yells from the soccer field. Kids race across the grass, swooping like kites above an emerald sea. No one notices how fast I spin m wheels. Will I ever catch up? Will they ever see me?

Going Home, Coming Home Tran, Truong, and Ann Phong (Illus.). Going Home, Coming Home. San Francisco: Children's Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2003.

Annotation This is the story of a young girl named Ami Chi who is visiting Vietnam with her parents. This is where her parents grew up, this was their home, but for Ami Chi this place was different from America, the only home she ever knew. Vietnam had things that she has never seen, like people selling roosters at the market or new foods such as dried bananas. Even the games are different. In the beginning Ami Chi did not like this new place, but after spending some time and developing a close relationship with her Vietnamese grandmother, she finds that though Vietnam is different it is still a special place. She learns she has two homes—one in Vietnam and one in America.

Excerpt “Hey! Come back!” I chase the rooster through the stalls and crash into a woman stacking mangoes. She’s still shouting at me as I turn the corner. I run faster but I can’t catch that dumb bird. Out of nowhere a boy and girl race past me. I see them ahead, chasing the flustered rooster. It doesn’t know which way to go. Suddenly the girl darts in and grabs the rooster. By its bright red belly. In my awkward Vietnamese I say gratefully, “Cam on.” Thank you. “You’re welcome,” the girl says in English. “My name is Thao, and this is my brother Tuan.” The rooster squawks in my arms and then settles down as I pet him. We walk back to where Tuan, who is fifteen, left his motorbike. Thao tells me she’s seven, one year younger then I am.

Excerpt Tuan and Thao take me to their mother’s stall, where she sells tiny canaries. “You can even eat the bones, Tuan says. I’m not so sure I want to try them, so Thao offers me some dried baby bananas instead. They’re better then candy. I could spend my whole life eating dried baby bananas. The other customers at the stall seem curious about me. Can they tell I’m not from here? Tuan says something to his mother and takes off on his motorbike. Thao brings out a pair of chopsticks, and a bunch of smaller sticks that she spills on the ground. “Looks easy,” I say as Thao picks up one of the small, slender sticks with her chopsticks. She can lift each stick so the others don’t move even a little bit. She is patient and her fingers are careful. But when it’s my turn, my clumsy fingers can’t get it right. “Try again,” Thao says. Finally, I start to get it. I can’t wait to show Mom.

Harjo, Joy, and Paul Lee (Illus.). The Good Luck Cat. San Diego, CA: Harcourt, 2000. The Good Luck Cat

Annotation Woogie is a cat who brings good luck to her family members, helping them win at bingo and find lost earrings. But Woogie is fast using up her legendary nine lives. For example, she slices her tail in a car motor, is bitten by a dog, and gets caught in a dryer while it’s on. One day, Woogie goes missing. Despite desperate attempts to find Woogie, to no avail, her family cannot, so they leave her favorite food and toys for her on the front steps. Woogie comes back with her ear half bitten off—her tenth life. Woogie is at home, safe and sound with her very loving family.

Excerpt My aunt Shelly from Oklahoma says some cats are good luck. You pet them and good things happen. There aren’t many in the world. Maybe one in millions and billions. Woogie is a good luck cat. Aunt Shelly pet her on the way to bingo and came back with money to buy us all new shoes. I pet her when I lost my favorite beaded earrings I planned to wear to the spring powwow, then found them under my bed. Aunt Shelly says cats have nine lives, but Woogie’s nine lives, for all her good luck gifts, went fast.

Excerpt The third life I only heard about when I got back from the grocery store. Mom told the story for weeks. She had turned the dryer on and gone upstairs. It was a good thing she had forgotten her coffee, because when she came back down, who did she see spinning and yowling in in the dryer window? The fourth life I don’t like to talk about. My cousin Krista’s dog chased Woogie and almost ate her. She looked like a soggy washrag. She had to get stitches, and she limped for a month. The fifth life was Woogie’s own fault. She got in a fight with my cousins Megan and Ben’s cat over a bird. I don’t like that about cats, but Aunt Shelly says they are born to hunt. Her sixth life was lost when she fell from the top of a tree. She was-‐ you guessed it-‐ hunting birds. I thought cats always landed on their feet. Woogie landed on her head.

Hot, Hot Roti For Dada-‐ji Zia, F., and Ken Min (Illus.). Hot, Hot Roti for Dada-‐ji. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2011.

Annotation This is the story of a boy named Aneel who is spending time with his grandparents who are visiting. Dada-‐ji (Aneel’s grandfather) tells Aneel a story about hot, hot roti. If you eat the hot, hot roti you will have super strength. When the story is over, Aneel and Dada-‐ji want to eat some hot, hot roti, but everybody at the how it too busy to help, so Aneel and Dada-‐ji decide to make it on their own. After working very hard to make the hot, hot roti, they were finally done and it came out just right. Then Aneel and Dada-‐ji go back to having fun and enjoying their time together.

Excerpt “Don’t worry, Dada-‐ji,” said Aneel. “I watch Mom make roti all the time. I’ll help you get your power back. Aneel opened the kitchen cupboard. He pushed past the rice and the red lentils. He pushed past the spices and the green lentils. “Watch out!” cried Mom. Aneel found the flour and dumped some into a big bowl. Aneel found the salt and dumped that in too. “Ai hai! Oh dear!” exclaimed Dadi-‐ma. “So much?” But Dada-‐ji loved salt. Next Aneel added the water. “Tch! Tch!” cried Mom. “So much?” Kiran laughed at the watery mess, but Aneel didn’t care. He just dumped in more flour. AACHOO! Kiran sneezed into a floury cloud. “Arre wah! The boys has talent,” cried Dada-‐ji. Aneel mixed the flour and water and added more salt and began to knead the dough.

Excerpt He punched…and pushed…and he pulled. “Arre wah! Exactly like Dadi-‐ma.” shouted Dada-‐ji When the dough was smooth, Aneel rolled it into balls – enough for a roti stack as high as the ceiling. Then Aneel gabbed a rolling pin and one of the balls. The stuck here and the dough stuck there, but Aneel didn’t give up. He rolled north, and he rolled south. He rolled east, and he rolled west. “Hunh-‐ji!” cheered Dada-‐ji. “Here it goes!” Bit by little bit the first roti began to form. “It looks like the U.S.A!” Kiran said, and laughed. “Roti can be any shape, right, baba?” Aneel rolled out more and more balls of roti dough. “Dekho! Look! Roti number ten is a perfect circle,” remarked Dadi-‐ma. “Hunh-‐ji. Practice makes perfect,” said Dada-‐ji.

I Love Saturdays y domingos Ada, Alma Flor. I Love Saturdays y domingos. New York: Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing, 2002.

Annotation A young girl tells us about her weekends spent with her grandparents who are from different cultural backgrounds. On Saturdays she spends the day with her father’s parents who are European and she gets to experience everything about their culture. On Sundays she does the same with her mother’s parents who are of Hispanic descent. She tell us about her days using Spanish words when talking about her Abuelito and Abuelita. This young girl shows us that regardless who she is with they share the same love of their granddaughter.

Excerpt Saturdays and Sundays are my special days. I call Sundays domingos, and you’ll soon see why. On Saturdays, Grandma serves me breakfast: milk, scrambled eggs, and pancakes. The pancakes are spongy. I like to put a lot of honey on my pancakes. Grandma asks me, “Do you like them sweetheart?” And I answer, “oh, yes, Grandma, I love them!” Los domingos, Abuelita serves me a large glass of papaya juice and a plate of eggs called huevos rancheros. The huevos rancheros are wonderful. No one makes them better than Abuelita. Abuelita asks me if I like them: -‐Te gustan, hijita?” First I need to swallow, and then I answer-‐Si, Abuelita, me encantan!

Excerpt Grandma has a tabby cat. Her name is Taffy. I roll on the carpet and call. “Come, Taffy, let’s play.” Abuelita has a dog. His name is Canelo. When I go to the garden Canelo follows me. I call out to him: -‐Ven, Canelo. Vamos a jugar! Grandma collects owls. Every time that she and grandpa go on a trip she brings back an owl for her collection.

Excerpt Each one is different. I count them: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve… to see how her collection is growing. Abuelita loves animals. When she was little she lived on a farm. She is glad that now they have a large backyard so she can keep chickens. One of her hens has been sitting on her eggs for many days. Now the chicks have hatched. I count them: Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez, once, doce…

Jingle Dancer Smith, Cynthia Leitich and Cornelius Van Wright and Ying-‐Hwa Hu (Illus.). Jingle Dancer. New York: Morrow Junior Books, 2000.

Annotation Jenna and her family are members of the Muscogee tribe, also known as the Creek Nation. After watching her grandmother do the jingle dance she wants to be a jingle dancer at the next powwow, which is a celebration of the Muscogee. She needs jingles for her dress to make the jingle sound. She asks family and friends who could not dance at the next powwow for jingles and lets them know she will be dancing for them. Every night she sews jingles to her dress and practices her dance. The night of the powwow she makes everyone proud with her jingle dance.

Excerpt Tink, tink, tink, tink, sang cone shaped jingles sewn to Grandma Wolfe’s dress. Every time Grandma bounce-‐step brought clattering tink as light blurred silver against jingles of tin. Jenna daydreamed at the kitchen table, tasting honey on fry bread, her heart beating to the brum, brum, brum, brum of the powwow drum. As Moon kissed Sun good night, Jenna shifted her head on Grandma Wolfe’s shoulder. “I want to jingle dance, too.”

Excerpt “Next Powwow, you could dance Girls,” Grandma Wolfe answered. “But we don’t have enough time to mail-‐order tins for rolling jingles.” Again and again, Jenna watched a videotape of Grandma Wolfe jingle dancing. When Grandma bounce-‐stepped on TV, Jenna bounced-‐stepped on family room carpet. But Jenna’s dress would not be able to sing. It needed for rows of jingles. As Sun fetched morning, Jenna danced east to Great-‐aunt Sis’s porch. Jenna’s bounce-‐steps crunched autumn leaves, but her steps didn’t jingle.

Excerpt Once again, Great aunt Sis told Jenna a Muscogee Creek story about Bat. Although other animals had said he was too small to make a difference, Bat won a ball game by flying high and catching a ball in his teeth. Rising sunlight reached through a windowpane and flashed against…what was it, hanging in Aunt Sis’s bedroom? Jingles on a dress too long quiet. “May I borrow enough jingles to make a row?” Jenna asked, not wanting to take so many that Aunt Sis’s dress would lose its voice. “You may,” Aunt Sis answered, rubbing her calves. “My legs don’t work so good anymore. Will you dance for me?”

Keepers Watts, Jeri H., and Felicia Marshall (Illus.). Keepers. New York: Lee & Low Books, 1997.

Annotation This is the story of a boy named Kenyon who loves listening to his grandmother’s stories. She explains to him that she is the keeper of these stories until she passes it on to another girl. Kenyon wanted to be the next keeper but he was a boy. Kenyon does not mind and goes out searching for a gift for his grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. While looking around he sees a brand new baseball glove and buys in, forgetting all about his grandmother’s gift. When he finally remembers it is too late, but Kenyon ends up coming up with an even better idea for a gift; Kenyon write all of his grandmother’s stories into a book. His grandmother is so happy that she tells him that she was wrong and that he is the next keeper of her stories.

Excerpt Mrs. Montgomery strolled up the walk with the biggest strawberry shortcake ever. “Happy Birthday,” she said, setting the cake before Little Dolly. “Make a wish and blow out all these candles. It isn’t everyday you turn ninety, you know.” She reached over and hugged Kenyon. The cake was delicious and everyone had a good time. “Don’t that beat all,” Little Dolly said after everyone had left. “Best birthday I’ve –” Little Dolly stopped as her foot pushed on Kenyon’s present. “Well, looks like it ain’t over yet,” she said. “Hand that box to me, Kenyon.” Little Dolly ripped the paper off as Kenyon shifted from foot to foot. He started apologizing. “It’s not much, I know. Not like a carriage ride or a strawberry shortcake…” He stopped when he saw her eyes sparkling. She carefully lifted the gift from the box and delicately touched the handmade book.

Excerpt “They showed us how to do that at school,” Kenyon explained. “How to bind it and all. And inside I put –” “My stories,” she finished. “A book of my stories.” “Yes ma’am.” Little Dolly pulled Kenyon next to her. Tears were spilling over and dancing down her cheeks. “It seems that I was wrong Kenyon,” she said. “A keeper don’t have to be a girl. You’ve done a fine job here, child. Now, I’m going to need to teach you a few things all keepers got to know. And then, well, you’ll need to add some of your own stories. Maybe a few baseball stories, eh? Kenyon smiled and slipped his into Little Dolly’s. It was definitely all wallop-‐bat day.

My Very Own Room Pérez, Amada I., and Maya C. Gonzalez (Illus.). My Very Own Room. San Francisco: Children's Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2000.

Annotation This is the story of a girl who lives with her parents and five younger brothers. They also frequently have relatives who come stay with them from time to time. With all these people in the house she has no space of her own. She then gets an idea; she can turn the storage closet into her own room. After talking to her mother they decide that it is a good idea. She couldn’t be happier, she would finally have her own room. The whole family helps her, they turn the old storage room in a comfortable new bedroom for her.

Excerpt I sat down among the boxes. My mother must have heard me because she came in from the kitchen. “Mama, it’s perfect,” I said, and I told her my idea. “Ay mijita, you do not understand. We are storing my sister’s sewing machine and your uncle’s gardening tools. Someday they will need their things to make a better living in the new country. And there’s the furniture and the old clothes,” she said. Slowly she shook her head. The she saw the determination on my face and the tears forming in my eyes. “Wait,” she said, seriously thinking. “Maybe we could put these things on the back porch and cover them with old blankets.” “And we could put a tarp on top so nothing would get ruined,” I added. “Yes, I think we can do it. Let’s take everything out and see how much space there is.” I gave her a great big hug and she kissed me.

Excerpt After breakfast we started pushing the old furniture out to the back porch. Everyone helped. We were like a mighty team of powerful ants. We carried furniture, tools, and machines. We dragged bulging bags of old clothes and toys. We pulled boxes of treasure and overflowing junk. Finally, everything was out except for a few cans of leftover paint from the one time we had painted the house. Each can had just a tiny bit of paint inside. There was pink and blue and white, but not nearly enough of any one color to paint the room. “I have an idea,” I said to my brothers. “Let’s mix them!” Hector and Sergio helped me pour one can into another and we watched the colors swirl together. A new color began to appear, a little like purple and much stronger than pink. Magenta! We painted and painted until we ran out of paint.

On My Way to Buy Eggs Chen, Chih-‐Yuan. On My Way to Buy Eggs. La Jolla, CA: Kane/Miller.

Annotation Shau-‐yu’s father sends her to the store to buy eggs. Along the way, she picks up a blue marble, and her imagination allows her to see the world as a giant blue ocean in which she becomes fish. Later, she picks up glasses and pretends to be her mother to the shopkeeper, who plays along with her. The panel of judges who awarded this book in Taiwan called the book one that would “’make children feel there is endless happiness, humor and warmth in their every day lives’” (n. p.)

Excerpt “May I go outside and play?” Shau-‐yu asks. “I need you to go to the store first,” her father replies. “We’re out of eggs.” Shau-‐yu puts the money in the right pocket of her skirt. (There are no holes in that pocket.) Outside, she follows the cat’s shadow. He’s walking on the roof. She peeks around the wall. “Woof, woof,” she barks, just as Harry usually does. She picks up a lost marble. It’s blue, the color of cats’ eyes. Looking through the blue eye… The windows are blue; the walls are blue.

Excerpt The houses are blue; the sky is blue. The world becomes a blue ocean world. “I am a little fish, swimming in the big, blue sea.” (Shau-‐yu means “little fish.”) Stepping on the falling leaves, “Chi-‐cha, chi-‐cha,” Shau-‐yu’s steps sound like people eating crunchy cookies. Under the tree sits a pair of glasses that wants someone to wear them. Shau-‐yu looks like Mother now. Everything is blurry. It’s a blurry world. But Shau-‐yu knows the way. There’s the shop, over there, near that pole.

Excerpt “Hello shopkeeper. I would like to buy some eggs please, eggs for making fried rice. I am cooking fried rice for my family tonight.” “Here are your eggs, madam. And maybe your little girl, Shau-‐yu, would like some chewing gum?” “Hmmm. I think she would.” “Does the chicken lay the egg first? Or does the egg hatch into a chicken?” Shau-‐yu wonders. Shau-‐yu notices two beautiful flowers on the corner of the wall. The water on their petals sparkles like diamonds. “I should bring these flowers home,” she thinks. The gum has lost its flavor. It’s still good for blowing bubbles, though. Pop! It wakes Harry like magic. Ding, dong! “Hello! I’ve had such a busy day.”

Quinito’s Neighborhood/El vecíndario de Quinito Cumpiano, Ina, and José Ramírez (Illus.). Quinito’s Neighborhood/El vecíndario de Quinito. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2005.

Annotation Starting with his family, Quinito knows everyone’s occupation, including that his father is a nurse, and his mother is a carpenter. Written in both English and Spanish, the book shows Quinito’s connection with his family and community, and an awareness of the all the things people can become.

Excerpt My mami is a carpenter. My papi is a nurse. My abuela drives a big truck. My abuelo fixes clocks. Sometimes my abuela brings broken grandfather clocks to my abuelo’s shop. My tía is a muralist. My tío teaches dance. My grown-‐up cousin Tita goes to clown school. Her brother, my primo Ruperto, is a dentist. He checks people’s teeth. My neighbors, Rafi and Luis Manuel, go to work very early. Rafi bakes bread and Luis Manuel sells it. Mrs. Hernández sells Rafi’s bread at her bodega, too. And her daughter, Sonia Isabel, counts the money in the bank on the corner.

Excerpt Guillermo is our mailman. Guillermo is going to marry Sonia Isabel. Doña Estrella is a seamstress. She is sewing a wedding dress for Sonia Isabel. Mr. Goméz is Doña Estrella’s neighbor. He is also my teacher at school. Mrs. Gómez is a crossing guard. She helps me cross the street. And I am a very busy person, -‐too. I have to tell Mr. Goméz that my mami is a carpenter and my papi is a nurse.

Waboose, Jan Bourdeau, and Brian Deines (Illus.). SkySisters. Tonawanda, NY: Kids Can Press, 2002. SkySisters

Annotation Two sisters of the Ojibway nation go for a walk on a cold and snowy night. Along the way, they see moonlit landscapes for miles on end, ice sickles, and a rabbit; they speak softly so as not to scare it away. They also encounter a deer. Atop a hill, they watch for the SkySpirits (the Northern Lights). The sky is filled with marvelous colors, and the sisters decide to call them SkySisters.

Excerpt Something stirs in the shadows beneath the branches. “Nishiime, don’t move.” Nimise speaks low. “You’ll scare it away.” She stops and points at a fluffy, white rabbit. But I see something bigger bounding toward us. It is moving quickly. I try to tell my sister, but the words will not come. I tug on her arm and point. “What is it?” she asks, yet she does not look away from the rabbit. It is too late to warn her. The huge shape is in front of us. My sister whirls around, gasps, and holds on to my arm. I suck in my breath and hold her arm. We stand motionless as we stare into the eyes of a deer. The deer looks at us and does not move away. With strong legs, she paws at the snow before us. She waits a moment, then turns and runs gracefully toward the river.

Excerpt A howl breaks the silent night. Then another. The cried are long and loud. I quiver and move closer to my sister. “What is it?” I speak so that I can barely hear my own words. Sister’s eyes are wide with excitement. “It’s a coyote!” she bursts out. “He’s singing to us. Listen.” The coyote sings his song once again and stops. “He’s waiting for an answer,” says Allie. She cups her hands around her mouth. I do the same, and together we howl back the coyote song. Low at first, then louder. The coyote answers. So do we. A few more calls, and then all is quiet. My sister and I look at each other and grin. Allie’s grin is as big as mine.

What Are You Doing? Amado, Elisa, and Manuel Monroy (Illus.). What Are You Doing? Toronto, Ontario: Groundwood, 2011.

Annotation Chepito doesn’t want to go to school to learn to read until he meets a man reading the newspaper to learn who won the game; a girl reading a humorous book; tourists reading a guidebook; and, others who have other purposes for reading. The story is set in Guatemala.

Excerpt “What are you doing?” asked Chepito. “Reading a manual,” answered the greasy mechanic. “Why, why, why?” sang Chepito. “Because I can’t figure out what’s wrong with this stupid car.” “What are you doing?” asked Chepito. “Reading this magazine,” answered the young woman. “Why, why, why?” sang Chepito. “So I can choose a beautiful hairdo for the dance tonight.”

Excerpt "What are you doing?" asked Chepito. "Reading the hieroglyphics on this stela," answered the archeologist. “Why, why, why?” sang Chepito. "Because they tell about a war that happened right here more than a thousand years ago when the Maya kings ruled this place." Chepito got home just in time. After lunch Chepito's mother and his little sister, Rosita, walked over to the school with him. Chepito looked into his classroom. He saw a shelf with books on it and decided to go in.

Excerpt "What are you doing?" he asked the teacher. "I am going to read this book to you," she answered. Chepito ran all the way home from school. He went in the door and sat down on a chair. He pulled a book out of his bag. "What are you doing?" said his mother. "I'm reading a book," answered Chepito. "Did you learn how to read on your first day of school?" asked his mother. "No, but I can tell by the pictures," said Chepito. "Shall I read you a story, Rosita?" he asked. "Why, why, why?" she sang. Chepito was about to say, "Because it's fun." But before he could, Rosita answered, "Yes. Read it to me."

What Can You Do With a Paleta? Tafolla, Carmen, and Magaly Morales (Illus.). What Can You Do With a Paleta? Berkeley, CA: Tricycle Press, 2009.

Annotation A little girl’s excitement over the arrival of the paleta (an ice-‐fruit desert, like a popsicle) prompts her to imagine all the things that can be done with a paleta: painting, choosing, making new friends, cooling off, and so on. This book is written in English and Spanish.

Excerpt Where the big velvet roses bloom read and pink and fuchsia, where the accordion plays sassy and sweet, where the smell of crispy tacos or butterfly tortillas or juicy fruta floats out of every window, and where the paleta wagon rings its tinkly bell and carries a treasure of icy paletas in every color of the sarape… THAT’S my barrio!

Excerpt You can dance to the accordion, you can smell the tacos, but… WHAT can you DO with a paleta? You can paint your tongue purple and green, and scare your brother! Or maybe learn to make tough decisions. Strawberry? Or coconut? You can make new friends, give yourself a big, blue mustache, or create a masterpiece! You can use one to cool off, like Mama does!

Excerpt Tío once won a baseball game by offering one to the batter (right when the ball was being pitched!) You can help the señora at the fruit stand make it through a long, hard day. But I think the very best thing to do with a paleta is to… lick it and slurp it and sip it and munch it and gobble it all down.

When I Am Old With You Johnson, Angela, and David Soman (Illus.). When I Am Old with You. New York: Orchard, 1990.

Annotation This is the story of a girl and the relationship she has with her Grandaddy. She tells all the things they do together, like playing cards and sharing breakfast. These are things that they will also do with him when she is old.

Excerpt When I am old with you, Grandaddy, we will play cards all day underneath that old tree by the road. We’ll drink cool water from the a jug and wave at all the cars that go by. We’ll play cards till the lightning buds shine in the trees… … and we won’t mind that we forgot to keep score, Grandaddy. When I am old with you, Grandaddy, we will open up that old cedar chest and try on all the old clothes that your grandaddy left you. We can look at the old pictures and try to imagine the people in them. It might make us cry… but that’s O.K.

Excerpt In the mornings, Grandaddy, we will cook bacon for breakfast and that’s all. We can eat it on the porch too. In the evening we can roast corn on a big fire and invite everyone we know to come over and eat it. They’ll all dance, play cards, and talk about everything. When I am old with you, Grandaddy, we can take a trip to the ocean. Have you ever been to the ocean, Grandaddy? We’ll walk on the hot sand and throw rocks at the waves. We can wear big hats in the afternoon like everyone else… … and we’ll sit in the water when the day gets cool. When our trip is over we will follow the ocean as far as we can, so we’ll never forget it. When I am old with you, Grandaddy, we will get on the tractor and ride through the fields of grass.

K-‐1 Band: Picture Books: Fantasy Tar Beach by Faith Ringgold

Tar Beach Ringgold, Faith. Tar Beach. New York: Crown Publishers, 1991.

Annotation In Tar Beach, Cassie flies over the New York City taking ownership of everything she touches. What really belongs to her is the George Washington Bridge. She soars the sky looking down on the roof top where her family spends some summer nights on their building eating, playing games, and relaxing. She does not have much but she knows that with her imagination she has everything.

Excerpt I will always remember when the stars fell around me and lifted me up above the George Washington Bridge. I could see our tiny roof top, with Mommy and Daddy and Mr. and Mrs. Honey, our next door neighbors, still playing cards as if nothing was going on, and BeBe, my baby brother, lying real still on the mattress, just like I told him to, his eyes like huge floodlights tracking me through the sky. Sleeping on Tar Beach was magical. Lying on the roof in the night, with stars and skyscraper buildings all around me, made me feel rich, like I owned all that I could see. The bridge was my most prized possession. \

Excerpt Daddy worked on that bridge, hoisting cables. Since then, I’ve wanted that bridge to be mine. Now I have claimed it. All I had to do was fly over it for it to be mine forever. Can wear it like a giant diamond necklace, or just fly above it and marvel at its sparkling beauty. I can fly-‐yes, fly. Me, Cassie Louise Lightfoot, only eight years old and in the third grade, and I can fly. That means I am free to go wherever I want for the rest of my life.

Excerpt Daddy took me to go see the new union building he is working on. He can walk on steel girders high up in the sky and not fall. They call him the cat. But he still can’t join the union because Grandpa wasn’t a member.

K-‐1 Band: Picture Books: Historical Fiction Little Sap and Monsieur Rodin by Michelle Lord; Felicia Hoshino, illustrator Shi-‐shi-‐etko by Nicola I. Campbell; Kim LaFave, illustrator Thanks to the Animals by Allen Sockabasin; Rebekah Raye, illustrator

Little Sap and Monsieur Rodin Lord, Michelle, and Felicia Hoshino (Illus.). Little Sap and Monsieur Rodin. New York, Lee & Low Books, 2006.

Annotation This is a story about a girl named Little Sap who helps on her father’s farm and also takes dance classes while she is growing up in Cambodia. Little Sap is at a disadvantaged from the other girls because her feet are ore, hurt and not as soft as the others’. Little Sap struggles on until one day her hard work and determination pays off. Little Sap embarks on a journey to France in which she would have to endure sea life for many days. Little Sap finally arrives and gets right to work performing for the king and an artist known as Auguste Rodin, who sketches her. This is a based on a true story of the Colonial Exhibition in France in 1906; Rodin became captivated by the Cambodian dancers, especially one.

Excerpt As the years passed, Sap’s awkward movements began to turn into graceful poses. The poses became dances, and the dances told stories. Sap practiced to the beat of a calfskin drum: TEP-‐TUP-‐TEP-‐TUP-‐TAP. She bent her hands like the fronds of a sugar palm curving toward the ground. Her toes curled upward. The bowl-‐shaped finger cymbals sang to the dancers: CHHEPP-‐CHHING! CHHEPP-‐CHHING! Soon whispers from the other girls mingled with the drumbeats and chimes of the cymbals. Sap heard news of a wondrous journey. The princess would be traveling with her dancers to an exhibition in France! Sap had never before thought of leaving Cambodia. Now she was going to be dancing for important people in a faraway land across the ocean.

Excerpt The day of the journey came, and Sap boarded a ship larger than any she could have imagined. The huge boat creaked and groaned under the weight of the king and his entourage, which even included a few elephants. Sap had never felt such cold breezes. Tiny bumps raised on her arms. Her skin felt sticky. She tasted salt on her lips. Some days the sea was smooth and the ship rocked soothingly, like the hammock of Sap’s babyhood. Other days were stormy. The boat shuddered and the sea spit. Sap felt she was drifting farther and farther away from all the things she had ever known-‐ her family and her life in the palace.

Excerpt After weeks crossing uncertain seas, Sap saw France for the first time, wrapped in fog. She huddled on the deck near Princes Soumphady and the other dancers. When the ship reached port, Sap watched and the crew wind thick ropes around the pilings to anchor it. The fog cleared, and Sap stared into the crowd beyond, full of feathered hats and finery. She gaped at the homes settled into the hillside. How different everything was from Cambodia!

Campbell, Nicola I., and Kim La Fave (Illus.). Shi-‐shi-etko. Toronto: Groundwood, 2005. Shi-‐shi-‐etko

Annotation By law, Shi-‐shi-‐etko must leave her family and reservation to go to the Indian Boarding School. She and her grandmother, Yahyah, take a walk to gather memories for Shi-‐shi-‐etko’s memory bag, which will help nurture her while she is away from her family.

Excerpt They went to visit silver willow, red willow, sage brush, cottonwood, Labrador bushes and even kinnikinnick. They visited blueberry, salmonberry, saskatoon, and huckleberry bushes. They found bitterroot, wild potato and wild celery patches. On and on they went through fields of wild roses, Indian paintbrush, fireweed and columbine. Shi-‐shi-‐etko promised herself, “I will remember everything.” Each plant they came to, she listened carefully to its name. Then asked once, twice, even three times, “Is it food or medicine, Yayah?

Excerpt Is it always safe?” Each plant they came to, she listened carefully to its name. Then asked once, twice, even three times, “Is it food or medicine, Yayah? Is it always safe? Then whispering its name, she placed dried berry, root, flower and fragrant leaf into her bag of memories.

Excerpt That night when Shi-‐shi-‐etko crawled under her patchwork quilt, she counted her fingers and said, “One, only one more sleep.” At home the cattle truck that gathered children waited. Shi-‐shi-‐etko picked up her bag of memories, a pinch of tobacco for offering., then went out the back door to her favorite place beneath a great big fir tree.

Thanks to the Animals Sockabasin, Allen, and Rebekah Raye (Illus.). Thanks to the Animals. Gardiner, ME: Tilbury House, 2005.

Annotation Passamaquoddy Indians must move their lodgings for the winter months: Joo Tum’s family packed to go. Accidentally, without his family knowing, Zoo Sap fell off of the sled. The animals of the forest surrounded Zoo Sap to keep him warm, until his family came back for him the next day.

Excerpt Winter had arrived. Joo Tum worked for days preparing for the trip north with his family. He took apart their house near the shore and stacked the cedar logs on the big bobsled. Everyone helped. They packed the family sled with his tools and with meats and fish and vegetables harvested during the summer, when the days were long. It was loaded to the very top with precious food, but Joo Tum made sure there was room for his children to ride in the back. Everyone dressed in warm sealskin clothes for the long trip. It was time to go to their winter home in the deep woods. The horses pulled the sled slowly through the new snow.

Excerpt Zoo Sap was not yet walking, but he was a strong baby, born in the spring. He rode on the sled with the other children. As the shadows grew long, the older children slept. But then little Zoo Sap stood up and tumbled off the sled! Oh, how Zoo Sap cried! His voice filled the sky. The animals of the forest were alerted by his crying. First to come were the beaver. They knew they had to keep him warm and dry, so they put their tails together and cradled Zoo Sap. Zoo Sap still cried, so the moose came. Then the bear, the caribou, and the deer. The fox and the wolf came too. And all the big animals lay together in a circle. Then the other, smaller animals came-‐ the raccoons, porcupines, rabbits, weasels, and mink. The muskrat and otter and the squirrels and mice came, too.

K-‐1 Band: Poetry All the Colors of the Earth by Sheila Hamanaka Chugga-‐Chugga Choo-‐Choo by Kevin Lewis; Daniel Kirk, illustrator Estrellita se despide de su isla/Estrellita Says Good-‐bye to Her Island by Samuel Caraballo; Pablo Torrecilla, illustrator From the Bellybutton of the Moon and Other Summer Poems by Francisco X. Alarcón; Maya Christina Gonzalez, Illustrator Giving Thanks: A Native American Good Morning Message Chief Jake Swamp; Erwin Printup, illustrator How Far Do You Love Me? by Lulu Delacre Jonathan and His Mommy by Irene Smalls; Michael Hays, illustrator

K-‐1 Band: Poetry, continued Laughing Tomatoes and Other Spring Poems by Francisco X. Alarcon ; Maya Christina Gonzalez, Illustrator Listen to the Desert/Oye al desierto by Pat Mora; Francisco X. Mora, illustrator My People by Langston Hughes; Charles R. Smith Jr., Illustrator Night Garden: Poems from the World of Dreams by Janet Wong; Julie Paschkis, illustrator Sopa de frijoles/Bean Soup by Jorge Argueta; Rafael Yockteng, illustrator Tan to Tamarind: Poems About the Color Brown by Malathi Michelle Iyengar; Jamel Akib, illustrator Young Cornrows Callin Out the Moon by Ruth Forman; Chabi Bayoc, illustrator

All the Colors of the Earth Hamanaka, Sheila. All the Colors of the Earth. New York: Morrow Junior, 1994.

Annotation This is a book that describes people and other things on earth using colors. The message the author is sending in this book is that everybody and everything in this world is different, but it is all beautiful.

Excerpt Children come in all the colors of the earth – The roaring browns of bears and soaring eagles, The whispering gold of old summer grasses, And crackling russets of fallen leaves, The tickling pinks of tiny seashells by the rumbling sea. Children come with hair like bouncy baby lambs, Or hair that flows like water, Or hair that curls like sleeping cats in snoozy cat colors.

Excerpt Children come in all the colors of love, In endless shades of you and me. For love comes in cinnamon, walnut, and wheat, Love is amber and ivory and ginger and sweet Like caramel, and chocolate, and the honey of bees. Dark as leopard spots, light as sand, Children buzz with laughter that kisses out land, With sunlight like butterflies happy and free, Children come in all the colors of the earth and sky and sea.

Chugga-‐Chugga Choo-‐Choo Lewis, Kevin, and Daniel Kirk (Illus.). Chugga-‐Chugga Choo-‐Choo. New York: Hyperion.

Annotation This delightful board book features diverse characters working on a train that carries freight. They go through mountains, valleys, and tunnels built of blocks to unload the freight in the city. Night falls, and the little boy, who is African American, goes to bed holding his train, ready to play again the next day.

Sun’s up! Morning’s here. Up and at ‘em, engineer. Chugga-‐chugga choo-‐choo, whistle blowing, whoooooooo! whoooooooo! Hurry! Hurry! Load the freight. To the city. Can’t be late. Complete Text

Complete Text Through the country on the loose. Engine black and red caboose. Chugga-‐chugga choo-‐choo, Wheels a-‐turning, whoooooooo! whoooooooo! ‘Round the mountains, high and steep. Through the valleys, low and deep. Into tunnels, underground. See the darkness. Hear the sound.

Complete Text Chugga-‐chugga choo-‐choo, echo calling, whoooooooo! whoooooooo! whoooooooo! whoooooooo! Across the river swift and wide. A bridge goes to the other side. Chugga-‐chugga choo-‐choo, there’s the city, whoooooooo! whoooooooo! In the station workers wait. Ready to unload the freight.

Boxcars empty. One by one. The sun is setting. Job well done. Tired-‐tired choo-‐choo, night is falling, whoooooooo! whoooooooo! Sleepy-‐sleepy choo-‐choo, till tomorrow. whoooooooo! whoooooooo! Complete Text

Estrellita se despide de su isla/Estrellita Says Good-‐bye to Her Island Caraballo, Samuel, and Pablo Torrecilla (Illus.). Estrellita se despide de su isla/Estrellita Says Good-bye to Her Island. Houston, TX: Piñata Books, 2002.

Annotation Estrellita must say good-‐bye to her lovely island of Puerto Rico. She recalls the sounds, smells, sights, tastes, and feelings of her first home.

Excerpt Estrellita was sadly saying From the window of the giant plane, “Good-‐bye my precious, little island, darling piece of my heart! I am leaving, perhaps without knowing When I will hug you again, But you will forever be my beloved, My everything, beyond compare, my native soil. Wherever my life happens to be, I shall dream of you everyday.

Excerpt Wherever my mind happens to be, I shall forever remember: The call of your beautiful rooster Wishing you good morning, And the clear and proud warble Of your restless swallows. The sound of your warm seas, That were refreshing to my soul, And the sweet, gallant coquí Jumping and frolicking in my bed.

Excerpt The little white mountain goat, With whom I played so much, And the taste of your delicious mango And that of your juicy guava. The scent of your untouched countrysides And of your colorful prairies, And my friends romping down Your mysterious roads. Your joyful, beautiful people Dancing plena in the plazas, And the aroma of the hot coffee Scenting their humble homes.

Excerpt The brilliance of your magical sun Painting your mountains gold, And the clear melodies of illusion From your fine and famous guitars. Your silver moon illuminating The route of the little fishing boat, The bright red of dawn accentuating Your green and eternal beauty.

Excerpt Your skies, your rivers, your charm All of which the painter dreams, And the glorious marble notes Of your exquisite Caribbean song. And the tender, angelic hug Of my grandma Panchita Who, like you, is my little love, My light and my precious little pearl!”

From the Bellybutton of the Moon and Other Summer Poems Alarcón, Francisco X., and Maya C. Gonzalez (Illus.). From the Bellybutton of the Moon and Other Summer Poems. San Francisco: Children's Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 1998.

Annotation This is an imaginative poetry book written in both English and Spanish. Children will enjoy reading the variety of poems, all about the summer. This is a perfect poetry book for students who are learning English.

Excerpt Green Grass we love to go shoeless on green grass Mother Earth loves to tickle our bare feet Blue I face south “blue” I cry same color – the sea, the sky Hierba Verde nos gusta andar descalzos entre la hierba verde a la Madre Tierra le encanta hacernos cosquillas en los pies Azul miro al sur grito “azul” un color: cielo y mar

Excerpt Niebla del monte tierno aliento de montañas vaho juguetón que nubla las ventanas de la panadería del pueblo los anteojos de oro de mi padre el parabrisas de la camioneta familiar cuando cruzamos la Sierra Madre Occidental Mountain Mist tender breath of mountains playful stream clouding the windows of the village bakery the golden eyeglasses of my father the windshield of my family’s station wagon as we cross Mexico’s western mountain range

Excerpt Girasol algo de flor algo de sol Yemas matutinas mi tía Reginalda siempre nos servía unos ricos desayunos pequeños soles amarillos que en platillos se sonreian Sunflowers somewhat a flower somehow a sun Morning Yolks Auntie Reginalda always served us delicious breakfast – little yellow suns smiling in our plates

Excerpt Antigua sabiduria despues de trabajar todo al día como campesino de sol a sol ordeñando vacas dormilonas lavando limpiando dando de comer a todos los animales los chiquitos y los grandotes reparando cercas acequias escardando regando su maizal mi tío Vicente descansando por fin en su mecedora muy calmado bajo las estrellas nos decía: “mañana empezamos todo de nuevo”

Excerpt Ancient Wisdom after working all day as a farmer from dawn to dusk milking sleepy cows washing cleaning feeding all the animals the small ones and the big ones repairing fences waterways weeding watering his cornfield Uncle Vicente finally resting in his rocking chair would tell us very calmly under the stars: “tomorrow we’ll start all over”

Giving Thanks: A Native American Good Morning Message Chief Jake Swamp, and Erwin Printup (Illus.). Giving Thanks: A Native American Good Morning Message. New York: Lee & Low Books, 1995.

Annotation Author’s Note: “The words in this book are based on the Thanksgiving Address, an ancient message of peace and appreciation of Mother Earth and all her inhabitants. These words of thanks come to us from the Native people known as the Haudenosaunee, also known as the Iroquois or Six Nations—Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, Onondaga, Seneca, and Tuscarora. The people of the Six Nations are from Upstate New York and Canada. These words are still spoken at ceremonial and governmental gathering held by the Six Nations. Children, too, are taught to greet the world each morning by saying thank you to all living things. They learn that according to the Native American tradition, people everywhere are embraces as family. Our diversity, like all the wonders of Nature, is truly a gift for which we are thankful.” The book includes the address in the Mohawk language at the end of the book.

Excerpt To be a human being is an honor, and we offer thanksgiving for all the gifts of life. Mother Earth, we thank you for giving us everything we need. Thank you, deep blue waters around Mother Earth, for you are the force that takes thirst away from all living things. We give thanks to the green grasses that feel so good against our bare feet, for the cool beauty you bring to Mother Earth’s floor. Thank you, good foods from Mother Earth, our life sustainers, for making us happy when we are hungry. Fruits and berries, we thank you for your color and sweetness. We are all thankful to good medicine herbs, for healing us when we are sick. Thank you, all the animals in the world, for keeping our precious forests clean. All the trees in the world, we are thankful for the shade and warmth you give us. Thank you, all the birds in the world, for singing your beautiful songs for all to enjoy.

Excerpt We give thanks to you, gentle Four Winds, for bringing clean air for us to breathe from the four directions. Thank you, Grandfather Thunder Beings, for bringing rains to help all living things grow. Elder Brother Sun, we send thanks for shining your light and warming Mother Earth. Thank you, Grandmother Moon, for growing full every month to light the darkness for children and sparkling waters. We give you thanks, twinkling stars, for making the night sky so beautiful, and for sprinkling morning dew drops on the plants. Spirit Protectors of our past and present, we thank you for showing us ways to live in peace and harmony with one another. And most of all, thank you, Great Spirit, for giving us all these wonderful gifts, so we will be happy and healthy every day and every night.

How Far Do You Love Me? Delacre, Lulu. How Far Do You Love Me? New York: Lee & Low Books, 2013.

Annotation This poem of an adult’s love for a child depicts the Grand Canyon in Arizona, Cenote Dzitnup in Mexico, Machu Picchu in Peru, a glacier in Anartica, the Serengeti Plain in Tanzania, the Sinai Peninsula in Egypt, the Provence in France, the Alps in Switzerland, the Ladakh in the Himalayas, the Mekong River in Vietnam, Kangaroo Island and the Great-‐Barrier Reef in Australia, and Vieques, Puerto Rico.

Complete Text I love you to the top of the peaks lit by the morning sun . . . To the depths of the cave where a spring seeps sweet water . . . To the place where the eagle is lost gliding along the rim of the sky. I love you straight through to the glacier’s oldest blue . . . To the meeting of the sun and the mist painting a rainbow curve . . . I love you to the crests of the desert where the wind sweeps sand from the dunes . . . To the fields of flowers that lace lavender through the air. I love you the whole length of the river as it slides down the slopes and curls through the valley slowly finding the sea.

Complete Text I love you to the mountaintop that stretches through the clouds . . . To the bright blossom of a water lily happily rooted in the marsh . . . To the crown of the eucalyptus tree tickling the belly of the sky. I love you to the crannies of the corals rough and twisted on the ocean floor. And how far do you love me? I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON!

Jonathan and His Mommy Smalls, Irene, and Michael Hays (Illus.). Jonathan and His Mommy. Boston: Little, Brown, 1992

Annotation This is a great book to enact, and a rich vocabulary-‐builder. Jonathan and him mom walk in all kinds of ways, and eventually return home.

Excerpt I like to go walking and talking with my mom. First we zigzag walk down the street; It looks strange to the people we meet. Then we take big giant steps, big giant steps, And talk in loud giant voices, And we say big things the way giants must talk: “I say, did you see That hu-‐mon-‐gus mammoth among us?”

Excerpt After that we take itsy-‐bitsy baby steps, Itsy-‐bitsy baby steps, And talk in tiny baby voices About baby things: itsy-‐bitsy spiders, Tiny dreams, and small marshmallows. Next we take bunny steps, Hop-‐hop hop-‐hop-‐hop (hip-‐hop, too, sometimes), As we wriggle our noses and wiggle our ears; We look so funny that we end up in tears.

Excerpt Tears that dry with the wind As we take fast running steps, fast running steps, Running our race. You’re the winner, I’m the misser, I see on my mom’s face. Sometimes she can’t keep up with my fast pace. So I slow it down, And we do slow-‐motion steps, Sloow-‐moootion steps,

Excerpt As we talk about molasses And birthdays and how long they take. And just before we’re about to fall asleep… We take a leap onto our toes And do ballet steps, ballet steps, Arms in the air, twirling round and round, Till our feet touch the ground. Then we do crazy crisscross steps, Crazy crisscross steps.

Excerpt Mommy steps and I step, And our legs cross; Mommy steps and I step, And our legs crazycross. The one who makes the last step Is the boss of the crisscross. After crossing a fast and our last crisscross, We move on to reggae steps, reggae steps, Hips swaying, feet step-‐step-‐sliding side to side, Bodies moving to the beat of our hearts.

Excerpt Then we take backward steps, backward steps, And go to all the places we’ve been… Which is good because By that time we’re tired… And we take Jonathan-‐and-‐Mommy steps, Jonathan-‐and-‐Mommy steps, And walk our way home.

Laughing Tomatoes and Other Spring Poems Alarcón, Francisco X., and Maya Christina Gonzalez (Illus.). Laughing Tomatoes and Other Spring Poems/Jitomates risueños y otros poemas de primavera. San Francisco: Children's Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 1997.

Annotation This is an imaginative poetry book written in both English and Spanish. Children will enjoy reading the variety of poems, all about the spring. This is a perfect poetry book for students who are learning English.

Excerpt First Rain is it raining or is the sky crying. Spring the hills are starting to crack a green smile once again Laughing Tomatoes in our backyard we plant tomatoes the happiest of all vegetables with joy they grow round with flavor laughing they change to red turning their wire-‐framed bushes into Christmas trees in the spring

Excerpt Ode to Corn father mother gift from the sun earth water air light like the races of the world you appear black yellow red and white your tender ears are born pointing to the sky the wind caresses your silky hair sister brother green dear my hands will harvest your veiled big smiles

Excerpt Tortilla each tortilla is a tasty round of applause for the sun Chile sometimes a bit is all it takes for a supernova to explode Cinco de Mayo a battle in some history books a fiesta of music and colors a flag waving occasion a flirting dance and a piñata orchata corn chips and guacamole a mango with some chile and lemon a cry of joy and spring yes, summer vacation is just around the corner

Listen to the Desert/Oye al desierto Mora, Pat, and Francisco X. Mora (Illus.). Listen to the Desert/Oye al desierto. New York: Clarion, 1994.

Complete Text Listen to the desert, pon, pon, pon. Listen to the desert, pon, pon, pon. Oye al desierto, pon, pon, pon. Oye al desierto, pon, pon, pon. Listen to the owl hoot, whoo, whoo, whoo. Listen to the owl hoot, whoo, whoo, whoo. Oye la lechuza, uuu, uuu, uuu. Oye la lechuza, uuu, uuu, uuu.

Complete Text Listen to the toad hop, plop, plop, plop. Listen to the toad hop, plop, plop, plop. Oye el sapito, plap, plap, plap. Oye el sapito, plap, plap, plap. Listen to the snake hiss, tst-‐tst-‐tst, tst-‐tst-‐tst. Listen to the snake hiss, tst-‐tst-‐tst, tst-‐tst-‐tst. Silba la culebra, ssst, ssst, ssst. Silba la culebra, ssst, ssst, ssst.

Complete Text Listen to the dove say coo, coo, coo. Listen to the dove say coo, coo, coo. La paloma arrulla, currucú, currucú, currucú. La paloma arrulla, currucú, currucú, currucú. Listen to the fish eat, puh, puh, puh. Listen to the fish eat, puh, puh, puh. Oye pescaditos, plaf, plaf, plaf. Oye pescaditos, plaf, plaf, plaf.

Complete Text Listen to the mice say scrrt, scrrt, scrrt. Listen to the mice say scrrt, scrrt, scrrt. Oye ratoncitos, criic, criic, criic. Oye ratoncitos, criic, criic, criic. Listen to the rain dance, plip, plip, plip. Listen to the rain dance, plip, plip, plip. La lluvia baila, baila, plin, plin, plin. La lluvia baila, baila, plin, plin, plin.

Complete Text Listen to the wind spin, zoom, zoom, zoom. Listen to the wind spin, zoom, zoom, zoom. Oye, zumba el viento, zuum, zuum, zuum. Oye, zumba el viento, zuum, zuum, zuum. Listen to the desert, pon, pon, pon. Listen to the desert, pon, pon, pon. Oye al desierto, pon, pon, pon. Oye al desierto, pon, pon, pon.

My People Hughes, Langston, and Charles R. Smith (Photog.). My People. New York: Atheneum for Young Readers, 2009.

Annotation Langston Hughes brings his poem My People to life with photographs by Charles R. Smith Jr. This book shows how beautiful it is to be an African American.

Excerpt The night is beautiful, so the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, so the eyes, of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun. Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

Night Garden: Poems from the World of Dreams Wong, Janet, and Julie Paschkis (Illus.). Night Garden: Poems from the World of Dreams. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000.

Annotation A collection of poems about dreams.

Excerpt Gently Down the Stream Like one fast fish, I’m swimming free, water washing over me, following a moonlight path, one fast fish, no breathing troubles, followed by a trail of bubbles, seeing clear through eyes like glass, swimming long, swimming lean, swimming gently down the stream.

Excerpt Dog Dreams Our sad old dog kicks his feet, twitches, growls in his sleep, whimpers, snarls, yelps awake. I scratch behind his ears and take him out to let him sniff the trees, let him walk, chase the breeze, nose in air, eyes closed tight, chasing dreams into the night.

Sopa de frijoles/Bean Soup Argueta, Jorge, and Rafael Yockteng (Illus.). Sopa de frijoles/Bean Soup. Toronto: Groundwood,

Annotation Written in English and Spanish, this is one in a series of cooking poems by the same poet, and illustrated by different artists: Tamalitos, Arroz con leche/Rice Pudding, and Guacamole. Other artists are Margarita Sada, Fernando Vilela, and Domi.

Excerpt For a yummy bean soup all you need are… two cups of beans white red or black as night a big head of garlic with fragrant cloves white as midday a huge onion red white or yellow as the dawn as

Excerpt and a pot round as the moon and as deep as a little lake. You need six cups of natural water not with bubbles or tastes just plain pure water pure water and nothing else and a little salt volcano nestled in the bowl of the spoon. First spread the beans out on the sky of the table. The beans are stars. Throw away any little pebbles.

Excerpt When the beans touch they clink a little song. You can sing too. Oh, what a yummy soup soupy soup beany soup. It will be eaten by my brothers my sister my mom and my dad and me. Soooo delicious! Pour water into the pot watery water lovely granny whose caresses give us life.

Tan to Tamarind: Poems About the Color Brown Iyengar, Malathi Michelle, and Jamel Akib (Illus.). Tan to Tamarind: Poems About the Color Brown. New York: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2009.

Annotation This collection celebrates all the shades of brown, with poems called Tan, Sienna, Topaz, Bay, Sepia, Cocoa, Ocher, Beige, Sandalwood, Coffee, Adobe, Tamarind, Spruce, Nutmeg, and Brown. Iyengar writes that, as a child growing up in North Carolina, she was made to feel her skin color was “a dirty, ugly color”; she would try to scrub it white. Gradually she learned that brown is a beautiful color, and she is now happy to look in the mirror.

Excerpt TopazBrown. Topaz brown. Polished golden topaz brown. A precious brown stone, catching the light, glows inside with red-‐orange fire. Bright, translucent brown. Glassy, glossy brown. A splendid brown topaz Set in gold, glimmers on the ring finger of My mother’s elegant brown hand.

Excerpt Sienna Brown. Sienna brown. Rusty, dusty, coppery brown. Reddish-‐brown mountains, our Southwest home. Dad hears coyotes calling, I spot their sandy tracks Four o’clock breeze drifts the smell of sage across our sienna path. Strong, unyielding brown. Warm, abiding brown. Keep going! You can make it! We scramble over the rocks, brush past juniper branches, to reach the top and look out across our sunset canyon, sienna brown.

Excerpt Sandalwood Brown. Sandalwood brown. Musky-‐scented sandalwood brown. Ajji’s sandalwood jewelry box holds her golden bangles, the earrings that belonged to her own Ajii. Every ornament knows a story. Balmy, sweet-‐smelling brown. Spicy, incense-‐wafting brown. Beti, Ajii tells me, when you’re grown up, all these things will be for you. A hint of sandlwood scent clings to her sari, hovers around her hands velvety-‐soft and sandalwood brown.

Young Cornrows Callin Out the Moon Forman, Ruth, and Chabi Bayoc (Illus.). Young Cornrows Callin Out the Moon. San Francisco, CA: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2007.

Annotation A little girl shares all the wonderful activities, sights, tastes and smells in South Philadelphia in the summer.

Excerpt We don have no backyard frontyard neither we got black magic n brownstone steps when the sun go down we don have no backyard no sof grass rainbow kites mushrooms butterflies we got South Philly summer when the sun go down

Excerpt cool after lemonade n black eye peas full after ham hocks n hot pepper greens corn bread coolin on the stove n more to watch than tv we got double dutch n freeze tag n kickball so many place to hide n seek n look who here Punchinella Punchinella look who here Punchinella inna zoo

Excerpt we got the ice cream man we got the corner store red cream pop red nails Rick James and Bump the Rock n we know all the cheers we got pretty lips we got callous feet healthy thighs n ashy knees w got fine brothers we r fine sistas n w got attitude

Excerpt we hold mamma knees when she snap the naps out we got gramma tell her not to pull so hard we got sooo clean cornrows when she finish n corn bread cool on the stove so you know we don really want no backyard Frontyard neither cuz we got to call out the moon wit black magic n brownstone steps

Poetry and Song Arrorró, mi niño/Latina Lullabies and Gentle Games by Lulu Delacre Cada Niño/Every Child: A Bilingual Songbook for Kids by Tish Hinojosa; Lucia Angela Perez, illustrator

Arrorró, mi niño/Latina Lullabies and Gentle Games Delacre, Lulu, and Cecilia Esquivel and Diana Sáez (Musical arrangements). Arrorró, mi niño/Latina Lullabies and Gentle Games. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2004.

Annotation Delacre has compiled fifteen songs and lullabies from many Latin countries; some she sang to her own children. Written in Spanish and English, each of the lullabies and games are set to music by Cecilia Esquivel and Diana Sáez at the end of the book.

Excerpt A Little Egg Five Baby Chicks This little finger bought a little egg, this one decided to cook it, this one sprinkled it with salt, this one tasted it, and this naughty chubby one gobbled it up! My auntie owns five baby chicks. One sings for her, another one cheeps, and three others play a grand symphony. Have your child make a fist. Starting with the little finger, lift a finger as you say each line. With the last line, tickle your child under the arm. (another finger play)

Excerpt Fluffy Chicks There, There There, there, little frog’s tail. If today you don’t heal tomorrow you will. Fluffy chicks like singing Cheep, cheep, cheep, whenever they feel hungry, whenever they feel chilly. Mama hen now brings them wheat and golden corn, feeds them tasty dinners, blankets them with feathers. Huddled all together under her two wings till the break of dawn, the fluffy chicks will dream.

Cada Niño/Every Child Hinojosa, Tish, and Lucia Angela Perez (Illus.). Cada Niño/Every Child. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos, 2002.

Annotation Written in English and Spanish, Hinojosa provides eleven delightful songs, creating the opportunity for children to experience literacy and music together; songs and songbooks are a powerful way to learn to read. A CD is available.

Excerpt Cada Niño/Every Child, music by Robert Skiles; lyrics by Tish Hinojosa Every child believes in good tomorrow brings, every child’s our faith to hold. What we leave behind and want for them to find is what we are today. Laughter, voices, tender choices, their love gives to us. Sad the day we take away their sweet liberty. La la la….

Excerpt Siempre Abuelita/Always Grandma Siempre siempre abuelita yo recordaré Tus sonrisas, tus caricias tu modo de ser Siempre siempre abuelita por la vida iré llena de tu fiel cariño no te olvidaré. Always, always, Abuelita, I’ll remember true your embraces, ways, and faces that belong to you. Always, always, Abuelita, all my life I’ll be full of love, I won’t forget that you have given me. Always, always, Abuelita, all my life I’ll be full of love, I won’t forget that you have given me.

K-‐1 Band: Wordless Mirror by Jeannie Baker

Mirror Baker, Jeannie. Mirror. Somerville, MA: Candlewick, 2010. Print.

Annotation This is a book that tells the story of two different families; one is Morocco and one in Australia. The author shows what daily life is like for both families using beautiful illustrations. Though the families appear different, they also have some things in common.

Excerpt There are two boys and two families in this book. One family lives in the city in Australia, and one lives in Morocco, North Africa. The lives of the two boys and their families look very different from each other, and they are different. But some things connect them… just as some things are the same for all families no matter where they live.

Participating Students, Faculty, and Staff Annotators: Nancy Benfer Nicole DiNoto Lauren Feliciano Gabrielle Gallinaro Jane Gangi Peter Gangi Anthony Hazzard Alexandria Hercules Taylor Law Justin Lewis Jane Tejeda Adminstrative and secretarial support: Jeanette Grossman Editors: Nicole DiNoto, Dr. Janine Bixler, and Dr. Jane Gangi PowerPoint Design: Lauren Feliciano Technical Support: Dr. Rebecca Norman Collaborative for Equity in Literacy Learning (CELL) at Mount Saint Mary College, Newburgh, New York: Dr. Janine Bixler, Director; Dr. Reva Cowan; Dr. David Gallagher, Dr. Jane Gangi, Dr. Matt Hollibush, Dr. Rebecca Norman

Recommenders Nancy Benfer, M.S., fourth grade teacher, Bishop Dunn Memorial School, Newburgh, New York Dr. Katie Cunningham, former teacher and Assistant Professor of Literacy, Manhattanville College, Purchase, New York Margaret Feinstein, ABD, literacy specialist, Beacon, New York Dissertation in-‐process: Summer reading and the development of literacy: Children’s and parents’ responses to multicultural children’s literature Frenchtown Elementary School Teachers, Trumbull, Connecticut Dr. Jane Gangi, member of CELL and author of Encountering Children’s Literature: An Arts Approach (2004); Genocide in Contemporary Children’s and Young Adult Literature: Cambodia to Darfur (2013); and, with Mary Ann Reilly and Rob Cohen, Deepening Literacy Learning: Art and Literature Engagements in K-‐8 Classrooms (2010), MSMC, Newburgh, New York Dr. Susan Griffths, Associate Professor, English Language and Literature & Director, Language Arts Program, long-‐time member of the Jane Addams award, and author of The Jane Addams Children’s Book Award: Honoring Children’s Literature for Peace and Social Justice, Central Michigan University, Michigan

Recommenders, continued Dr. Sandra Hughes-‐Hassell, professor of Information and Library Sciences and organizer of the 2012 summit, Building a Bridge to Literacy for African American Male Youth, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, North Carolina Alice Hutchinson, M.A.T., former teacher, independent bookseller, Bethel, Connecticut Dr. Cathy Kurkjian, former teacher, professor of literacy, editor of Connecticut Reading Association Journal, Central Connecticut State University Dr. Jonda C. McNair, former teacher, Associate Professor of Literacy Education, Clemson University, author of Embracing, Evaluating, and Examining African American Children’s and Young Adult Literature (with Wanda Brooks, 2007), Clemson, South Carolina Pat Mora, Mexican American author, and initiator of Bookjoy, New Mexico Jeanette Newman, librarian, Floral Park, New York Margaret Pereira, teacher, Frenchtown School, Trumbull, Connecticut

Recommenders, continued Anita Prentice, teacher, New York Dr. Pam Sterling, Associate Professor of Theatre, Arizona State University Debbie Reese (Nambe Pueblo), teacher, professor, Upper Village, New Mexico Dr. Mary Ann Reilly, former teacher, administrator, professor, and president of Blueprints for Learning, Newark, New Jersey Dr. Merle Rumble, 3rd grade teacher, and author of the dissertation, I, Too, Have a Voice: The Literacy Experiences of Black Boys Engaging with and Responding to African American Literature Depicting Black Males, Norwalk, Connecticut Dr. Kate Capshaw Smith, Francelia Butler professor of children's literature, author of Children’s Literature of the Harlem Renaissance, University of Connecticut Rachel Wolfe, fourth grade teacher, Frenchtown School, Trumbull, Connecticut Robert Zupperoli, teacher and literacy specialist, Connecticut

Multicultural Awards Consulted Aboriginal Children’s Book of the Year African Studies Association Children’s Africana Book Awards American Indian Library Association American Library Association Coretta Scott King Award American Library Association Mildred L. Batchelder Award American Library Association Pura Belpré Medal and Honor Awards Asian/Pacific American Librarian’s Association Bank Street College Children's Book Committee Bologna Ragazzi Award (international) Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies Américas Book Award for Children’s and Young Adult Literature

Multicultural Awards Consulted, continued Cooperative Children’s Book Center (CCBC) Choices Coretta Scott King/John Steptoe Award for New Talent in Illustrations CRITICAS Connection Best Bilingual Books Ezra Jack Keats New Writer Award International Reading Association (IRA) Notable Books for a Global Society Jane Addams Book for Older Children Awards and Honor Books and Jane Addams Picture Book Awards and Honor Books Middle East Book Award National Council for the Social Studies, Carter G. Woodson Award and Outstanding Merit Book Award Recipients National Council of Teachers of English Notable Book Award in the Language Arts

Multicultural Awards Consulted, continued Sigurd F. Olson Nature Writing for Children's Literature Skipping Stones Magazine Awards Tomás Rivera Mexican American Children’s Book Award USBBY Outstanding International Books Selection

General Awards Consulted for Multicultural Literature American Library Association Robert F. Sibert Informational Book Award Anne Izard Storyteller’s Choice Award Boston Globe—Horn Book Award Golden Kite Award International Reading Association Lee Bennett Hopkins Promising Poet Award National Book Award National Council of Teachers of English Orbis Pictus Nonfiction Award Newbery Award Parents’ Choice Scott O’Dell Award for Historical Fiction Teachers’ Choices International Reading Association

Project Common Core: Toward an Inclusive Appendix B 2-‐3 Band Prepared by the Collaborative for Equity in Literacy Learning (CELL) at Mount Saint Mary College Newburgh, New York July 2013

2-‐3 Band Biography and Autobiography Concept Book Drama Folklore Informational Texts Novels: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Picture Books Contemporary Realistic Fiction Historical Fiction Poetry

2-‐3 Band: Biography and Autobiography Coretta Scott by Ntozake Shange; Kadir Nelson, illustrator Crazy Horse’s Vision by Joseph Bruchac; S. D. Nelson, illustrator Howard Thurman’s Great Hope by Kai Jackson Issa; Arthur L. Dawson, illustrator It Jes' Happened: When Bill Traylor Started to Draw by Don Tate; R. Gregory Christie, illustrator The Last Black King of the Kentucky Derby by Crystal Hubbard; Robert McGuire, illustrator The Librarian of Basra by Jeanette Winter Mama Miti by Donna Jo Napoli; Kadir Nelson, illustrator Mandela: From the Life of the South African Statesman by Floyd Cooper Sonia Sotomayor: A Judge Grows in the Bronx by Jonah Winter; Edel Rodriguez, illustrator The Storyteller’s Candle: La velita de los cuentos by Lucía González; Lulu Delacre, illustrator Waiting for the Biblioburro by Monica Brown; John Parra, illustrator

Coretta Scott Shange, Ntozake and Kadir Nelson (Illus.). Coretta Scott. New York: Harper Collins Children’s Book, 2009.

Annotation This story depicts the life of Coretta Scott King. As she grows she meets and marries one of the most influential civil rights leaders of the 1960s, Martin Luther King Jr. Even after her husband passed away Coretta continued to give talks and educate people about nonviolence.

Excerpt some southern mornings the moon sits like an orange sliver by the treetops Coretta and her siblings walked all of five miles to the nearest colored school in the darkness with the dew dampening their feet white school bus left a funnel of dust on their faces but songs and birds of all colors and rich soil where slaves sought freedom steadied them in the face of danger over years learning and freedom took hold of Coretta’s soul till she knew in her being that the Good Lord intended freedom for the Negro Martin Luther King Jr. a young preacher prayed for freedom Coretta prayed two minds attracted in prayer yes they could do something among the many who thought moral power would overturn Jim Crow they prayed together found joy and were married

Excerpt according to Gandhi the humility of millions could free more than just one people it could free the world and the world for Coretta and Martin was the south and they went to Montgomery to their new parish and the Montgomery bus boycott just the beginning of a long journey more boycotts and sit-‐ins for many many Negro students felt bound to do something there were hundreds and thousands left behind Negroes in shacks and cotton fields living in fear for their lives while they dreamed about the north hundreds then thousands white and black marched in Alabama Carolina Georgia and Chicago a quarter of a million at the March on Washington peacefully singing “we shall overcome” and listening to the words that would inspire a nation

Crazy Horse’s Vision Bruchac, Joseph, and S. D. Nelson (Illus). Crazy Horse’s Vision. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2000.

Annotation Crazy Horse, a Lakota Indian, was not like the other children, and was known for being brave. Named Curly at birth because of his curly hair, he was extremely polite and caring toward others, including animals. When Curly was eleven winters old (the Lakota measured birth in seasons), his father brought a horse to the camp and the challenge was that whomever could ride the horse could keep it. Curly was the only one who could ride the horse. Curly’s life changed for the worse when Wasichu (White) settlers invaded the Lakota lands and built a fort, causing destruction and killing innocents. Curly went on a vision quest on peaceful bluffs where he prayed for help. The vision came, and Curly was renamed Crazy Horse for the leadership of his people.

Excerpt Normally a boy would need a holy man to prepare him for a vision quest. He would fast and purify himself in a sweat lodge before setting out. But Curly felt he had no time. Curly rode away from the camp. He went along the bluffs above the river and came to an eagle-‐catching pit dug into the soft earth. Curly tied his rope between the legs of his pinto horse so it would not wander away. He climbed the hill, stripped off his clothes and stepped down into the pit. He sat and prayed for a vision. The day passed and night came. Curly did not leave the pit. He prayed for strength to help his people. A second day and night passed. Without food or water, Curly continued to pray.

Excerpt “Wakan Tanka,” he cried. “Great Mystery, even though I am small and pitiful, I want to help my people.” Dawn of the third day brought nothing to his eyes or ears. No spirit, no bird, no animal, not even an insect, came to him. All he saw was the sky above and the earth of the pit. At last, late on the third day, Curly climbed out of the pit. He was barely able to stand. Would a vision ever come to him? Was he unworthy? He staggered downhill to where his pinto grazed near a cottonwood. Reaching the tree, he could stand no longer. Then the vision came. It was a rider on the back of Curly’s own pony, yet horse and man floated in the air. As the man rode closer, Curly saw that he wore blue leggings and his face was not painted. A single feather hung from his long brown hair. Behind one ear a round stone was tied. A red-‐backed hawk flew above the man’s head. Curly heard these words which were not spoken. Keep nothing for yourself.

Howard Thurman’s Great Hope Issa, Kai Jackson, and Arthur L. Dawson (Illus.). Howard Thurman's Great Hope. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2008.

Annotation This story is about the life of Howard Thurman, an African American who lived in the 1900’s. His father passed away when he was a young boy, but even before he died his father knew Howard was destined for greatness. He was a smart boy who worked hard to make it in a world where African Americans were discriminated against. He did the unthinkable. Many African Americans were not allowed to continue their education after seventh grade, but Howard was asked personally by his principal to continue coming to school. Howard did exactly that; he was then able to take the test at the end of eighth grade. He received a perfect score and scholarship to high school. That was not the end for Howard; he went on to college, where he studied economics and later decided to become a minister. The road to success was not an easy one for Howard Thurman, but with the support of his family, friends, and strangers he was able to achieve his goals.

Excerpt One morning when Howard arrived at school, Principal R. H. greeted him. “Howard, I need to have a word with your mama. Please tell her I will be paying her a visit this Sunday. No need to worry, son. It’s good news. Howard nodded politely but hung his head with sadness as he walked away. He was sure Principal R. H. was going to tell mama that he found a job for Howard after he finished the seventh grade. A job after seventh grade was not good news at all. Howard wanted to keep going to school. Mama was off from work on Sunday and home with her family. After church they sat down for a special Sunday supper Mama had made – stewed chicken with peppers and rice, peas from the garden and lemon pie. Howard wished everyday was like this.

Excerpt Just as they were about to begin eating, there was a knock at the door. It was Principal R. H. Mama and Grandma Nancy invited him in. Howard’s heart beat with dread. He tried to leave the room, but Principal R. H. asked him to stay. “With this boy’s gifts and talents it would be a crime for him to stop his education now,” Principal R. H. told Mama and Grandma Nancy. “He must continue. I have decided that next year I will teach him the eighth grade myself.” Howard stared in disbelief. Then he jumped with joy and hugged Principal R. H. Mama and Grandma Nancy shouted their praise and gratitude. “Thank you, Lord!” God had made a way.

It Jes' Happened: When Bill Traylor Started to Draw Tate, Don, and R. Gregory Christie (Illus.). It Jes' Happened: When Bill Traylor Started to Draw. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2012.

Annotation This is the story of Bill Traylor and how he began to draw late in life. He was born into slavery and spent his days working on the farm from sun up to sun down. Even after slavery was abolished his family stayed on the plantation and worked as sharecroppers. Bill eventually married and started a family of his own. He continued farming with his whole family in order to have food to eat. As he got older his children moved away and his wife died. Bill was left on the plantation all alone. He decided that it didn’t make sense to be alone, so he moved to the city, but struggled to make a living. He worked at a shoe factory, but was forced to quit when he developed joint problems. He sold pencils, which made him very little money. Then, Bill began drawing memories from his past. He was discovered by Charles Shannon, another artist who admired his work, but drawing wasn’t about making money to Bill, it was just something he enjoyed doing.

Excerpt Bill could not contain his memories. One day in early 1939 he picked up the stub of a pencil and a piece of discarded paper and began to pour out his memories in pictures. Bill’s first drawings were simple items: cats, cups, shoes, baskets. Then he began to draw human and animal forms too. He used the side of a stick to rule straight lines and shapes. Rectangles became bodies. Circles became heads and eyes. Lines became outreached arms, hands, and legs. He filled in shapes with sketchy lines and smoothed out edges. The sidewalk of Monroe Avenue became Bill’s art studio. A wooden crate was his artist’s bench. Scrap cardboard and old paper cartons were the canvases on which he drew his pictures. And the clang-‐clang-‐clang from the nearby blacksmith’s shop provided background music for Bill while he worked.

Excerpt Folks of all ages came to watch Bill work. One of his admirers taught Bill to write his name. Soon he was proudly signing his drawings. Bill often hung his pictures on a nearby fence. When a passersby asked questions about his drawings, Bill didn’t mind. He could be quite talkative. But if Bill was focused on his work, he offered no conversation at all. One summer morning in 1939, a young artist named Charles Shannon caught sight of Bill sitting on his crate, drawing. Charles was intrigued as he watched Bill’s hand make its marks, then fill them in. Bill’s pictures danced with rhythm unlike any drawings Charles had seen. Charles began visiting Bill regularly and wanted to support his work.

The Last Black King of the Kentucky Derby Hubbard, Crystal and Robert McGuire (Illus.). The Last Black King of the Kentucky Derby. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2002.

Annotation Jimmy Winkfield was a young boy who grew up in Kentucky with his parents and sixteen siblings. He had a dream of becoming a great horse jockey. That dream became a reality for Jimmy very early in his life and it allowed him to travel the world and race the best horses.

Excerpt Jimmy Winkfield was a small boy with big dreams. Born in 1882 in Chilesburg, Kentucky, he was the youngest of seventeen children. His parents, poor sharecroppers, farmed a parcel of land owned by someone else. On the farm, all the children had to work hard. Although Jimmy was the smallest, he never let his size stop him from doing anything he set his heart to. He would carry the heaviest bucket, climb the tallest tree, chase the fastest chicken. Whether at work or play, Jimmy always gave his all. What Jimmy loved best was riding horses. He was captivated by the big, powerful animals. After rushing through his chores, Jimmy would sit for hours watching the thoroughbreds parade between local horse farms and the racetrack in nearby Lexington.

Excerpt Sometimes he would hop on one of the workhorses, riding it bareback, pretending to be a jockey. Atop a horse, Jimmy felt big and powerful too. Horses seemed to love Jimmy right back. When he talked to them and gently stroked their muzzles , the horses bowed their heads as if they were listening. When Jimmy rode, he didn’t need to speak at all. Jimmy dreamed of riding horses for the rest of his life and becoming a great jockey, like Isaac Murphy. Ike Murphy was the best of the best. His picture and news of his races were always in the papers. Ike Murphy gave Jimmy hope that his own dream was possible.

The Librarian of Basra: A True Story From Iraq Winter, Jeanette. The Librarian of Basra: A True Story from Iraq. Orlando: Harcourt, 2005.

Annotation This is based on a true story of a brave librarian in Basra, Iraq, who does whatever it takes to save thousands of books from her library. When war breaks out in Iraq the librarian begins taking books from the library and moves them to her house where they will be safe. With the help of friends, they move over 30,000 books into a restaurant, her house, and in other friends’ houses, before the library building is burned in a fire.

Excerpt Alia Muhammad Baker is the librarian in Basra, a port city in the sand-‐swept country of Iraq. Her library is a meeting place for all people who love books. They discuss matters of the world and matters of the spirit. Until now-‐now, they talk only of the war. Alia worries that the fires of the war will destroy the books, which are more precious to her than mountains of gold. The books are in every language-‐new books, ancient books, even a biography of Muhammad that is seven hundred years old. She asks the governor for permission to move them to a safe place. He refuses. So Alia takes matters into her own hands. Secretly, she brings books home every night, filling her car late after work. The whispers of war grow louder. Government offices are moved into the library. Soldiers with guns wait on the roof. Alia waits-‐and fears for the worst.

Excerpt Then…rumors become reality. War reaches Basra. The city is lit with a firestorm of bombs and gunfire. Alia watches as the library workers, government workers, and soldiers abandon the library. Only Alia is left to protect the books. She calls over the library wall to her friend Anis Muhammad, who owns a restaurant on the other side. “Can you help me save the books?” “I can use these curtains to wrap them.” “Here are crates from my shop.” “Can you use these sacks?” “The books must be saved.” All through the night Alia, Anis, his brothers, and shopkeepers, and neighbors take the books from the library shelves, pass them over the seven-‐foot wall, and hide them in Anis’s restaurant.

Mama Miti Napoli, Donna Jo. Mama Miti and Kadir Nelson (Illus.). New York: Simon & Schuster Books, 2010.

Annotation Wangari Muta Maathai, known as Mama Miti, is a woman who has transformed Kenya. She founded the Green Belt movement. She has planted over thirty million trees in Kenya. Her passion for trees has saved the land and provided the Kenyan women with a much needed resource.

Excerpt Wangari told women to plant murigono, whose branches make good stakes for training yam vines. She told them to plant muhuti as a living fence around their animal yards. She told them to plant muigoya, whose leaves could be wrapped around bananas to ripen them. She told them to plant muringa for the pure joy of their white flowers. And when a woman from her own village came, lamenting that the water in her stream was too dirty to drink, Wangari told her to plant mukuyu, the giant sacred fig, the drinker of water, which acts as nature’s filter to clean streams.

Excerpt Thayu nyumba—Peace, my people Soon cool, clear waters teemed with black wriggling tadpoles, like the ones on Wangari’s clothes—like the ones Wangari marveled at in the waters when she was small, when Kenya was covered with trees and animals, when people lived in peace with nature. All over the countryside the trees that had disappeared came back. Nairobi, the capital city, had been known as Kiinuini, “the place where there are many miinu trees.” Now it was Kiinuini again. Kenya was strong once more, strong and peaceful. Wangari changed a country, tree by tree. She taught her people the ancient wisdom of peace with nature. And now she is teaching the rest of the world. She is known these days as Mama Miti—the mother of trees. A green belt of peace started with one good woman offering something we can all do: “Plant a tree.” Thayu nyumba—Peace, my people

Mandela: From the Life of the South African Statesman Cooper, Floyd Mandela: From the life of the South African Statesman. New York: Philomel Books, 1996.

Annotation This book documents the life of Nelson Mandela from his early years into adulthood. It tells the tale of a man who changed South Africa for the better. Nelson lived a hard life but used education as his weapon to change the South African way of life.

Excerpt Nelson never imagined the unfairness and inequality that he would find in Johannesburg. He’d known of the attitude most Englishmen had toward anything African (hadn’t he had to take an English name on his first day of school?). But he could hardly believe what he saw. If you were black, you could live only in reserved areas. You could leave only to work in the city, and whenever you left, you had to carry a little book called a “pass book.” If you were caught without it, you were thrown into prison. You paid a special tax. You rode “African only” buses, drank from “African only” water taps, and were snubbed and insulted daily. What could possibly happen to any person’s pride and self-‐worth under such terrible conditions? Nelson couldn’t bear to see people treated unjustly. They couldn’t better their condition—not because they weren’t capable but because opportunity was taken away from them by laws made to “keep them in their place.” This was not the way of Chief Joyi’s stories about kings who ruled their subjects with an equal hand! This was not the way it was in the days of forever before.

Excerpt But nothing stopped Nelson from finishing law school. In fact, he and a partner, Oliver Tambo, opened the doors to the first black law practice in Johannesburg. At the same time, Nelson began to attend meetings and rallies held by other people who didn’t like the unfairness and inequality of South African government. They wanted change! Their numbers grew and grew, and included not only black people—doctors, lawyers, teachers, artists, writers—not only Indians and other people of color, but many white people.

Sonia Sotomayor: A Judge Grows in the Bronx/ La juez que creció en el Bronx Winter, Jonah, Edel Rodriguez (Illus.), and Argentina Palacios (Trans.). Sonia Sotomayor: A Judge Grows in the Bronx/La juez que creció en el Bronx. New York: Atheneum for Young Readers, 2009.

Annotation This is a biography about Sonia Sotomayor, a Puerto Rican girl who was raised by her mother in the Bronx and had big dreams of becoming a judge. This story tells about what it was like for Sonia on her road to success. Growing up all she knew was what it was like to live in the projects and be surrounded by her family, but when she had the opportunity to go to college she learned that there was a whole other world outside of the Bronx. This is a very inspirational story and it is written in both English and Spanish.

Excerpt Nancy Drew was a girl detective who was always on the go, solving crimes she was unstoppable. That’s who Sonia wanted to be. But then something happened that made her change her mind. When she was only eight years old, her doctor sat her down and told her some bad news. She had a disease called diabetes. If you have diabetes, you have to take several shots of medicine a day for the rest of your life. So maybe she wouldn’t be Nancy Drew, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t be unstoppable. Her favorite TV show was Perry Mason, about a courtroom lawyer.

Excerpt One episode ended with the image of a judge – the most powerful person in a courtroom. A light bulb went on above Sonia’s head and she knew: She would become a judge. Becoming a judge though – that’s not easy! Sonia knew she would need to get really good grades to become a judge. So while other kids may have been goofing off, Sonia was studying at her mother’s kitchen table – year after year after year after year. It paid off. By the time she graduated high school, she had won an award for being the very best student in her whole school. What an honor! You can’t imagine how proud her mother was. This was her daughter, her Sonia. Ay Bendito! What an honor!

Excerpt Sonia’s grades were so good that she was accepted to one of the very best colleges in America: Princeton University. This too was an honor. But Princeton, well, Princeton was not the Bronx. Where were the subways? Where was the merengue music? Where were the people who looked like her? For the first time in her life, Sonia felt scared and shy and very out of place – almost like she was on a different planet.

The Storyteller’s Candle: La velita de los cuentos González, Lucía , and Lulu Delacre (Illus.). The Storyteller’s Candle: La velita de los cuentos. San Francisco: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2008.

Annotation Two children from Puerto Rico living in New York City discover the extraordinarily gifted librarian, Pura Belpré. Belpré visits their school, sharing stories in English and Spanish through puppets, thus enticing children to visit the library, where they experience books and plays.

Excerpt “¡Asalto!” boomed the voices of the parranderos, surprising everyone. The children stretched up on tiptoe for a good look. “Saludos, saludos, vengo a saludar…” sang the parranderos. Doña Sofia shook the maracas, chiki-‐chiki-‐chik, chiki-‐chik. Don Ramón scraped the güiro, cha-‐kra-‐cha-‐kra-‐cha. And leading the group, strumming the cuatro, was Señor Lebrón. Suddenly, there they were—the Three Kings! They marched through the room sprinkling children with candies and sweets. The music stopped, and the play began. “Many years ago, in a little round house with a little round balcony, there once lived a Spanish cockroach named Martina…”

Excerpt Hildamar stepped on stage. She was the most beautiful cockroach! And Santiago… ay, what a handsome little mouse! Ms. Belpré concluded the show in her usual way. “Close your eyes and make a wish,” she whispered as she held the storyteller’s candle. Hildamar closed her eyes and wished. When she opened them, her eyes met Ms. Belpré’s. With her gentle smile and twinkling eyes, Ms. Belpré said, “Today, with everyone’s help, we brought the warmth and beauty of Puerto Rico to New York. Remember, the library belongs to you all. We’ll blow out the storyteller’s candle, and your wish will come true.

Excerpt Pura Belpré was born sometime between 1899 and 1903 in the little town of Cidra, Puerto Rico , in a home full of storytellers. The stories she heard from her grandmother had been handed down by word of mouth for generations. There stories came with her to the United States in the early 1920s. Pura Belpré began her career as a children’s librarian when she became the first Puerto Rican librarian to be hired by the New York Public Library system. She had great passion for library work, and her passion lasted a lifetime. Pura Belpré was also a magnificent storyteller and puppeteer with a deep and evocative voice. Her story Pérez and Martina, first published in 1932, remains a classic of children’s literature.

Waiting for the Biblioburro Brown, Monica, and John Parra (Illus.). Waiting for the Biblioburro. Berkeley: Tricycle, 2011.

Annotation This is the story of a young girl named Ana who loves to read and make up stories because she lives in a small village where there are no libraries and the only teacher in the village had moved far away. Ana receives the biggest surprise when she wakes up and the biblioburro has come to her village. This is a man who travels and brings books to all the villages. This book is written in mostly English with some Spanish vocabulary; it shows children how precious books truly are.

Excerpt So at night, on her bed in the house on the hill, Ana makes up her own cuentos and tells the stories to her little brother to help him fall asleep. She tells him stories about make-‐believe creatures that live in the forest, the mountains, and the sea. She wishes for new stories to read, but her teacher with the books has gone. One morning, Ana wakes up to the sound of tacatac! Clip-‐clop! And a loud iii-‐aah, iii-aah!When Ana looks down the hill below her house she sees a man with a sign that reads Biblioburro. With the man there are two burros. What are they carrying? Libros! Books!

Excerpt Ana runs down the hill to the man with the sign and the burros and the books. Other children run to him too, skipping down the hills and stomping through the fields. “Who are you? Who are they?” the children ask. The man says, “I am a librarian, a biblioteccario, and these are my burros, Alfa and Beto. Welcome to the Biblioburro, my biblioteca.” “But, señor,” Ana says, “I thought libraries were only in big cities and buildings.” “Not this one,” says the librarian. “This is a moving library.” Then he spreads out his books and invites the children to join him under a tree. “Once upon a time,” the librarian begins, sharing the story of an elephant who swings from a spider web. He reads from books with beautiful pictures, then helps the little ones learn their abecedario.

Excerpt He sings, “A, B, C, D, E, F, G…” Finally, he says, “Now it’s your turn. Pick out books and in a few weeks I will be back to collect them and bring you new ones.” “Me too?” asks Ana. “Especially you,” says the librarian with a smile.

2-‐3Band: Concept Book The Black Book of Colors by Menena Cottin; Rosana Faría, illustrator

The Black Book of Colors Cottin, Menena, and Rosana Faría (Illus.). The Black Book of Colors. Toronto: Groundwood, 2008.

Annotation A visually impaired child learns colors through his friend Thomas’s poetic metaphors and similes. The left side of each double-‐page spread is in Braille; the right side is a three-‐dimensional expression in black of the color; for example, “Red is sour like unripe strawberries” is conveyed by black, three-‐dimensional strawberries.

Excerpt Thomas says that yellow tastes like mustard, but is as soft as a baby chick’s feathers. Red is sour like unripe strawberries and as sweet as watermelon. It hurts when he finds it on his scraped knee. Brown crunches under his feet like fall leaves. Sometimes it smells like chocolate, and other times it stinks. Thomas says that blue is the color of the sky when kites are flying and the sun is beating hot on his head. But when clouds decide to gather up and the rain pours down, then the sky is white.

Excerpt And when the sun peeks through the falling water, all the colors come out, and that’s a rainbow. Thomas thinks that without the sun, water doesn’t amount to much. It has no color, no taste, no smell. He says that green tastes like lemon ice cream and smells like grass that’s just been cut. But black is the king of all the colors. It is as soft as silk when his mother hugs him and her hair falls in his face. Thomas likes all the colors because he can hear them and smell them and touch them and taste them.

2-‐3Band: Drama Pushing Up the Sky: Seven Native American Plays for Children by Joseph Bruchac; Teresa Flavin, illustrator

Pushing Up the Sky: Seven Native American Plays for Children Bruchac, Joseph, and Teresa Flavin (Illus.). Pushing Up the Sky: Seven Native American Plays for Children. New York: Dial for Young Readers, 2000.

Annotation This is a book that includes seven different plays that are all based on traditional Native American tales. Before each play there is a description of the parts, props, scenery, and costumes that can be used to help children bring these plays to life. Each play includes a trickster and hero.

Excerpt Scene 1: The Forest A group of animals stand together. Narrator: Long ago Possum had the most beautiful tail of all the animals. Everyone knew that was true. And if anyone didn’t know, then Possum would tell him so. Bear: Tomorrow we will have a big meeting. Rabbit, you be the messenger. Go tell all the animals. We will meet at the big oak tree when Grandmother Sun rises up in the sky. Rabbit: What will the meeting be about? Bear: We will decide that tomorrow. Turtle: Oh no, here comes Possum! Raccoon: He is going to brag about his tail again. I can tell. Possum enters and walks over to the other animals, holding his long tail in front of him. Possum: Siyo! (see-‐yo) Hello! This day is beautiful. And so is my tail. Look at my beautiful tail. Other Animals: Siyo, Possum. Possum: Did you say there would be a meeting tomorrow? Bear: Yes.

Excerpt Possum: Then I should speak at the meeting. Turtle: Why? Otter: Turtle, don’t ask him! He’ll just talk about his – Possum: Because of my beautiful tail. It is the most beautiful of all. It is not short like Bear’s tail. It is long and silky. It is not stiff like Raccoon’s tail. It is soft and lovely. It is not stubby like Rabbit’s tail. It is fluffy and big. It is not ugly like Turtle’s tail. It is pretty and nice. (Possum can continue to improvise while Bear and Rabbit speak, saying “Isn’t it beautiful etc.”) As Possum goes on talking, the other animals yawn and roll their eyes. One by one they fall to the ground and pretend to sleep. During this activity Rabbit taps Bear on the shoulder, and Rabbit and Bear step toward the audience. Possum does not notice, but keeps talking.

2-‐3 Band: Folklore Beaver Steals Fire: A Salish Coyote Story by the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes Doña Flor: A Tall Tale About a Giant Woman With a Great Big Heart by Pat Mora; Raul Colón, illustrator Juan Bobo and the Pig by Felix Pitre; Christie Hale, illustrator Rhinos for Lunch and Elephants for Supper! by Tololwa M. Mollel; Barbara Spurll, illustrator

Beaver Steals Fire: A Salish Coyote Story Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes. Beaver Steals Fire: A Salish Coyote Story. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2005.

Annotation The Salish and Pend d’Oreille Culture Committee ask that this tale only be told between the months of November through March. It is a story of how the animals on earth stole fire from those who lived in the sky. An extensive author’s note explains the significance of fire to the Salish and Pend d’Oreille, who historically used fire to shape the landscape and make it more productive.

Excerpt In the sky world, Waiwi (Curlew) was the guardian of fire. Coyote gathered the members of his raiding party together and said to them, “I want to find Curlew’s camp.” Coyote said, “Curlew is down at the river right now. He’s watching his fish traps.” Coyote said to Frog and Bull Snake, “Follow Curlew back to his camp. When you find his camp, come back here and let us know where it is.” Frog and Bull Snake went to the river. They saw Curlew sitting on the bank watching over his fish traps. Soon Curlew stood up and headed for his camp. Frog and Bull Snake followed. They reached a little hill, and over this hill was the camp. Frog and Bull Snake crawled up to the top of the hill. Very carefully they peeked over and watched Curlew go into his lodge. Bull Snake began to get hungry. He licked Frog’s foot. Frog said, “Quit.” Bull Snake soon swallowed the foot, and Frog said, “Quit.” Frog was swallowed up to his waist, and he said, “Quit.” Bull Snake swallowed one arm, and Frog said, “Quit.” Frog was swallowed up to his neck and said, “Quit.” Then Frog was gulped up, still saying “Quit.” You could hardly hear Frog. Then there was silence.

Excerpt When Bull Snake returned to his companions, Coyote asked, “Where is Frog?” Bull Snake said, “He was eaten up.” He didn’t tell Coyote who ate Frog. Bull Snake continued, saying, “But I found Curlew’s camp. He has the fire there.” Coyote said, “Sqlew (Beaver), you will be the one who steals fire.” Beaver said, “OK. I’ll go to the river. I’ll pretend I’m dead and float on my back on top of the water. Curlew will think I’m dead, and he will catch me and bring me back to his camp.” Coyote said, “ Pqiqey (Eagle), when Beaver is at Curlew’s lodge, you fly there and land in the top of Curlew’s lodgepoles and pretend that you are wounded and unable to fly. When Curlew comes out and sees you wounded, he will ask his family to come outside and capture you. They will leave Beaver alone just long enough for him to steal fire.” Eagle said, “OK. I understand.”

Excerpt A Note to Teachers and Parents In our tradition—that of the Salish and Pend d’Oreille of the Northern Rockies—fire is a gift that can nurture life and be used to take care of the earth we have been entrusted with. It provides us with light and warmth. It makes it possible for us to cook our food. It is at the heart of our spiritual practice and at the very center of our traditional way of life. Before European-‐Americans arrived, it was the tool that our people used to intensively manage the lands where they lived. Our ancestors burned areas to increase food and medicinal plants. They burned to improve forage for game animals, like deer, elk, bighorn sheep, buffalo, antelope, and bear.

Doña Flor: A Tall Tale About a Giant Woman With a Great Big Heart Mora, Pat and Raul Colón (Illus.). Doña Flor: A Tall Tale About a Giant Woman With a Great Big Heart. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005.

Annotation Doña Flor was a giant lady who was first looked at as being funny looking by the towns people. After time went by they saw Doña Flor as their protector. They were afraid of a loud roar that echoed throughout the land and Doña Flor would not rest until she found the animal making this noise. With the help of her animal friends she found the little Puma making this loud roar and ensured the town that they were now safe.

Excerpt Every winter morning when the sun opened one eye, Doña Flor grabbed a handful of snow from the top of a nearby mountain. “Brrrrrrrrr,” she said, rubbing the snow on her face to wake up. Long, long ago, when Flor was a baby, her mother sang to her in a voice sweet as river music. When Flor’s mother sang to her corn plants, they grew tall as trees, and when she sang to her baby, her sweet flower, well, Flor grew and grew, too. Some children laughed at her because she was different. “Mira! Look! Big Foot!” they called when she walked by. “Flor talks funny,” they whispered, because Flor spoke to butterflies and grasshoppers. She spoke every language, even rattler.

Excerpt But soon Flor’s friends and neighbors asked her for help. Children late for school asked, “Por favor, Flor, could you give us a ride?” She took just one of her giant steps and was at the school door. Of course, the escuela shook and the windows ratted. When Flor finally stopped growing, she built her own house, una casa big as a mountain and open as a canyon. She scooped a handful of dirt and made herself a valley for mixing clay, straw, and water. She added some estrellas. The stars made the adobe shine. When she worked, Flor sang, and birds came and built nests in her hair. Flor wanted everyone to feel at home in her house. “Mi casa es su casa,” she said to people, animals, and plants, so they knew they were always welcome. Everyone called her Doña Flor because they respected her.

Juan Bobo and the Pig Pitre, Felix, and Christy Hale (Illus.). Juan Bobo and the Pig: A Puerto Rican Folktale. New York: Lodestar, 1993

Annotation Juan Bobo is known as the folk hero of Puerto Rico, with each adventure there is a lesson to be learned. Juan Bobo is left at home while his mother is at church and is left with his favorite animal el puerco the pig. He decides to dress the pig in his mother’s clothes and jewelry to send him to church. Juan Bobo is like most Puerto Rican children with farm animals and a love for the outdoors. Throughout the story there are many Spanish phrases and the illustrations depict the simple life style of el campo the mountains.

Excerpt One day, Juan Bobo’s mother called her son. “Juan Bobo! Donde estas? Where are you?” Juan Bobo heard his mother calling and came running to their small house. “Juan Bobo,” answered his mother, “today is Sunday, domingo, and I am going to church, to la iglesia.” “While I am gone, I want you to take good care of the puerquito, the pig.” “Oh, yes, Mami. I’ll take very good care of the puerquito,” he said with a laugh.

Excerpt Ay, que bueno, this is great, Juan thought. I have nothing to do but take it easy and relax. Suddenly, Juan heard the pig. He was making so much noise. But you know, the pigs in Puerto Rico don’t say “oink oink.” They go like this: “Chruuurh! Chruuurh!” I know, yo se, I know. You want to go to church with Mami!” But Juan Bobo looked at the pig and thought, he can’t go to church like that. So Juan entered the pen, grabbed the squirming pig, and carried him inside to Mami’s room. First he put one of his mother’s girdles on the pig. Next Juan put his mother’s best dress on the pig. Then Juan put his mother’s earrings, necklaces, and bracelets on the pig.

Excerpt So to this day, In Puerto Rico, whenever a woman or man dresses up with lots of fancy jewelry and fancy clothes, pretending to be someone he or she is not, people will say, “That person looks like la puerca de Juan Bobo.” Or Simply John’s pig.

Rhinos for Lunch and Elephants for Supper! Mollel, Tololwa M., and Barbara Spurll (Illus.). Rhinos for Lunch and Elephants for Supper!: A Maasai Tale. New York: Clarion, 1991.

Annotation This is a fun folktale, about a strange monster hiding in the hare’s home. He goes to all his friends for help and one by one they fail, until the frog storms into the cave herself and finds out that the big scary monster is not scary at all.

Excerpt And away thundered the rhino with the leopard, the fox and the hare close behind. Along the way they met an elephant and told him of the monster. “Come, follow me!” bellowed the elephant. “A good thrashing with my truck ought to bounce him out!” But his bellowing did no good. And once again, with the elephant in the lead, they all stampeded away from the frightening voice in the cave. As the animals went crashing through the forest, the ground shook and woke up a little frog who came storming out of her hole. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded angrily. “Your foolish noise woke me up.” On hearing about the monster, the little frog calmed down somewhat and thought for a moment. Then she said, “Come. I’ll drive him out for you.”

Excerpt The animals stared at her. “You …” “a frog … ” “will drive out the monster … ” “who eats rhinos for lunch …” “and elephants for supper?!” “If I’m going to finish my nap I’ll have to,” sighed the frog. Then chewing on her pipe and swinging her walking stick, she led the way, cool and confident as can be. When she got to the cave, she said to the monster, “This is the home of my great friend the hare. Come out, whoever you are, before I come in and get you.” “I’m a monster!” came the reply. “I eat rhinos for lunch and elephants for supper! Come in if you dare.” “I’m the great eater, the great eater,” boomed back the frog. “I eat rhinos for breakfast, elephants for lunch and monsters for supper! I’m coming, I’m coming!”

2-‐3 Band: Informational Texts Cycle of Rice, Cycle of Life: A Story of Sustainable Farming by Jan Reynolds Efraín of the Sonoran Desert by Amalia Astorga, as told to Gary Paul Nabhan; Janet K. Miller, illustrator Here Comes Holi: The Festival of Colors by Meenal Pandya Murals: Walls That Sing by George Ancona Redwoods by Jason Chin In Search of the Spirit by Ayano Ohmi; Sheila Hamanaka, illustrator Tripper’s Travels: An International Scrapbook by Nancy Kapp Chapman, Lee Chapman, Illustrator What Color Is My World? The Lost History of African American Inventors by Kareem Abdul-‐Jabar and Raymond Obstfeld; Ben Boos and A. G. Ford, illustrators

Cycle of Rice, Cycle of Life Reynolds, Jan. Cycle of Rice, Cycle of Life: A Story of Sustainable Farming. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2009.

Annotation This informational text is set in Bali , and follows the religion, rituals, and processes of watering, harvesting, and managing rice. Reynolds reports the efforts of J. Stephen Lansing, who fought to protect ancient rice traditions that were jeopardized by modern technology and bureaucracy.

Excerpt The water system was built by hand in the ninth century, using only what nature provided: earth, logs, and stone. Today some structures have been replaced, or expanded with cement and other modern materials, but much of the original framework remains. Weirs, or diversionary dams, change the natural flow of water so it runs in other directions. Tunnels angling slightly downhill and canals, human-‐made streams, transport water from high mountainsides to lower ground. Aqueducts carry water across busy travel routes and other obstacles. Finally, long irrigation ditches bring the water right into farmers’ fields. Built along this intricate water system like beads on a necklace is a linked network of temples where water ceremonies take place.

Excerpt The holiest of temples, Ulun Danu Batur, sits at the top of this chain above the crater lake, Batur. Fanning out below Ulun Danu Batur are the Masceti temples. These large temples sit above entire farming regions. Weirs direct water from multiple rivers to form a region’s communal water system. Below the Masceti temples are the Ulun Swi temples, which connect with a single weir, canal, or spring. The water from the Ulun Swi temples supplies many subaks, or groups of farms. There is also a separate temple for each subak, as well as a smaller temple for every individual farm. In this way, all points along this linked system of water sharing have their own corresponding water temples. The Jero Gde, or high priest, a most respected man, blesses drops of holy water gathered from the steamy vents near the summit of Batur volcano. This is the most sacred ceremony, taking place at Ulun Danu Batur.

Efraín of the Sonoran Desert Astorga, Amalia, as told to Gary Paul Nabhan, and Janet K. Miller (Illus). Efraín of the Sonoran Desert. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos Press, 2001.

Annotation This is a story about a lizard named Efraín. Efraín isn’t like other lizards because he becomes friends with the Seri Indians, and does not scamper off. Efraín is missing his tail, which is common among lizards because they drop their tails when they are stressed or certain events take place. This book provides information about the Seri Indians and their special relationship with lizards, and their concern for endangered species. When Efraín dies the Seri Indians hold a burial service.

Excerpt There are hardly more than 600 Seri Indians alive today, which is why they are sometimes called “endangered people.” And yet, they are not doomed with extinction simply because they are so few in number. I will never forget how alive these Seri people are, singing and dancing for me and my friends, trading their beautiful baskets to us in exchange for food, and selling us their wonderful carvings of animals. Their carvings, far from being lifeless, capture the lovely movements of desert and marine animals, which the Seri know better than any other people living in Mexico.

Excerpt The animal carving I took home with me some 25 years ago looks just like a real-life lizard. It’s the same size and shape. It even has the same stance. This particular lizard is endangered, a scientist later told me. “Endangered?” I asked. “Everywhere I looked on the island, there were lizards…” The Seri villages are not the places where lizards are threatened with extinction, the scientist told me. “It’s a curious thing,” he said, scratching his head, “but there seem to be more lizards around wherever the Seri live.”

Excerpt The Seri elders also tell their grandchildren about mythic snakes that live high in the mountains, protecting fresh water springs from anyone who pollutes their water or drinks too much of it. They sing songs whenever they travel between two islands where a giant snake is said to live at the bottom of the treacherous channel. Without singing the songs to calm the snake and the waters which he controls, huge waves can rise up and smash or capsize any boat load of people who fail to show their respect to this creature.

Here Comes Holi: The Festival of Colors Pandya, Meenal A. Here Comes Holi: The Festival of Colors. Wellesley: MeeRa Publications, 2003.

Annotation This is the story about a mother who explains the story behind Holi, the festival of colors. Long ago there was an evil king who believed that he was the most powerful man alive, even more powerful than the gods. He had a son who, unlike the villagers, did not fear his father. When asked who the most powerful man in the world was, the prince replied Vishnu. This infuriated the king, and he tried to have his son killed in a fire, but killed his own sister instead. The prince, in memory of his aunt, named the tragic day Holi, and all the people were to celebrate with colors.

Excerpt With sad faced and heavy hearts, they all gathered in the center of the town to bid farewell to their beloved prince. No one could eat anything that day, dreading what was to come. At last, evening came. In the center of town, a huge fire was lit. Holika was ready with her special sari wrapped around her and took Prahlad in her lap. Not knowing his aunt’s evil intentions, he felt safe in her lap. But everyone else was worried. As the orange flames touched the sky, people’s hearts sank in deep sorrow. They all expected that Holika would come out of the fire unharmed and their beloved prince would be burned to ashes. But what they saw was different. It was Prahlad, their beloved prince, walking out of the fire– unharmed and smiling instead of Holika.

Excerpt Prahlad said that a strong gust of wind came and the sari came undone on Holika and covered him protecting him from the fire. Prahlad told everyone that he had promised his Aunt Holika, when she asked for forgiveness, that in her memory this day would be called Holi, and everyone would celebrate Holi with colors to remember her. That is why, even after thousands of years, on the day of Holi, people throw colors at each other and rejoice,” said Mom as she finished the story. We played with the colored water, abil, and gulal all day with our friends, uncles, aunts, and grandparents. In the evening, I took a bath. I loved the new clothes Mom had for me. After taking the bath, we all went to the center of town where a huge bonfire had been lit.

Murals: Walls That Sing Ancona, George. Murals: Walls That Sing. Tarrytown, NY: Marshall Cavendish, 2003.

Annotation Murals are the people’s art—there is no price of admission to a museum. This book illustrates the cultural, social, and political images that have been painted onto a myriad of walls throughout the world, as well as the pride, hope, and perseverance they have inspired; this story has no central location — its focus is eclectic.

Annotation Father Symeon and Father Barney are two Russian Orthodox monks who minister to the Latino barrio in Albuquerque, New Mexico. They have turned a small building into a chapel. On the outside walls, the monks painted images of the saints in the traditional Russian icon style. Perched on a ladder, Father Barney paints the clouds, sky, and angels in heaven. Below, Father Symeon shares a joke with a neighbor, who discovers that the monk has painted himself into the mural behind the saints. A mural in Balmy Alley shows the Asian god, Manjushri, who is the bodhisattva of wisdom and compassion. He stands on a lotus flower that grows from the darkness of the earth to blossom in the universe.

Annotation On the wall of The Middle Eastern Restaurant in Cambridge, Massachusetts, a mural called “Crosswinds” shows the restaurant’s Lebanese owners and their families, friends, and other people in the community. In Boston’s Chinatown, a mural rises up on the side of a building that was to have been torn down. The neighbors rallied to save it, and this mural was painted to show the story of Boston’s Asian immigrants. The top of the mural shows the first Chinese men who were brought to this country to help build the railroads. Later, they began their own businesses. The central panel shows the women seamstresses who worked in sweatshops. The rest of the figures show life in Chinatown. One image shows the building about to be torn down by a wrecking ball. For generations, their work and talents have contributed to Boston’s cultural richness.

Redwoods Chin, Jason. Redwoods. Flashpoint, 2009.

Annotation A young boy finds a book about redwoods in the subway station and begins reading it. As he reads, the information in the book comes alive, and he is transported into a redwood forest. The book gives a lot of information about redwood trees in a fun, fantastical way.

Excerpt Coast redwoods need a lot of water to grow as tall as they do, and the area in Northern California where they live is perfect-‐ it’s a rain forest. The air is cool and damp, and the land is often covered in thick fog. It takes a long time for water to travel all the way from the roots to the top of a redwood, and the fog helps the trees by preventing them from losing moisture to evaporation. In addition, the needles of a redwood can absorb moisture straight from the air. In the summer, when there is much less rainfall, redwoods have an ingenious way of collecting water: They make their own rain! When the fog rolls in, it condenses on the redwood’s needles, and whatever moisture isn’t absorbed then falls to the ground to be soaked up by the tree’s roots. Other plants that live at the base of a redwood tree use this

Excerpt “artificial rain” as well, so not only do the redwoods water themselves, they water all the plants around them. The branches of a redwood are called the crown, or canopy, and start very high up the trunk. To study redwood crowns, scientists have to climb into them, and this is not easy. Because the trees are so tall, researchers use a bow and arrow to launch a rope over the branches. When the rope is secure, they can pull themselves up. It is very dangerous work.

In Search of the Spirit: The Living National Treasures of Japan Ohmi, Ayano, and Sheila Hamanaka (Illus.). In Search of the Spirit: The Living National Treasures of Japan. New York: Morrow, 1999.

Annotation This book celebrates the multitudinous Japanese art forms that survived the culturally effacing effects of World War II. Included are step-‐by-‐step, simple instructions to imitate the art forms and creations of particular Japanese artists.

Annotation Iizuka Shokansai’s father, like his father before him, was an influential bamboo weaver. But as the second son, Mr. Iizuka felt free to follow his own dreams. He attended the most famous art school in Japan and studied painting. However, when his older brother died in the 1940s, everything changed. Mr. Iizuka now had to take care of all family matters, including maintaining the bamboo workshop. At thirty years of age, he knew that it was late to start learning his father’s art, but there was no choice. He gave up spending time with his friends and devoted all of his time and energy to bamboo. It was a very difficult decision. Mr. Iizuka knew that the way of bamboo was a hard one. He knew that the first step—learning how to cut bamboo—was said to take ten years.

Annotation In the traditional Japanese way of apprenticeship, there is no such thing as reading textbooks, writing papers, and getting a degree. Mr. Iizuka learned by watching and trying to imitate his father, who was very strict. Mr. Iizuka’s progress was slow. He often felt frustrated and disappointed, but he never gave up. And in the end, as he will tell you, it takes more than years of training to make great art. For Mr. Iizuka, the secret lies in the heart. “The more excited you feel while creating, the more your work can move the viewer’s feelings. Since vases and boxes are things for use, people tend to judge them by how useful they are. Therefore it is especially difficult and challenging for the artist to go beyond this point of view and create powerful and impressive works of art out of everyday things. For this to be possible, you must always nurture your heart.”

Tripper’s Travels: An International Scrapbook Chapman, Nancy K., and Lee Chapman (Illus.). Tripper's Travels: An International Scrapbook. Tarrytown: Marshall Cavendish, 2005.

Annotation This is a story about Tripper, a dog who travels all over the world. He visits several different cities in different countries. This book is like a scrapbook of all things he saw and learned from visiting different places. He shares information, such as special foods, the country's flag, and important land marks. Some of the places mentioned in this book are Canberra, Australia; Tokyo, Japan; and Delhi, India.

Excerpt I’m outside of Cairo riding Samuel the camel after a rare rainstorm. You can see the pyramids and the Great Sphinx of Giza in the background. The pyramids were built by pharaohs, the kings of ancient Egypt. See my friend Shani sitting next to those Egyptians? She’s a pharaoh hound, one of the oldest dog breeds in the world. To me, she acts just like a puppy. Look at me with my binoculars and mint tea! I’m standing on the rooftop, and you can see an ancient mosque and minaret in the background. The ancient Egyptians put dog and cat mummies in their tombs so their pets could join them in the next world. I hope I don’t end up a mummy! Here I’m taking a picture of the minarets of the Al-‐Azhar Mosque. This beautiful mosque is also a famous university. The Egyptians wrote in pictures called hieroglyphs. They also invented a paper which they called papyrus.

Excerpt We dressed in galabayas – long robes of cotton material. They were great to wear in hot weather. I wore a turban and Shani wore a scarf. Egyptians also dress like we do in the states, but they do not like to show too much skin. You rarely see them in shorts or sleeveless shirts. In the center of Cairo is an old market known as the khan. Shani and I wondered around the narrow alleys and poked our noses into shops that sold lots of great stuff, even dog collars. This is the street of spices. What a treat for our doggy noses. We sniffed anise, chamomile, hibiscus, cinnamon, and chilies. The chilies made me sneeze. All the seeing and sniffing made me hungry. Here’s what we ate for lunch: pita bread, molokhiyya soup, kufta (meatballs), baba ghanoush (eggplant), hummus (chickpea mixture), kebabs (lamb and veggies on a skewer), ruz (rice), batatis (potatos), lentils, and yogurt. For dessert I had baklava (pastery with honey and nuts) along with dates, melons, and nuts. Sure beats dog chow!

What Color Is My World? The Lost History of African American Inventors Abdul-‐Jabbar, Kareem, Raymond Obstfeld, Ben Boos, and A. G. Ford (Illus.). What Color Is My World? The Lost History of African American Inventors. Somerville, MA: Candlewick, 2012.

Annotation What Color is My World is a book about African American inventors. This book sheds light on inventors who innovated things that many white inventors have been given full credit for. At the beginning of the book, a young boy and girl move into their new home, which is a real fixer-‐upper. To help them get the house up to par, an older Black man comes to their aid. While helping them clean the house, Mr. Mital tells them about all the things in the house that were innovated by black men and women that we use in our everyday lives.

Excerpt Ella laughed. “African American? Unless this was a station on the Underground Railroad, I don’t see any African-‐American history.” She cupped her hands and shouted up the stairs, “Dr. King, are you up there watching MTV with Harriet Tubman?” “Ella,” I said, nudging her, “knock it off.” “There’s more to our history than slavery, jazz sports, and civil rights marches.” “We know that,” Ella said, getting sore. “Do you know a lot of African-‐American scientists?” Mr. Mital asked. Ella looked at me. “C’mon, genius,” Ella whispered to me. “Name some black scientists.” I’m sure I’d read about a few, but I couldn’t remember a lot of names. Finally, I said, “George Washington Carver.” “The peanut guy,” Ella said with a triumphant look.

Excerpt “Amazing man,” Mr. Mital agreed. “They called him the ‘Black Leonardo,’ after Leonardo da Vinci. Who else you got on that list?” Ella and I looked at each other. Then we shrugged. Mr. Mital walked over to the wall and flipped the light switch. Overhead, a bare lightbulb bust ablaze with light. “Who invented the lightbulb?” he asked. “Thomas Edison,” I said. “You going to tell us he was black?” Ella said. “It was a trick question,” Mr. Mital said. “No one invented the lightbulb.”

Excerpt Not every invention has to be something practical. Sometimes an invention can change the world by making it a whole lot more fun. That’s what happened when a nuclear engineer named Lonnie Johnson created the Super Soaker in 1991. It would be hard to find a kid in America who hasn’t played with one at least once! Lonnie Johnson grew up in Mobile, Alabama, and went to Tuskegee University. When he’s not designing the coolest squirt guns of all time, he’s inventing other stuff, like the Johnson Thermoelectric Energy Conversion System, which is a system that provides a more efficient way to use hear to generate energy.

Excerpt Basically, this could be the hope for more widespread use of solar energy. Right now, solar energy systems only convert about 30 percent of solar energy into electricity, which makes it more explosive than burning oil or coal. But Lonnie’s invention raises that efficiency rate to more than 60 percent. I know this invention is probably a lot more important than the squirt gun, but, he I’m a kid!

2-‐3 Band: Novels: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Alvin Ho: Allergic to Camping, Hiking, and Other Natural Disasters by Lenore Look; LeUyen Pham, illustrator Indian Shoes by Cynthia Leitich Smith; Jim Madsen, illustrator Make Way for Dyamonde Daniel by Nikki Grimes; R. Gregory Christie, illustrator The Road to Paris by Nikki Grimes

Alvin Ho: Allergic to Camping, Hiking, and Other Natural Disasters Look, Lenore, and LeUyen Pham (Illus.). Alvin Ho: Allergic to Camping, Hiking, and Other Natural Disasters. New York: Schwartz & Wade, 2009.

Annotation Alvin Ho is a series of novels where Alvin Ho goes on adventures and conquers his fears. In this novel, Alvin goes camping with his younger sister and dad despite his fears of being eaten by animals, abducted by aliens and natural disasters. Alvin goes camping and makes friends along the way who help him overcome his fears. Most importantly Alvin has the opportunity to bond with his dad while camping.

Excerpt My name is Alvin Ho. I was born scared and I am still scared. Things that scare me include: Long words ( especially “hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia,” which means fear of long words). Punctuation. (Except for exclamation points! Exclamations are fantastic!!!) The dark (which means I have nyctophobia). The great outdoors (what’s so great about it?) Lots of things can happen when you’re outdoors: Hurricanes. Tornadoes. Mudslides. Landslides. The end of the world.

Excerpt “Were you always so brave, Dad?” “No,” said my dad. “Not always. I used to be afraid of everything.” “Like me?” “Yes, like you.” “Did you always like camping?” I asked. “Yes,” said my dad. “Always.” “What did you like about it?” “Everything,” he said. “But especially this-‐ falling asleep facing the stars.” “Me too,” I said. “I’m just like you, dad.” My dad squeezed my hand. And I squeezed him back. “I love you, son.” “I love you, Dad.” Then I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

Indian Shoes Smith, Cynthia Leitich, and Jim Madsen (Illus.). Indian Shoes. New York: HarperCollins, 2002.

Annotation This is the story about a young boy named Ray, who is living with his Grampa. This book includes several different stories about Ray and his Grampa. They always can count on each other no matter what, like when Ray lost his suit pants for the wedding and he had to bring out the ring; so grandpa gave him his pants. Another story shows how Ray traded in his shoes so that he could buy his Grampa a pair of Indian moccasins because he was feeling homesick.

Excerpt Grampa Halfmoon and Ray rounded the corner and looked up the street. Their jaws dropped like hooked catfish. The barber pole was gone. The Bud’s Barber Shop sign had been replaced with one that said Coiffures by Claudia. And that wasn’t the half of it. When Ray peeked into the window, he saw that the beat-‐up swirling chairs had been replaced with shiny mauve ones. The customers in ball caps had been switched for ladies with long, colorful nails. And when a lady with foo-‐foo hair opened the glass door to leave, Ray couldn’t smell the usual stinky cigars. Instead, out came the smell of rose potpourri. Ray didn’t even think about walking into Claudia’s, and neither did Grampa.

Excerpt Ray glanced at his watch. It was already noon, and they had to leave for the game at 2:30. “Now what’re we going to do?” he asked. “It’s too late to track down another shop,” Grampa said. “Most places are booked solid on Saturdays. But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.” Back at the house, Grampa fetched the scissors and a towel. Ray sat down in a kitchen chair and draped the towel over his shoulders. “You’ve heard me tell about my wild haired mutt, Catastrophe,” Grampa Halfmoon said setting a salad bowl on top on Ray’s head. “Every once in a while, I’d trim the hair out of his eyes. Everybody said it looked right professional.” As Grampa cut Ray’s hair, the prickly ends tickled his neck. To keep from squirming, Ray studied the baseball schedule held by banana shaped magnets on the refrigerator. He daydreamed about facing down the Rockets’ pitcher and – ka-‐smack – hitting a home run.

Make Way for Dyamonde Daniel Grimes, Nikki, and R. G. Christie. Make Way for Dyamonde Daniel. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons/Penguin Young Readers Group, 2009.

Annotation This story is about a girl named Dyamonde Daniel. Dyamonde recently moved with her mother after her parents divorced. The move was hard for Dyamonde, mostly because she had to leave behind her best friend. Dyamonde meets a new boy in town, named Free, and is determined to figure out why he is angry all the time. She learns that he is upset about moving to the new town because, like Dyamonde, he had to leave all his friends behind. Dyamonde and Free soon become best friends, and become happier with their new homes.

Excerpt “Who are you so mad at?” asked Dyamonde. The question caught Free off guard. “What?” “Who are you so mad at?” “Who said I was mad?” “Oh, puleeze! All you do is stomp around and glare at people, even teachers, and I have not seen one person do anything bad to you since you got here. Not one. So who are you mad at?” Dyamonde’s words were sharp as needles, and Free felt like a balloon that she had just poked a hole in. All of the air came whooshing out, and instead of looking angry, Free just sort of sagged. “I don’t know,” said Free in a tired voice. “I’m mad at my folks. At my dad, mostly. He lost his job and made us move here, and I had to leave all my friends behind.”

Excerpt Dyamonde thought about her old neighborhood, and her old friends. The face of Alisha came swimming up before her eyes, and Dyamonde had to swallow hard. She wasn’t mad at her Mom for making her move, but she understood how Free could be mad his dad. “Okay,” said Dyamonde. “You’ve got a right to be mad – but not at people you don’t even know.” Free sighed. “I guess you’re right.” “Of course I’m right. I’m always right,” said Dyamonde. The way she said it made Free smile. “What’s your name again?” he asked. “Dyamonde, with a y instead of an i plus an e at the end. And yes, I know. I must be a diamond in the rough, ‘cause I’m plain as coal, blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all,” said Dyamonde, rolling her eyes to the sky. “Kids tease you about your name all the time?” “Yeah.” “How do you stand it? I hate it when kids tease me about mine.” Dyamonde shrugged. “It use to bug me when I was little.

The Road to Paris Grimes, Nikki. The Road to Paris. New York: G.P. Putnam, 2006.

Annotation Paris is a young girl who was born into adversity. Paris is half white and half black; she is dark skinned and has blonde hair. Paris and her older brother, Malcolm, are taken from their home and put into foster care where Paris is beaten. Later Malcolm is put into a boys’ home while Paris is sent to the Lincolns, a white suburban family in a predominantly white neighborhood. Paris is guarded and wants nothing more than to fit in.

Excerpt Dear Malcolm, I miss you every day. I’m living in a place called Ossining. Ever hear of it? It took a long train ride to get here. Its got a famous prison. Sing Sing. What a funny name for a place where they lock you up. I bet nobody who lives there sings. I wouldn’t. The house I'm in is nothing like a prison. They don’t beat me here, Malcolm. Not so far. Or lock me up in closets. The people here are pretty nice, except for one aunt and one cousin but they’re not worth talking about. Mrs. Lincoln, the mom, is a big lady, but not jolly at all. Mr. Lincoln is quiet, mostly. I like to stay to myself and I get to do a lot cause-‐ surprise! I have my own room. Would you believe it? It’s a teeny room, tho. Still, I wish you were here to share it. Where are you? I’m writing this stupid letter and I don’t even know where to send it. I had to talk to you, tho, even if its only on paper. Oh! I almost forgot, I have a new friend. Her name is Ashley. She lives down the street. Bye for now. Paris

Excerpt She thought about how great it would be to live with Malcolm again, and with Viola, whom she’d finally learned to forgive. She thought about how she hardly knew her own mother, really. And she wanted to. She needed to, really. She and Malcolm would be together again. She could hardly wait! There was no way for Paris to tell the future. But she was not afraid. Not anymore.

2-‐3 Band: Picture Books: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Allison by Allen Say Cora Cooks Pancit by Dorina K. Lazo Gilmore; Kristi Valiant, illustrator Dear Primo: A Letter to My Cousin by Duncan Tonatiuh Gettin’ Through Thursday by Melrose Cooper; Nneka Bennett, illustrator Halmoni and the Picnic by Sook Nyul Choi; Karen Dugan, illustrator I Know Here by Laurel Croza; Matt James, illustrator A Shelter in Our Car by Monica Gunning; Elaine Pedlar, illustrator ¡Si, Se Puede! Yes, We Can! Janitor Strike in L.A by Diana Cohn; Francisco Delgado, illustrator Soledad Sigh-‐Sighs by Rigoberto González; Rosa Ibarra, illustrator Time to Pray by Maha Addasi; Ned Gannon, illustrator Too Many Tamales by Gary Soto Uncle Peter’s Amazing Chinese Wedding by Lenore Look; Yumi Heo, illustrator Yasmin’s Hammer by Ann Malaspina; Doug Ghayka, illustrator

Allison Say, Allen. Allison. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1997.

Annotation Allison is a little girl who begins to realize that she is different from the rest of her family. All of the other children in her class look like their parents but she doesn’t resemble hers at all. Sadness and anger fill her after feeling abandoned by her “real” parents but a new friend might change her feelings about adoption.

Excerpt “What a lovely kimono,” Mother said. “Kimono,” Allison repeated. “Is Mei Mei’s dress a kimono too?” “Yes, but hers is very old and from far away,” Father said. “Try it on, Allison.” Mother tied the obi for her and exclaimed, “How pretty! Look in the mirror.” Allison looked in the mirror and smiled. She saw Mother and Father smiling over her shoulders. She held Mei Mei next to her and saw that Mei Mei’s hair was dark and straight like hers. Allison looked at her mother, then at her father. Her smile disappeared. At lunchtime Allison sat quietly. “Are you all right?” Father asked. “Do you have a tummy ache?” Mother asked. “Where did Mei Mei come from?” Allison asked. “Far, far away, from another country,” Father said. “Mommy and I went there and brought you and Mei Mei home with us.”

Excerpt Allison stared. “You’re not my Mommy and Daddy?” “Of course we are,” Father said. “You’ve been with us since you were a little baby.” “You’re the only child we have,” Mother said. “We love you very much.” “Where’s my Mommy? Where’s my Daddy?” Allison cried. “They didn’t want me?”Allison asked. “We’re sure they wanted you but we never met them,” Mother said. “They were not able to keep you but they wanted you to have a mother and father,” Father said. “Can’t I see a picture of them?” Allison asked. Father shook his head. “There was only your doll. You called her Mei Mei even then,” Mother said. Cradling Mei Mei in her arms, Allison went to her room.

Cora Cooks Pancit Lazo-‐Gilmore, Dorina K., and Kristi Valiant. Cora Cooks Pancit. Walnut Creek, CA: Shen's Books, 2009.

Annotation This is the story of a little girl named Cora who loves being in the kitchen and watching her mother cook. Her three older sisters and older brother are always helping mix the food and shred the chicken, but Cora is only allowed to help lick the spoon. Then one day her sisters and brother went out and it was just Cora and her mother home. Cora asked her mom if she could help cook and her mother agreed; they decided that they would make pancit. Cora was allowed to help with all the grown up jobs and that night at dinner everybody enjoyed the food that Cora helped prepare.

Excerpt Cora knew the rules in Mama’s kitchen. She scrubbed her hands with soap. Mama dug in the cupboards and refrigerator for ingredients. She listed what they needed for the pancit. Chicken. Celery. Carrots. Mushrooms. Onions. Baby corn. Cabbage. Ginger. Garlic. Soy sauce. “Don’t forget the noodles,” said Cora. “Oh, yes, the noodles,” said Mama. “Let’s get started,” Mama told Cora. “Open the package of rice noodles and put them in a bowl of water. Do you know why we soak them?” “So they get soft,” answered Cora. “You’ve been paying attention,” said Mama with a wink. Cora opened the package. She plopped the big clump of noodles into the bowl.

Excerpt Meanwhile, Mama took out some chicken she had cooked earlier. This was Mama’s special stash. She used chicken for all kinds of Filipino dishes like tanghon, chicken curry, and lumpia. “Want to help me shred?” asked Mama. Cora’s eyes grew wide. A grown-‐up job. She was ready. She pulled the chicken pieces apart the way her older sister Prim did. She placed them on a plate. Cora snuck a tiny bite of chicken. She rolled it to the back of her mouth before Mama noticed. The salty taste tickled her tongue. “I’ll chop,” said Mama. Cora arranged the vegetables in neat rows. Mama chopped celery stalks, carrots, cabbage and onions. When Mama started slicing the onions, tears ran down Cora’s cheeks. She looked up and saw Mama’s watery eyes. “Onions make us cry,” sang Mama. They both laughed. Mama took out her huge panic pan with shiny copper outside and big handles.

Dear Primo: A Letter to My Cousin Tonatiuh, Duncan, and Melissa Arnst (Trans.). Dear Primo: A Letter to My Cousin. New York: Abrams for Young Readers, 2010.

Annotation This is story is about two cousins, one who lives in Mexico and one who lives in America. They are writing each other and telling about what their life is like in their country. This story is a great way to show how culture varies from country to country. Children will be able to see the differences in how people live.

Excerpt Every morning I ride my bicicletta to school. I ride it past the perros and past a nopal. I ride the subway to school. The subway is like a long metal snake, and it travels through tunnels underground. At recess time I play futbol. My friend passes me the ball, I kick it with my foot, and if I score, I yell … gol! I play basketball. My friend dribbles the ball and passes it to me. I jump and shoot. The ball goes swoosh! Nothing but net. When I come home from school, I help my mom cook. My favorite meal is quesadillas. I make them with cheese and tortillas. In America we have lots of different foods. My favorite is pizza. I like getting a slice on my way home from school.

Excerpt After I finish my homework, my mom lets me outside and play. In Mexico we have many games, like trompos and canicas. My favorite game is papalotes. My friends and I run and run, and with little wind we fly the papalotes high up. When I finish my homework, I play games with my friends from the building. We play by the stoop… … and in each other’s apartments, too. I like going over to my friend’s home to play video games. In the afternoon it often gets hot. To cool off I jump in a small rio that is nearby. In the summer the city gets hot, too. I like getting splashed by the fire hydrant when the firefighters open it up and close off the block.

Gettin’ Through Thursday Cooper, Melrose, and Nneka Bennett (Illus.). Gettin’ Through Thursday. New York: Lee & Low Books, 1998.

Annotation In Andre’s house it was a struggle to get through the week until payday. Andre knew that if he made honor roll Mama would have a small party just for him. He realizes that his report card comes on a Thursday and everyone knows nothing good comes from a Thursday. Nevertheless Mama gives him a celebration that did not cost them anything.

Excerpt “Angel babe,” she said like she always did when she needed to tell me what I didn’t want to hear, “tomorrow we’ll have your celebration because you know what today is.” That did it. Her face got blurry ‘cause my feelings were spillin’ out. “I sure do know what today is! Today is report card day, not tomorrow. I don’t care if it’s Thursday or not. You promised, Mama. You said we’d drop everything and celebrate that very day!” I broke away and slammed the door like Shawna and sunk down behind it. I heard them all whisperin’ together out there. I didn’t care what they were sayin’-‐I knew it was more talk about what we can’t do and can’t have, all because the day is wrong. .

Excerpt I thought about takin’ every calendar in the whole wide world and crossin’ out the Thursdays, as if that was going to change things. But sometimes that kind of daydream turns the anger into somethin’ else, and pretty soon it’s not as bad as the minute before. “You’re right, Andre.” Mama said as she opened the door. “Report card day is today, even if it is a you-‐know-‐what, and we should be celebratin’ like I promised. Now mind you, this is a dress rehearsal, but it’s the best we can do…today.” Then Mama and Davis and Shawna broke into a “Happy Report Card Day to You” chorus. Shawna held a pretend plate and set it on the coffee table.

Halmoni and the Picnic Choi, Sook Nyul, and Karen Dugan (Illus.). Halmoni and the Picnic. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1993.

Annotation This is a story about a girl named Yunmi who lives in America and is cared for by her Korean grandmother, Halmoni. Halmoni recently came to America and is not used to the culture. Yunmi feels badly for Halmoni because she knows she misses Korea and is not comfortable in America. Yunmi decides to invite her grandmother to her class picnic. At first Yunmi is excited about Halmoni coming but she then becomes nervous that her classmates will not like Halmoni because she dresses differently and does not speak English. This is not the case at all. All the children loved Halmoni and she had a wonderful time at the picnic. This story is a great way to show differences in the American and Korean culture.

Excerpt That afternoon Yunmi cautiously told Halmoni what had happened at school. Halmoni blushed with pleasure. “Helen said that? Your teacher wants me?” So relieved to see Halmoni looking happy, Yunmi nodded her head up and down. Touching Yumni’s cheek, Halmoni asked, “And do you want me to go to the picnic with you?” “Yes, yes, Halmoni, it will be fun. You will meet all my friends, and Mrs. Nolan, and we will be together all day long in Central Park.” “Then yes, I will come,” Halmoni said.

Excerpt Halmoni would not go to the picnic empty handed. She prepared a huge fruit basket for the third graders. She also insisted on making a large plate of kimbap and a big jug of barley tea. Kimbap is made of rice, carrots, eggs and green vegetables wrapped in seaweed. Again, Yunmi was worried. Most of the children would bring bologna and peanut butter sandwiches, which they would wash down with soda pop. What if nobody wanted to eat Halmoni’s kimbap? What if they made faces? “Halmoni, please do not take the kimbap to the picnic. It took you so long to make. Let’s save it for us to eat later.” “Oh, it was no problem. It looks so pretty and it’s perfect for picnics. I wonder if I made enough.”

Excerpt On the morning of the picnic, Yumni and her grandmother met the bus at school. Halmoni wore her pale blue skirt and top, called a ch’ima and chogoti in Korean, with her white socks and white pointed rubber shoes. When they arrived at Central Park, Halmoni sat under a big chestnut tree and watched the children play. The children took off their jackets and threw them in front of Halmoni. Smiling, she picked them up, shook off the grass and dirt, and fold each of them neatly. She liked the cool earth beneath her and the ringing laughter of the children.

I Know Here Croza, Laurel, and Matt James (Illus.). I Know Here. Toronto: Groundwood, 201o.

Annotation A girl in the third grade lives with her family in Saskatchewan, where her father and others are building a dam. They all live in trailers, and the children go to school in a trailer. As the dam nears completion, the child realizes she will have to leave all she has grown to love: the soft needles of pine trees, the sound of wolves, good tobogganing hills, frogs, foxes, rabbits, and moose. She decides to draw all these things she loves and take her memories to Toronto. A great mirror book for rural children, and children who live in trailers.

Excerpt Doug runs down the steps of our trailer. He’s bursting with news. “We’re moving,” he shouts. “We’re moving to Toronto. When summer comes.” Our friends circle around him. The dam our dad is building is almost finished. By summer it will send out electricity far across the prairies. Soon we will all be leaving. I follow my brother, kicking the packed dirt. Swirls of dust puff up and turn my rubber boots gray. This is where I live. I don’t know Toronto. I know here. I know this road, the one I am walking on. One end goes to the dam and the other end stops at my school. I count the trailers on my side of the road. There are seven and mine makes eight.

Excerpt I know the forest behind my home where I play hide-‐and-‐seek in and out of the pine trees, the needles soft like a quilt under my feet. I know the howling sound a wolf makes when it calls out at night in that very same forest. I count the trailers on the other side of the road. There are ten. A fox lives in a cage behind one of them. I know the fox’s damp fur smell before I see him. I know the hill behind those trailers. It’s a good tobogganing hill when it snows. And I know the creek that winds around behind that hill. And the squishy spot by the beaver dam where my little sister, Kathie, catches frogs and puts them in a bucket. I know the truck that is driving towards me, bits of gravel jumping up and dancing under the tires. The man inside the truck waves at me. He is stopping at each trailer to deliver groceries.

Excerpt Our school is the trailer at the end of the road. Miss Hendrikson, our teacher, is standing on the wooden steps waiting for me. I know everyone in my school. I count nine of us, three rows of desks. Only me in grade three. Doug is in grade four. He asks Miss Hendrickson to show us where Toronto is. She turns to the map of Canada hanging on the wall behind her desk. First she points to where we are. Miss Hendrickson has made a yellow dot to mark where we live. She has made a blue line for the dam, built right across the North Saskatchewan River. There is Carrot River where Michael, my baby brother, was born, and there is Nipawin where our groceries come from. Miss Hendrickson moves her finger along the map, out of Saskatchewan, past Manitoba. She stops in Ontario. “Here is Toronto, the city of Toronto,” she says. There is a big red star beside it on the map.

A Shelter in Our Car Gunning, Monica, and Elaine Pedlar (Illus.). A Shelter in Our Car. San Francisco: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2004.

Annotation Expressionistic art combines seamlessly with a moving narrative of a homeless Jamaican mother and her daughter.

Excerpt Police cars are coming closer! The sirens hurt my ears and the light blind my eyes. I jump up, really, really frightened. “Shhh, Zettie, lie down,” Mama says. “We don’t want to be noticed.” We sink between the clothes on the back seat of the car. “Mama, it’s creepy sleeping in our car,” I whisper. “I know,” she says. “Things happen in the city. Police cars are always on some kind of chase.” She holds me close until the sirens stop. When all is quiet, Mama drives down Chandler Avenue and parks in front of a courtyard apartment house. Its garden is filled with flowers—bougainvilleas, roses, hibiscus—in the streetlight, their colors as bright as

Excerpt the flowers we left behind in Port Antonio. Mama and I love parking in this spot. For weeks, a For Rent sign has hung in one of the windows. We asked about it last week, but the owner told us he’d only rent to someone with a steady job. And he wants the first and last months’ rent, which Mama doesn’t have. I close my eyes. Soon I’m in dreamland, back home in Jamaica with Papa and Grandma Mullins. We’re picnicking on the beach. Waves pound against the rocks. Crash, bang! I wake up. No, I’m not in Jamaica. I’m in America. And it’s not the waves crashing against rocks. Someone’s knocking on our car window. A flashlight glares in our eyes.

Excerpt “What are you doing here, lady?” a policeman asks sternly. “My little girl and I are only stopping for the night, sir.” “No overnight parking here,” he growls. “Get moving!” “I will, sir, but we’re not doing anything wrong,” Mama says. She gets into the front seat and drives away. Tears roll down her cheeks, like they did when Papa died. I lean over and stroke her ‘locks.

¡Si, Se . Puede! Yes, We Can! Janitor Strike in L.A. Cohn, Diana, and Francisco Delgado (Illus.). ¡Si, Se Puede! Yes, We Can! Janitor Strike in L.A. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos Press, 2002.

Annotation The book is based on a true story of a strike in Los Angeles. Carlitos’s mom works at night and a side job on weekends to make ends meet, so Carlitos has little time to see his mother. Because they are underpaid, Carlitos’s mom and her fellow workers go on strike. Carlitos and his classmates help by making posters for the strike. People from across California and other states came in to assist with the strike. The hard work and dedication of the union members paid off and the strike was successful. Higher paid wages were given to union workers, which allowed Carlitos’s mom to quit her weekend job, and spend more time with her son.

Excerpt One night Mama said, “Do you know, Carlitos, I can’t take care of you and your abuelita the way I want to.” She sat me on her lap to explain. “Even though I work full time as a janitor, I also have to clean houses and wash clothes on the weekend. That means we don’t have any time together. And I can’t afford to buy the medicine Abuelita needs to help her sore bones feel better.” I looked at my abuelita. I looked at my mama. I looked at the family photos on the wall. My favorite was the one of her dressed in her wedding gown with my papa. When Papa was still alive we all lived in Mexico, the country where I was born.

Excerpt The next day Miss Lopez took some of the kids from my class on the bus to downtown Los Angeles. When Mama saw us, she was so happy she almost cried. As we marched, I held my sign as high as I could. An old man was playing the accordion. Maria’s father took a trash can and played it like a big steel drum. Mama held soda cans filled with beans and shook them to the beat of the music. On the sidewalk, people rooted for all of us marchers on the street. There were thousands and thousands of people all around me! I held on tight to Miss Lopez’ hand.

Excerpt “Carlitos,” she said, “this is a celebration of courage.” After three long weeks, the strike was over. My mama and the janitors finally received the respect and the pay raises they deserved. “Carlitos,” Mama said, “I couldn’t have done it without you.” She hung the sign I made on our living room wall. “It’s the most beautiful sign in the world,” she said.

Soledad Sigh-‐Sighs González, Rigoberto, and Rosa Ibarra (Illus.). Soledad Sigh-‐Sighs. San Francisco: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2003.

Annotation Soledad is a “latchkey kid.” To fill her lonely hours, she has an imaginary sister. Eventually her feelings of isolation are remedied when she finds a kindred spirit in two girls. They imagine the world together so that none of them has to imagine it alone. The story is told in both English and Spanish.

Excerpt Going home again. Skipping this time because she’s going to the playground with her little sister. On the slide, Soledad goes first. And then she slides again, this time right behind Felicidad. Soledad shows her sister how to jump in the sandbox, to climb up the jungle gym, and to kick an invisible ball so that it rises over the fence and lands on the other side of the street. “Sorry, Mr. Wong,” Soledad calls out to the bodega owner. Mr. Wong waves back, looking confused. Soledad races her sister to the swings. One seat for each of them. “Let’s see who can go higher,” Soledad says. She lets her sister win. “Sí, sí, Felicidad,”

Excerpt Soledad says. “You can fly high, like a bird in the sky! Do you want to go home or do you want to play some more? Do you want to wear the key that opens the door?” “Who are you talking to?” Nedelsy and Jahniza stand next to the swings. Soledad slows down to a stop. Jahniza pushes the empty swing. Squeak-‐squeak, says the swing. “Nobody,” says Soledad. “Silly girl,” Jahniza says and giggles, hee-‐hee-hee.“No, no,” Nedelsy says. “It’s not nice to make fun of people.” “I’m sorry, Soledad,” Jahniza says. “That’s OK,” Soledad sigh-‐sighs. “I was feeling lonely so I played pretend.”

Excerpt Soledad says. “You can fly high, like a bird in the sky! Do you want to go home or do you want to play some more? Do you want to wear the key that opens the door?” “Who are you talking to?” Nedelsy and Jahniza stand next to the swings. Soledad slows down to a stop. Jahniza pushes the empty swing. Squeak-‐squeak, says the swing. “Nobody,” says Soledad. “Silly girl,” Jahniza says and giggles, hee-‐hee-hee.“No, no,” Nedelsy says. “It’s not nice to make fun of people.” “I’m sorry, Soledad,” Jahniza says. “That’s OK,” Soledad sigh-‐sighs. “I was feeling lonely so I played pretend.”

Excerpt “Pretending what?” Jahniza says. Soledad sigh-‐sighs again. “I was pretending I had a little sister to be my friend.” Nedelsy says, “But we’re your friends.” Soledad says, “Ohhh, not when I’m alone at home.” Jahniza leans over to whisper in Nedelsy’s ear. Nedelsy nods her head. They each grab one of Soledad’s hands and rush her out of the playground and up the stairs where Mrs. Ahmed waves hello.

Time to Pray Addasi, Maha, and Ned Gannon (Illus.). Time to Pray (Trans. Nuha Albitar). Honesdale, PA: Boyds Mills Press, 2010.

Annotation Yasmin is visiting her grandmother in the Middle East. Her grandmother teaches Yasmin the Muslim prayer traditions, buys her a prayer rug, and makes her prayer clothes. Because there is no mosque near her home, Yasmin is worried about returning home to America. When Yasmin arrives back home in America, she finds that her grandmother has given her a miniature mosque with a prayer clock. The book is written in both English and Arabic.

Excerpt Over the next few days, Teta helped me practice my prayers. We prayed together a few more times before I left for home. I especially liked the fourth prayer at sunset. The sky always had swirls of red, even when there were no clouds. The last and fifth prayer of the day came just before my bedtime when it was very dark outside. I knew I would miss the twinkling minaret lights outside my window. When it was time to leave, Teta took me to the airport. I gave her a big hug. “Thank you, my teta,” I said. “I will miss you, habibti,” she said. We are very close my Teta and I. When I returned home, Mom helped me unpack. My little brother took my prayer clothes and put them with his toys. He made a perfect train tunnel out of my skirt and turned my headpiece into a little tent. Mom helped me put my prayer clothes in a safe place.

Excerpt Then I saw it—the box that Teta carried home from the market. I could not believe my eyes! Inside was a miniature mosque. “Wow,” Mom said. “This is a special prayer clock.” Dad helped me set the timer for the five prayers of the day. When it went off, it didn’t ring. Instead, it made the sound of the muzzein calling us to prayer. Now when I walk by a cinnamon bun store at the mall, it smells like Teta’s house. When Mom makes upside-‐down rice, it may not look like Teta’s, but it tastes just like the muezzin near Teta’s house. I don’t always pray all fiver prayers. I’m still practicing. Sometimes when the prayer clock rings before dawn, I turn over and go back to sleep. But don’t tell Teta!

Too Many Tamales Soto, Gary, and Ed Martinez (Illus.). Too Many Tamales. New York: Putnam, 1993.

Annotation Too Many Tamales is a tale about a young Mexican girl and her Christmas dinner. Christmas is shown by preparing the food where Maria is cooking with her mother whom she idolizes and tries on her wedding ring. After the meal has been cooked, Maria realizes she has lost the ring in the food. Maria tries to find the ring with the help of her cousins with no avail. Maria has to do the right thing and tell her mother about her ring.

Excerpt Maria’s mother had placed her diamond ring on the kitchen counter. Maria loved that ring. She loved how it sparkled, like their Christmas tree lights. When her mother left the kitchen to answer the telephone, Maria couldn’t help herself. She wiped her hands on the apron and looked back at the door. “I’ll wear the ring for just a minute”, she said to herself. Maria returned to kneading the masa, her hands pumping up and down. On her thumb the ring disappeared, then reappeared in the sticky glob of dough. A few hours later the family came over with armfuls of bright presents: her grandparents, her uncle and aunt, and her cousins Dolores, Teresa and Danny.

Excerpt “The ring!” she screamed Everyone stared at her. “What ring?” Dolores asked. Without answering, Maria ran to the kitchen. The steaming tamales lay piled on the platter. The ring is inside one of the tamales, she thought to herself. It must have come off when I was kneading the masa. “Help me!” Maria cried. Danny piped up first. “What do you want us to do?” “Eat them,” she said. “If you bite something hard, tell me.” The four of them started eating. Corn husks littered the floor. Their stomachs were stretched till they hurt. Nothing! She could feel tears pressing to get out as she walked into the living room where the grown-‐ups sat talking. “What’s the matter?” her mother asked. “I did something wrong,” Maria sobbed. Then she gasped. The ring was on her mother’s finger, bright as ever.

Uncle Peter’s Amazing Chinese Wedding Look, Lenore, and Yumi Heo (Illus.). Uncle Peter's Amazing Chinese Wedding. New York: Atheneum for Young Readers, 2006.

Annotation This is a story of young girl named Jenny, whose favorite uncle is about to get married. She is very upset at the thought of losing him to another girl. All through the story Jenny is sad that her uncle is getting married, until the end of the story when her new aunt gives her something very special. Her aunt gives her a box to open at the end of the wedding. When Jenny opens up the box butterflies come flying out of the box. While reading this story you will learn about the Chinese wedding traditions.

Excerpt Inside, the bride and groom light incense and bow to the faded photographs of Ancient-‐Grandpa and Ancient-‐Grandma. They bow to the other grown-‐ups, then to each other. Soon everyone is bowing, which is the Chinese way of saying, “Hello, you are important to me.” I try bowing, but Stella passes me without a nod. It’s time for the tea ceremony where the family officially welcomes the bride. Stella will serve tea, showing she is no longer a guest but a member of the family. Suddenly I have an idea. I sneak into the kitchen where the hot Chrysanthemum Special is waiting in Grandma’s fancy pot…

Excerpt When Stella pours everyone asks, “What’s this?” and peers into their tiny cups. It looks like water. It smells like water. It is water! “Where’s the cha?” Father wants to know, and he hurries into the kitchen. Mother looks straight at me. “Where’s the tea?” she asks. In a quiet room I tell my mother all my sadness. Like water without tea leaves, it pours into her lap. She tells me that she will be sad, too, the day I leave her. But, she says, she will also be happy, knowing I am happy. Then gently, she kisses my head. “I will never leave,” I insist. Hungbau, red packets of lucky money, passes into Stella’s and Peter’s hands as they share the freshly made tea. My aunties drape Stella with buttery gold jewelry to wish her health and happiness. Father, who is funny all the time, awards Stella with a shiny medal, for “uncommon courage and bravery.”

Yasmin’s Hammer Malaspina, Ann, and Doug Chayka (Illus.). Yasmin's Hammer. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2010.

Annotation This is the story of a young girl named Yasmin who wants to go to school more than anything, but her parents need her to work. She works in a brick yard with her sister. The work is hard, but Yasmin dreams of the day she would go to school. Then Yasmin has an idea to work faster so that she could make some extra money. Every night she tucks away the extra money she makes Finally, Yasmin takes the extra money and buys herself her very first book. Her proud parents decide to send both daughters to school. Yasmin couldn’t be happier with their decision.

Excerpt Many days later, on our way to the brickyard, I tell Abba, “Don’t wait for us tonight. We will walk home.” “Good,” says Abba. “I can pick up some more customers. Be careful crossing the busy streets.” After work I try to remember the way back – up this street and down that one. “Are we lost?” Mita asks. The cars and buses beep so loud. I forget which turns to take. My heart pounds. I see the flashing signs and the waving newspapers. At last I find the store and it is bursting with books. So many books. How will I chose just one? “Can you read?” the shopkeeper asks, staring down at me. I shake my head no. He pulls a book from a high shelf. “This is the one for you,” he says. I spread my coins on the table. The shopkeeper counts twice. “Is that all you have?” I nod. He wraps the book in paper and slips Mita a sweet. I thank him and hold the book close.

Excerpt By the time we reached home we were out of breath from running and the sun was low in the sky. Abba is fixing the roof. “Abba, come see!” I call. He puts the nails in his pocket and climbs down. Inside Amma has chopped a fat pumpkin and an onion. She is making curry. “Amma, look what I have!” I say. She wipes her hands. Just then our only lightbulb blinks off. Another power cut. Amma lights a candle. Carefully I open the book. Each page has a picture with a word below it. There is a dinghy, and a rice paddy, and an elephant. Everyone leans in to look.

2-‐3 Band: Picture Books: Historical Fiction The Firekeeper’s Son by Linda Sue Park; Julie Downing, illustrator Freedom School, Yes! by Amy Littlesugar; Floyd Cooper, illustrator A Place Where Sunflowers Grow by Amy Lee-‐Tai; Felicia Hoshino, illustrator The Red Comb by Fernando Píco; Maria A. Ordóñez, illustrator Uncle Jed's Barbershop by Margaree King Mitchell; James Ransome, illustrator The Village That Vanished by Ann Grifalconi; Kadir Nelson, illustrator

The Firekeeper’s Son Park, Linda S. The Firekeeper’s Son, and Julie Downing (Illus.). New York: Clarion Books, 2004.

Annotation Sang-‐hee is the son of the Firekeeper; this means that he is next in line to be the King’s messenger. Every afternoon he watches as his father climbs the mountain and lights the fire representing peace in the land; the fire signals to others, all the way to the King, that all is safe. Because Sang-‐hee’s father is injured, one day Sang-‐hee must light the fire. So that he can see the king’s army, he is tempted not to, but eventually carries out his task.

Excerpt “When trouble comes to our land, it almost always comes from the sea,” Sang-‐hee’s father explained. “If ever we see enemy ships, I will not light the fire. And the next firekeeper will not light his fire. And on and on, until the king sees only darkness on the last hump. He will know that trouble has come to our land, and he will send soldiers to fight the enemy. “We are fortunate,” Sang-‐hee’s father said. “In your time, and my time, and your grandfather’s time, the fire has always been lit. “It is good to live in a time of peace.” “It is good that soldiers have never come.” Sodiers! Tall, brave soldiers. With shining swords. Sang-‐hee wished he could see soldiers. Just once.

Excerpt Evening. Sang-‐hee shooed the chickens into their coop. He glanced up at the mountain, looking for the fire. No fire. His father was a little late. Sang-‐hee fetched water from the river. He poured the water into the barrel, then glanced up the mountain again. No fire. Sang-‐hee looked out at the sea, where the setting sun made a path on the water. Could those be ships bobbing on the waves? No. Just a flock of seagulls. No enemies. No trouble. But still no fire. Sang-‐hee called his mother. He pointed at the mountain. She looked, then turned and stared at the sea. “Sang-‐hee you must run and see what has happened,” she said. “Something is wrong—there is no trouble from the sea, and the fire must be lit!”

Freedom School, Yes! Littlesugar, Amy, and Floyd Cooper (Illus.). Freedom School, Yes! New York: Philomel Books, 2001.

Annotation It’s 1964 in Mississippi where young Jolie is ready to begin attending the new Freedom School. Jolie is scared for the safety of her teacher, a white woman named Annie, and for the school, which has already been burned down once. The knowledge that Jolie learns at Freedom School is enough to give her the courage to no longer be afraid of the troubling world around her.

Excerpt “This here Freedom School ain’t gonna be like no ordinary school. You gonna learn ‘bout people and places—’bout who you are. Once you learn that, you ain’t gonna let bein’ scared get in your way.” Next day was Sunday, and Annie was to meet the entire congregation at Mount Pleasant Church—where Freedom School would be. “I hope you’ll all send your children tomorrow,” said Annie. And some nodded shyly, pleased to know her. But others stayed away when she said, “Please just call me Annie.” Jolie knew they weren’t used to calling a white woman by her first name. Annie ought to have known that! That evening Mama washed and ironed school clothes, and everyone even Annie, got a tub bath out back.

Excerpt “Stop fidgetin’,” Mama scolded as she braided Luanne’s hair, then Sairy’s, into a pinwheel of tiny braids. When it was Annie’s turn the girls oohed and ahhed. They’d never seen hair like that up close. So long and straight. Bright as a flame. Mama braided it up good and tight. “There,” she said. “Now it’s Jolie’s turn. Jolie!” But Jolie wanted no part in it. She’d gone to sit on the old crate step, behind the orange trumpet vine. She looked up into a velvet sky, at the stars she loved. One day, Jolie imagined, she’d count them all. She didn’t need Freedom School for that. Suddenly, though, a deep, bone-‐rattling sound crashed through Jolie’s thoughts like thunder. Mama and Annie were on the porch at once. “Fire!” someone screamed. “The church is on fire!”

A Place Where Sunflowers Grow Lee-‐Tai, Amy, and Felicia Hoshino (Illus.). A Place Where Sunflowers Grow. San Francisco: Children’s Book Press/Lee & Low Books, 2006.

Annotation Mari and her family are one of the many Japanese American families who are being kept in the Topaz Internment Camp. Mari is a quiet girl who has many questions but few words to say at her new home in the camp. She wants everything to go back to the way they were before they moved into the camp. Soon Mari gains confidence as she begins to draw pictures in her art class.

Excerpt Mari and Papa walked the windy, dusty mile from their home on Block 29 to Topaz Art School on Block 7. They passed beneath watchtowers where military police pointed guns at anyone they feared might escape. Mari clutched papa’s hand. “Mari-‐chan, Mama and I are worried about you,” said Papa. “We know things are tough here, but you barely talk or laugh anymore. Do you want to talk about it?” “Not really,” mumbled Mari-‐chan, though she actually had many questions. “Don’t worry, Mari-‐chan. We’ll go home after the war ends.” They walked the rest of the way in silence. The mountains, the vast sky, and the blazing sun made Mari feel as small as a sunflower seed.

Excerpt At Topaz Art School, Papa brought Mari to her classroom, then went next door to teach the adult sketching class. Mari had hoped to see some friends in class, but didn’t recognize anyone. Mrs. Hanamoto passed out paper and crayons. She said, “For our first class, have fun and draw whatever you want.” Mari listened to the tapping and swishing of crayons at the other desks. She thought long and hard, but her paper was still blank as class ended. A few students shared their drawings with the class. Janie drew the pet dog she had left behind. Eddie drew his three cousins who had been sent to a camp in Idaho. Aiko drew different places in Topaz: the mess hall, the latrine, the laundry room. Mari enjoyed the other drawings, but wished she had one of her own to share.

The Red Comb Picó, Fernando, and María Antonia Ordóñez (Illus.). The Red Comb. Mahwah, NJ: BridgeWater, 1996.

Annotation This the story about a young girl named Vitita and a older woman named siña Rosa. They work together to protect a runaway slave, who is being pursued. Every night Vitita leaves different things to eat and drink for the runaway slave and siña Rosa makes sure that the slave catcher does not see her. Eventually, the slave catcher is told to leave the village because he is causing too much trouble. Siña Rosa then introduces the runaway slave to the village; she says that it is her niece Carmela and she will be visiting for a while. Carmela, the runaway slave, eventually marries and starts a family of her own.

Excerpt A week later Pedro Calderón came by to talk to Vitita’s father. “Good morning, my friend. They say there is a runaway slave in these parts. She’s a dangerous one – slashed the foreman of a sugarcane plantation in Puerto Nuevo before she escaped.” “Well, I haven’t seen any unfamiliar person around here,” Vitita’s papa said. Do you mind if I keep watch for her tonight from the top of your mango tree?” Calderón asked. You can watch as long as you want, my friend. Vitita will make you some hot ginger tea, so you don’t become numb from the cold.” When Vitita heard that Pedro Calderón was trying to track down the runaway and that he was going to spend the night in the mango tree, her heart fluttered with fear. She told her father she had to get a piece of ginger from siña Rosa to make the tea and ran to siña Rosa’s house as fast as she could.

Excerpt “Ay, siña Rosa! Pedro Calderón is here. He’s going to tie up the woman and carry her away!” “Don’t you worry, my child,” said siña Rosa as she handed her the ginger root. “Go back home and make your ginger tea. Just leave everything to me.” Siña Rosa went out and gathered dried tree branches from the wood. Late that evening she lit a bonfire near the mango tree. As soon as the fire was good and hot, she threw in fresh green branches. A cloud of white smoke heavier than a March wind rose and drifted over the mango tree. Pedro Calderón began to cough.

Uncle Jed's Barbershop Mitchell, Margaree, and James Ransome (Illus.). Uncle Jed's Barbershop. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1993.

Annotation When Sarah Jean becomes ill, her Uncle Jed postpones his lifelong dream, and pays for her medical treatment with the money he has been saving up to buy this own barber shop.

Excerpt But Uncle Jed kept going around to his customers cutting their hair, even though they couldn’t pay him. His customers shared with him whatever they had—a hot meal, fresh eggs, vegetables from the garden. And when they were able to pay again, they did. And Uncle Jed started saving all over again. Ol’ Uncle Jed finally got his barbershop. He opened it on his seventy-‐ninth birthday. It had everything, just like he said it would—big comfortable chairs, four cutting stations. You name it! The floors were so clean, they sparkled. On opening day, people came from all over the country. They were Ol’ Uncle Jed’s customers. He had walked to see them for so many years. That day they all came to him.

Excerpt I believe he cut hair all night and all the next day and the next night and the day after that! That man was so glad to have that shop, he didn’t need any sleep. Of course, I was there, too. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. When I sat in one of those big barber chairs, Uncle Jed patted the back of my neck with lotion like he always did. The he twirled me round and round in the barber chair. Uncle Jed died not long after that, and I think he died a happy man. You see, he made his dream come true even when nobody else believed in it. He taught me to dream, too.

The Village That Vanished Grifalconi, Ann, and Kadir Nelson (Illus.). The Village that Vanished. New York: Dial Books for Young Readers, 2002.

Annotation This is the story of an African tribe that outwitted slavers and managed to remain free. The Yao people were an African tribe who lived deep in the jungle but feared the arrival of the slavers. They developed a plan to hide the whole village from the slavers and executed it perfectly in order to stay alive and in their homeland.

Excerpt Then her mother (whose name, Njemile, means “upstanding”) turned wearily home. Abikanile followed several yards behind, carefully placing her feet in her mother’s footprints. She knew why Njemile was praying so hard: They might have to leave their homeland-‐-‐-‐and soon. The slavers were coming! “These are violent men from the north!” her mother had told her. “They come riding in swiftly on horseback, shooting their long guns, capturing unarmed farmers as they go!” And Abikanile had heard that sometimes they took Yao children, too. “But why do they pick on us?” she had asked. “We are a strong people, and hardworking!” Njemile had answered passionately. “They want to sell our labor! Our people are put in chains and sold into slavery to foreign masters!”

Excerpt It was known that if slavers came, they would begin by capturing those out hunting alone or on guard far beyond the villages. Then they could enter the village itself—and there would be no one who could oppose them! “So far,” Njemile had added, holding Abikanile close, “our own village has escaped—because it is surrounded by forest. But slavers will find it soon enough!” “What can we do now?” Abikanile asked. “Ahh! I have a plan… If only the rest of our village will listen!” Now Abikanile wished she knew how to pray like her mother, to help give her strength and ideas that could save their village! When Abikanile and Njemile returned, the villagers had gathered together inside the circle of seven huts that made up Yao. A lookout had just brought the new that slavers had captured people from the nearby villages! No one but he was left, he said, to warn Yao, for Yao’s young hunters and distant guards must have been captured as well!

2-‐3 Band: Poetry Black Is Brown Is Tan by Arnold Adoff Arnold; Emily Arnold McCully, illustrator Deshawn Days by Tony Medina; R. Gregory Christie, illustrator Ellington Was Not a Street by Ntozake Shange; Kadir Nelson, illustrator Harlem by Walter Dean Myers; Christopher Myers, illustrator Neighborhood Odes by Gary Soto Uptown by Bryan Collier

lack is brown is tan Adoff, Arnold, and Emily Arnold McCully (Illus.). Black Is Brown Is Tan. New York: HarperCollins, 2002.

Annotation Black is brown is tan is a story about a biracial family where the parents are two different races and colors but have the same love for their children. The mom describes herself as black, brown, the color of chocolate milk, coffee, and pumpkin pie; the dad describes himself as white but not the color of snow or milk. He is light with pinks and tiny tans. The children have granny white and granny black who love them very much and tell them stories. For these children there is no difference in color; there is only a love for their family of blacks, browns and tans.

Excerpt Black is brown is tan Is girl is boy Is nose is Face Is all The Colors Of the race Is dark is light Singing songs In Singing night Kiss big woman hug big man Black is brown and This is the way it is for us this is the way we are

Excerpt I am mom am mommy mama mamu meeny muh And mom again With might hugs and hairbrush mornings Catching curls Later we sit by the window and your head is up against my chest And your head is up against my chest We read and tickle and sing the words Into the air I am black I am brown the milk is chocolate brown I am the color of the milk chocolate cheeks and hands that darken in the summer sun A nose that peels brown skin In August

Excerpt I am dad am daddy dingbat da And kiss me pa With the big belly and the Loud voice Sitting at my desk and you sit on my lap We read and laugh and pinch The words into the air I am white the milk is white I am not the color of the milk I am white the snow is white I am not the color of the snow

Deshawn Days Medina, Tony, and R. Gregory Christie (Illus.). DeShawn Days. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2001.

Annotation This is a poetry book with poems that describe the life of a young boy living in the projects. He tells about his town and the people in it through different poems. Some of the poems describe what his city is like, another poem describes the people in his house, and another poem describes his cousin. Some poems also express how Deshawn handles things in his life, such as the death of his grandmother. The poems in this book tell the story of Deshawn Williams.

Excerpt IN MY HOUSE My uncle my uncle he lives in my house And my mother of course who’s hardly ever home ‘cause she works so hard and goes to college too A lot of people live here – my cousin Tiffany and her mother too with the TV always on and people talking loud laughing at funny jokes My grandma my grandma she lives in my house Praying or cooking with me under the table listening to the grown-‐ups telling stories and the kitchen is warm and the windows wet with the smell of cornbread and baked chicken My mother my mother she lives in my house Working hard all day ‘cause she don’t know where my dad is at coming home from work and school real tired and me running to the door with a big hug and kiss helping her put her books away

Excerpt WHAT IS LIFE LIKE IN THE ‘HOOD You don’t just hear music you hear sirens too cop cars and ambulances screaming all the time real loud at you What is life like in the ‘hood People walking everywhere broken bottles in the stairs crooked spray paint letters on benches and buildings and dog mess smell in the air What is life like in the ‘hood In the summertime everyone hang out in front of the building playing cards and dominos and me and my cousin Tiffany put on a show – and she thinks she’s a magician doing rabbit tricks with a hamster and I’m saying corny jokes and making funny voices like a comedian What is life like in the ‘hood In the wintertime we wait for Christmas to come and when it snows we go to the little park and make a snowman and when we go home I sit by the steam to warm my frozen hands up and my mother brings me hot chocolate so I could watch my favorite cartoons

Ellington Was Not a Street Shange, Ntozake. Ellington Was Not a Street. New York: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2004.

Annotation This is the story of a young girl who grows up in a home where extraordinary people come to visit. She recounts the events as a happy time in her life as she interacts with living legends, including musical geniuses and powerful political leaders. This story puts faces to the many street names that go unnoticed every day.

Excerpt it hasnt always been this way ellington was not a street robeson no mere memory du bois walked up my father’s stairs hummed some tune over me sleeping in the company of men who changed the world it wasnt always like this why ray barretto used to be a side-‐man & dizzy’s hair was not always grey i remember i was there i listened in the company of men politics as necessary as collards music even in our dreams our house was filled with all kinda folks our windows were not cement or steel our doors opened like our daddy’s arms held us safe & loved children growing in the company of men old southern men & young slick ones sonny till was not a boy the clovers no rag-‐tag orphans our crooners/ we belonged to a whole world nkrumah was no foreigner virgil akins was not the only fighter it hasnt always been this way ellington was not a street

Myers, Walter Dean, and Christopher Myers (Illus.). Harlem. New York: Scholastic, 1997. Harlem

Annotation This is a poem written by Walter Dean Myers about Harlem. The poem describes the uptown Manhattan area from the time blacks migrated from the south. Myers uses vibrant words to express the feeling of everyday life in the hustling and bustling neighborhood. The illustrations use amber hues to accentuate the warm feeling of the urban home.

Excerpt They brought a call, a song First heard in the villages of Ghana/Mali/Senegal Calls and songs and shouts Heavy hearted tambourine rhythms Loosed in the hard city Like a scream torn from the throat Of an ancient clarinet A new sound, raucous and sassy Cascading over the asphalt village Breaking against the black sky over 1-‐2-‐5 Street. Announcing hallelujah Riffing past resolution Yellow/tan/brown/black/red Green/gray/bright Colors loud enough to be heard Light on asphalt streets Sun yellow shirts on burnt umber Bodies Demanding to be heard, seen Sending out warriors From streets that know to be Mourning still as a lone radio tells us how Jack Johnson/Joe Louis/Sugar Ray is doing with our Hopes. We hope, we pray Our black skins Reflecting the face of God In storefront temples Jive and Jehovah Artists Lay out the human canvas The mood indigo A chorus of summer herbs Of mangoes and bar-‐b-‐que Of perfumed sisters Hip Strutting past fried fish joints on Lenox Avenue in steamy August

Excerpt Squares Blocks, bricks Fat/round woman in a rectangle Sunday night gospel “Precious Lord…take my hand, Lead me on, let me stand…” Caught by a full lipped, full hipped Saint washing collard greens in a cracked Porcelain sink Backing up Lady Day on the radio Brother so black and blue, Patting a wide foot outside the too hot Walk-‐up, “Boy, you ought to find the guy who told you you could play some checkers ‘cause he done lied to you!” Cracked reed/soprano sax laughter Floats over a Fleet of funeral cars. In Harlem sparrows sit on fire escapes outside of Rent parties to learn the tunes. In Harlem the wind doesn’t blow past Smalls, it Stops to listen to the sounds. Serious business, a poem/rhapsody tripping along Striver’s Row, not getting its metric feet soiled On the well-‐swept walks Hustling through the hard rain at two o’clock in The morning to its next gig. A huddle of horns and a tinkle of glass, a note Handed down from Marcus to Malcolm to a brother Too bad and too cool to give his name.

Neighborhood Odes Soto, Gary. Neighborhood Odes. San Diego: Harcourt, 1992.

Annotation Neighborhood Odes tells about many aspects of the Mexican-‐American neighborhood where Soto grew up. He writes about everything he experienced including snow cones, hot tortillas, weddings, and well-worn tennis shoes. The poems are from his first person perspective which makes them feel child-‐like and accessible. Soto’s odes bring the reader into his life and onto his street, and evoke feelings of familiarity.

Ode to La Tortilla They are flutes When rolled, butter Dripping down my elbow As I stand on the Front lawn, just eating, Just watching a sparrow Hop on the lawn, His breakfast of worms Beneath the green, green lawn, Worms and a rip of Tortilla I throw At his thorny feet. I eat my tortilla, Breathe in, breathe out Excerpt

And return inside, Wiping my oily hands On my knee-‐scrubbed jeans. The tortillas are still warm In a dish towel, Warm as gloves just Taken off, finger by finger. Mama is rolling Them out. The radio On the window sings, El cielo es azul… I look in the black pan: The face of the tortilla Excerpt

With a bubble of air Rising. Mama Tells me to turn It over, and when I do, carefully, Its’ blistered brown. I count to ten, Uno, dos, tres… And snap it out Of the pan. The tortilla Dances in my hands As I carry it To the drainboard, Where I smear it With butter, Excerpt

The yellow ribbon of butter That will drip Slowly down my arm When I eat on the front lawn. The sparrow will drop Like fruit From the tree To stare at me With his glassy eyes. I will rip a piece For him. He will jump On his food And gargle it down, Chirp once and fly Back into the wintry tree. Excerpt

Collier, Bryan. Uptown. New York: Holt, 2000. Uptown

Annotation This is a short poem about Harlem, New York. Bryan Collier discusses Harlem from the point of view of a child. The poem’s imagery and busy illustrations work together to help the reader experience the city’s most famous sights. The Apollo Theatre, Rucker Park, and other landmarks are all part of the young boy’s home.

Full Text Uptown is a caterpillar. Well, it’s really the Metro-‐North train as it eases over the Harlem River. Uptown is chicken and waffles served around the clock. At first it seems like a weird combination, but it works.Uptown is a row of brownstones. I like the way they come together when you look at them down the block. They look like they’re made of chocolate. Uptown is weekend shopping on 125 th Street. The vibe is always jumping as people bounce to their own rhythms. Uptown is a stage. The Apollo Theater has showcased the greatest entertainers in the world. I hope we can get good seats. Uptown is Jazz. My grandfather says, “Jazz and Harlem are a perfect match – just like chicken and waffles.” Uptown is a barbershop. It’s a place where last night’s ball game can be more important than what style haircut you want. Uptown is a Van Der Zee photograph. I saw a picture from before my dad was even born – a picture of my grandparent’s wedding day!

Full Text (Continued) Uptown is summer basketball at the Ruckers. Anyone can rise up and be a superstar for a day. Uptown is canvas awnings on the windows to block the sun. It’s like the buildings are all dressed up Uptown is little sisters. They’re on their way to church in matching yellow dresses. Uptown is the orange sunset over the Hudson River. That means it’s time for the streetlights to come on and for me to get home and get changed. Uptown is a song sung by the Boys Choir of Harlem. Each note floats through the air And lands like a butterfly. Uptown is Harlem… Harlem world, my world. Uptown is home.









Project Common Core: Toward an Inclusive Appendix B 4-‐5 Band Prepared by the Collaborative for Equity in Literacy Learning (CELL) at Mount Saint Mary College Newburgh, New York July 2013

4-‐5 Band Biography and Autobiography Folklore Informational Texts Novels and Novellas: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Novels and Novellas: Fantasy and Science Fiction Novels and Novellas: Historical Fiction Picture Books Picture Books: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Picture Books: Historical Fiction Poetry

4-‐5 Band: Biography and Autobiography Bad News for Outlaws: The Remarkable Life of Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshal by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer; Elizabeth Zunon, illustrator Drawing from Memory by Allen Say The Firefly Letters: A Suffragette’s Journey to Cuba by Margarita Engle Honda: The Boy Who Dreamed of Cars by Mark Weston; Katie Yamasaki, illustrator The Illustrator's Notebook by Mohieddin Ellabbad

4-‐5 Band: Biography and Autobiography, continued M.L.K.: Journey of a King by Tonya Bolden My Name Is Seepeetza by Shirley Sterling Nelson Mandela by Kadir Nelson The Poet Slave of Cuba by Margarita Engle Sixteen Years in Sixteen Seconds: The Sammy Lee Story by Paula Yoo; Dom Lee, illustrator

Bad News for Outlaws: The Remarkable Life of Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshal Nelson, Vaunda Micheaux, and R. Gregory Christie (Illus.). Bad News for Outlaws: The Remarkable Life of Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshal. Minneapolis, MN: Carolrhoda, 2009.

Annotation When most people think of sheriffs or deputies in the South during the 1800s, most people think of a white man. Bass Reeves was one of the first black deputy U.S. marshals of Oklahoma. Reeves put fear in the hearts of outlaws in the West. Throughout his career, Bass arrested over 3,000 men and women and only killed 14. Bass referred to killing as a last resort even though he had a great shot with a rifle and revolver. This book tells the story of Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshal from his days as a slave to becoming an unsung hero.

Excerpt Many lawmen of the time weren’t much better than the hard cases they arrested. But Bass was as right as rain from the boot heels up. He couldn’t be bribed. And he shot only as a last resort, even when Judge Parker said, “Bring them in alive – or dead!” Some outlaws, like Jim Webb, forced gunplay. Whenever Bass could, he found another way. Bass took many a bad man by surprise through the use of disguises. One day he’d pose as a cowboy. Another he’d be a tramp, a gunslinger, or an outlaw. Even horses played a part in his disguises. Like many U.S. marshals, Bass rode some of the finest. Most times, he forked a handsome sorrel. Bass rode proud in the saddle. There was no mistaking his silhouette. But prize horseflesh could be a dead giveaway that the rider was a lawman. Bass always kept some rough stock and rode lazy while undercover.

Excerpt Bass brought in wagonloads of criminals, as many as seventeen prisoners at a time. Being a churchgoing man, Bass reckoned he could do more than put bad men behind bars. In the evenings after supper, he talked to the outlaws about the Bible and about doing right. Getting through to them was like trying to find hair on a frog, but Bass kept trying. Now and then, captured outlaws tried to get the better of the marshal, but Bass was tough and unflappable. One day, while he napped, a skunk moseyed into camp and stopped next to Bass. Captives chained to the tumbleweed wagon threw stones at the skunk, hoping it would spray its stink on the lawman. But when Bass awakened, he didn’t flinch. He reached out and gently petted the skunk.

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind Kamkwamba, William, Bryan Mealer, and Elizabeth Zunon (Illus.). The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind. New York: Dial, 2012

Annotation During a drought in Malawi, William, who has always been fascinated with all things mechanical, teaches himself to read technical books and assemble a windmill, which saves his village from hunger.

Excerpt Soon William’s father gathered the children and said, “From now on, we eat only one meal per day. Make it last.” In the evenings, they sat around the lantern and ate their handful, watching hungry people pass like spirits along the roads. Money also disappeared with the rain. “Pepani,” his father said. “I am sorry. You will have to drop out of school.” Now William stood on the road and watched the lucky students pass, alone with the monster in his belly and the lump in his throat. For weeks he sulked under the mango tree, until he remembered the library down the road, a gift from the Americans.

Excerpt He found science books filled with brilliant pictures. With his English dictionary close by, William put together how engines moved those big trucks, and how radios pulled music from the sky. But the greatest picture of all was a machine taller than the tallest tree with blades like a fan. A giant pinwheel? Something to catch magic? Slowly he built the sentence: “Windmills produce electricity and pump water.” He close his eyes and saw a windmill outside his home, pulling electricity from the breeze and bringing light to the dark valley.

Excerpt He saw the machine drawing cool water from the ground, sending it gushing through the thirsty fields, turning the maize tall and green, even when farmers’ prayers for rain went unanswered. This windmill was more than a machine. It was a weapon to fight hunger. “Magesti a mphepo,” he whispered. I will build electric wind. In the junk yard, pieces appeared like rusted treasures in the tall grass. A tractor fan. Some pipe. And bearings and bolts that required every muscle to remove.

Drawing from Memory Say, Allen. Drawing from Memory. New York: Scholastic, 2011.

Annotation Allen Say, who has published many beloved books for children, recounts his childhood in Japan before immigrating to the United States. He loved drawing from a young age, but his father discouraged him. Fortunately the Japanese artist Noro Shinpei recognized Say’s talent and mentored him.

Excerpt I was born in 1937 by the seashore of Yokohama, Japan. Our house stood near a fishing village. My playmates were the children of fishermen. Mother constantly worried that I might drown in the sea. She tried to keep me at home. She taught me to read before I started school, and that made me very popular among neighborhood kids. I could read comic books to them! I was like a little kamishibai man, a traveling storyteller with picture cards. My mother’s ploy worked. Comic books kept me at home. I read them for hours and stared at the pictures. I decided to become a cartoonist when I grew up. I drew what I saw and what I imagined, and I copied from comic books….

Excerpt Noro Shinpei! My favorite cartoonist! He took on a student—a poor boy from Osaka only three years older than me! I had been reading his comic strips since I was in Mrs. Morita’s class. His books were my secret treasures I hid from my parents. They had the first dinosaurs I’d ever seen, and there were a lot of wild animals and boy heroes and supernatural bad men, all fighting one another. But I liked his horses best and copied them in my school notebooks. Mother used to shake her head but didn’t tell Father. By the time I moved to Tokyo, Noro Shinpei’s style had changed. The scary characters disappeared, and dinosaurs were very funny now. And he started to put himself in some of his stories, usually dressed like a monk with wild hair. Would the great man take on another student? I wondered.

The Firefly Letters: A Suffragette’s Journey to Cuba Engle, Margarita. The Firefly Letters: A Suffragette’s Journey to Cuba. New York: Holt, 2010.

Annotation Fredrika Bremer, Sweden’s first female novelist and a suffragette, travelled to Cuba in 1851 and met Cecilia, an enslaved African. Cecilia had a lung illness so Fredrika enlists the help of her owner to move Cecilia away from the smokestacks to the country. It is there that they meet and talk with the enslaved, freed slaves, and country people. Soon, a friendship blossoms. On one occasion, Fredrika accidentally witnesses the arrival of illegal slave ships. At the time, Cuban girls and women, represented by Elena in Engle’s verse, were not allowed outside. Elena envies Cecilia’s ability to travel freely with Fredrika, and eventually makes possible the freedom of Cecilia’s unborn child.

Excerpt Cecilia Fredrika’s visit is touching my life in ways I could never have imagined. She has asked Elena’s father to give us a little house in the big garden where the two of us can live in peace, surrounded by cocuyos—fireflies— instead of chandeliers. Together, we walk over hills and valleys to see sugar plantations and coffee groves. We visit fields owned by wealthy planters and tiny patches of corn and yams that belong to freed slaves who live in little huts that look like paradise.

Excerpt We ride across rivers in small boats, carrying bags of cookies and bananas to share with all the children, dogs, goats, and tame flamingos that follow us wherever we go, begging for treats, and hearing stories about the North Star.

Excerpt Elena Cecilia asks me for help— Fredrika has taken to her bed with a sick headache that goes on day after day, for a week. . . . I cannot believe that Cecilia allowed Fredrika to watch one of the secret ships as it dropped its cargo on the beach. Transporting slaves is forbidden by a treaty with England— that is why the price of each slave is so high. Even though ships from Africa are illegal, Papá and the other planters know to keep them coming, each with seven or eight hundred new slaves, mostly children who are less likely to rebel or escape.

Excerpt Fredrika I ask Cecilia to walk with me toward the sound of the drums. We find ourselves following a long trail to a distant plantation, where slaves dance in front of the windowless barracoons where they must sleep at night in chains, behind locked doors. I sketch the dancers until an overseer notices me and seizes my notebook and tears out the pages. He uses his whip to end the dance. He chases me away, with Cecilia at my side, coughing and weeping. I am ready to leave Cuba, but how can I go—how can I abandon this sick girl who has worked so hard to help me understand this beautiful island with its hideous ways?

Honda: The Boy Who Dreamed of Cars Weston, Mark, and Katie Yamasaki (Illus.). Honda: The Boy Who Dreamed of Cars. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2008.

Annotation Ever since Soichiro Honda saw his first car at age seven, he dreamed of working with cars. Soichiro never excelled in school and when he was fifteen he moved to Tokyo to work in a mechanic shop. This was Soichiro’s first step toward achieving his dream of making his own car. Soichiro’s career began simply, cleaning up the mechanics garage but he would soon learn how to repair cars. Once he learned all he could about fixing cars, Soichiro opened his own mechanic shop closer to his home town. He was the most popular mechanic in town, but this was not Honda’s dream. After settling down and starting a family, he began creating racecars. This later led to him creating better piston rings. He also opened his own motorcycle company and then finally invented his first car, the Honda Civic. Though Soichiro had to start at the bottom, he quickly worked his way up in the business of automobiles and eventually achieved his life long dream.

Excerpt One day when Soichiro was seven, a man drove a rumbling Ford Model T through town. Soichiro had never seen a car before. He ran beside it, amazed by the many moving parts. When he could not run no farther, Soichiro crouched down and smeared his hands in a puddle of oil the car had left behind. He liked the smell. Someday I will learn how a car works and make one myself, he thought. Soichiro was not a good student. Book learning did not make sense to him, but machinery did. When he was fifteen Soichiro moved to Tokyo, Japan’s largest city. He found work in a garage where the owner, a mechanic, repaired American-made cars. At first the garage owner was harsh. “Don’t touch the cars Soichiro,” he said. “Your job is to sweep my garage and clean the tools. Nothing else. Do NOT touch the cars!”

Excerpt Soichiro almost quit. “I want to learn how cars work,” he muttered to himself. “I didn’t come to a big city to sweep the floor.” but he decided to stay. He thought that if he kept the garage spotless, maybe the owner would be impressed and teach him to be a mechanic. Day after day Soichiro swept the garage and cleaned the tools. He worked hard and did not complain. After he finished his assigned duties, Soichiro watched the garage owner work. When the mechanic let him, Soichiro handed the man the tools he needed while he repaired the cars. The garage owner noticed Soichiro’s dedication. After almost a year he finally told the boy he was a good worker. “Now I will show you how to make some basic repairs,” he said. Soichiro was thrilled. “Domo arigato gozaimasu,” he said, bowing low. “Thank you very much.”

The Illustrator's Notebook Ellabbad, Mohieddin. The Illustrator's Notebook. Toronto: Groundwood, 2006.

Annotation This is a book about the illustrator Mohieddin Ellabbad. Using his beautiful illustrations he explains his life in Egypt. He uses some words, but mostly illustrations to show the reader how he sees things, and why he draws things a certain way.

Excerpt First Impression Once I was all alone in the middle of a big field by my grandfather’s house. Suddenly, the huge shadow of an airplane slid across the earth, completely engulfing me before it raced away at lightning speed, chasing after the plane that was soaring through the air above me. A shiver of pleasure went through my body, I felt like I had just received a wonderful gift. I said to myself, maybe I will be able to travel in a plane one day! Much time has passed since, then and I’ve grown up. Although I often travel by air now, I always look out the window to follow the shadow of the plane on the ground. And I always try to see the children that the shadow skims over. Are they also dreaming of traveling one day?

Excerpt The Artist and the Flowers A few years ago when I was anxious and unhappy, I was asked to draw a bush with seven flowers on it for a counting book. You can see my illustration at the top of this page. Time passed, and I found relief from anxiety and worries. Feeling much easier, I looked back at the drawings, and I didn’t like it all. I sat down at my drawing table to do the same illustration again. Here is the new picture can you see the difference? Cats Here are drawings of cats from many different countries. Some are very recent, while others are hundreds, even thousands of years old. Their creators are famous artists, except for one, which was drawn by an unknown child. All of these cats are different, and all of them are beautiful. When I was younger, I looked at all of these drawings to decide how I should draw a cat. Years have passed, and I have learned one very important thing.

I have had to forget about all these cats in order to draw my cat, the cat that I know, the cat that lives in my world. My cat may be different from all the others, but it will be my very own. Excerpt

M.L.K.: Journey of a King Bolden, Tonya. M.L.K.: Journey of a King. New York: Abrams, 2007.

Annotation Bolden’s is a creative, unique, and powerful contribution to the biographies of Martin Luther King, Jr. Although the familiar details of King’s childhood and education are present ,and well-‐illustrated through many photographs, Bolden focuses on King’s vision of the “beloved community,” and “agape” love.

Excerpt Part I: “How Could I Love a Race of People Who Hated Me?” Week of Shock -‐Vietnam: Burst of Hope -‐Convulsion in U.S. Politics -‐EXCLUSIVE PICTURES The Murder in Memphis These words, white type on black, headlined the April 12, 1968, issue of Life magazine. Inside, readers received details on possible peace talks between North and South Vietnam and insights on President Johnson’s bombshell of an announcement that he would not seek reelection. Deeper into the magazine, a photo essay on the murder in Memphis appears. Most riveting and remembered is the photograph of a scene on a balcony of the Lorraine Motel. People point toward a boardinghouse across the way. You can

Excerpt almost hear them shout, Over there! Over there! At their feet, a downed man. A white towel covers his rifle-‐shot shattered jaw. “Oh.” One eyewitness believed that was the last word the man tried to say. About an hour later, he was pronounced dead. “M.L.” his father had nicknamed him. “M.L.” he had called himself, keeping it simple long before his life became so intense. “Oh”? If so, as in Oh, no, I don’t want to go! or as in Oh, my God!, beholding the Shekinah Glory. Oh. As his blood haloed around his head, perhaps life notes flashed across his mental sky and he saw the boy he once was: so grieved by the sight of desperate souls in Great Depression breadlines; so free from poverty’s claws, thanks to dutiful, domineering Daddy; so nourished into a sense of somebodiness by mild-‐mannered Mother Dear. Much love was also lavished on him by Mother Dear’s mother. Her eyes shined brightest at the sight of him, he sensed, and her illness,

Excerpt then death, had him jumping from a second-‐story window of his home, leaving people to puzzle whether it was a foolish attempt to prove himself brave or a desire to die because he could not bear the pain. Oh. As the fire shut up in M.L.’s bones embered, perhaps he heard his young self singing in the choir—church so ever present in his life, like water for fish, but his soul unconvinced. He only answered the altar call because his big sister had. In Sunday school, he once voiced doubt about a bottom-‐line belief for most Christians: that Jesus literally rose from the dead. As M.L. lay dying, he may have glimpsed snippets of distant days when racism cut him to the quick, as happened when a white man who owned a store near his home banned his son’s friendship with M.L. shortly before the boys started elementary school—the white boy going to one for whites, M.L. to one for blacks. There was the day a clerk wouldn’t let him try on a pair of shoes unless he and his father took seats in the back of the store.

My Name Is Seepeetza Sterling, Shirley. My Name Is Seepeetza. Toronto: Groundwood, 2007. (Original work published in 1992)

Annotation Based on the author’s experience of forced attendance at an Indian residential school in Canada, this book tells of Seepeetza’s love for her childhood home love—the home that she, at age six, is forced to leave. At the school, her language is forbidden, her name is changed, and her hair cut. Her memories of home, and the little pleasures she somehow finds in daily life, see her through.

Excerpt Thursday, September 11, 1958 Kalamak Indian Residential School Today my teacher Mr. Oiko taught us how to write journals. You have to put the date and place at the top of the page. Then you write about what happens during the day. I like journals because I love writing whatever I want. Mr. Oiko says a good way to start is to talk about yourself, where you live, your age, grade, what kind of family you have. My name is Martha Stone. I am twelve years old in grade six at the Kalamak Indian Residential School. It’s next to the Tomas River across from the city of Kalamak, British Columbia….

Excerpt There are four hundred of us Indian students here and we come from all over B.C. The principal is Father Sloane, a priest….Ten nuns are teachers and girls’ supervisors. Sister Theodosia is the intermediate supervisor. We call her Sister Theo. We are divided into juniors grades one to four, intermediate grades five to eight, and seniors grades nine to twelve. Each group stays in different dormitories called dorms, and recreation rooms called recs. We’re not allowed to leave our own rec or dorm except for meals. The nuns and priests have their own dining rooms, but we eat in the main dining room.

Excerpt There’s a wall between the boys’ side and girls’ side. One of the Sisters watches us eat, but not when we walk back to our recs. That’s when my sisters Dorothy and Missy and I sometimes hold hands as we walk down the hall. It’s the happiest part of my day. My best friend is my cousin Cookie. Her mother is Mamie, my mum’s sister. Cookie is only my friend sometimes because she’s in grade five and mostly she plays with her grade five friends. I told Cookie I want to write secret journals for one year. She won’t tell on me. I’ll write a short one every day for Mr. Oiko. Then in Thursday library time and on weekends when Sister Theo is busy I’ll write this one in a writing tablet titled arithmetic.

Excerpt I’ll get in trouble if I get caught. Sister Theo checks our letters home. We’re not allowed to say anything about the school. I might get the strap, or worse. Last year some boys ran away from school because one of the priests was doing something bad to them. The boys were caught and whipped. They had their heads shaved and they had to wear dresses and kneel in the dining room and watch everybody eat. They only had bread and water to eat for a week. Everybody was supposed to laugh at them and make fun of them but nobody did. I don’t like school. We have to come here every September and stay until June. My dad doesn’t like it either, but he says it’s the law. All status Indian kids have to go to residential schools.

Excerpt ….We live on Joyaska Ranch near a little town called Firefly. It’s about a hundred miles from Kalamak. We get to go home in the summer, at Christmas and sometimes at Easter. When we’re at home we can ride horses, go swimming at the river, run in the hills, climb trees and laugh out loud and holler yahoo anytime we like and we won’t get into trouble. At school we get punished for talking, looking at boys in church, even stepping out of line. I wish I could live at home instead of here….Thursday, February 5, 1959 Brother Reilly talked to me about writing today. He’s the grade seven teacher. He was reading our stories on the bulletin board in the library when were taking books out. He called me over to talk about my legend.

Nelson Mandela Nelson, Kadir. Nelson Mandela. New York: HarperCollins, 2013.

Annotation A tranquil face, whose eyes looked upon evil and chose to stand and fight instead of turn away, Nelson Mandela is not only a picture biography, but a work of art and an inspiration to all ages. Through the beautiful words and captivating illustrations of Kadir Nelson, readers are transported back in time to the childhood of Nelson Mandela. Nelson’s father dies when he is only nine years old and he hears the tribal elders speak; these events change his life forever.

Excerpt Rolihlahla played barefooted on the grassy hills of Qunu. He fought boys with sticks and shot birds with slingshots. The smartest Madiba child of thirteen, he was the only one chosen for school. His new teacher would not say his Xhosa name. She called him Nelson instead. Nelson was nine when his father joined the ancestors in the sky. To continue his schooling, Nelson was sent miles away to live with a powerful chief. “Brace yourself, my boy.” His mother held her tears and said good-‐bye.

Excerpt The chief held counsel to warriors, medicine men, farmers, and laborers. The elder ones told stories of old Africa. For centuries Thembu, Pondo, Xhosa, and Zulu peoples lived in the mountains and valleys of South Africa. The land was bountiful, fertile, and rich. The people hunted, fished, and raised crops, living in relative peace. But they made war on European settlers who came in search of land and treasure. The settlers’ weapons were stronger and breathed fire. Slowly, the people were conquered. Their land was taken and spirits dimmed. South Africa belonged to Europe.

Excerpt The elders grew quiet and Nelson felt sorry. ……… Nelson was an old man. After twenty-‐seven and one-‐half years, the prison gates opened and Nelson was at last set free. Thousands surrounded him and Winnie hugged him. Nelson looked into the sky and smiled at the ancestors. “Amandla! Thank you.” The sun sparkled in his gray and white hair.

Excerpt Nelson stood proudly with the wind at his back and spoke to the colorful sea of people. “We must forget our terrible past and build a better future for South Africa. Let us continue to fight for justice and walk the last mile to freedom.” Millions were given the vote and elected Nelson Mandela their new leader. South Africa was free at last and finally at peace. The ancestors, The people, The world, Celebrated. Amandla! Ngawethu!

The Poet Slave of Cuba: A Biography of Juan Francisco Manzano Engle, Margarita, and Sean Qualls (Illus.). The Poet Slave of Cuba: A Biography of Juan Francisco Manzano. New York: Holt, 2006.

Annotation This is a biography of Juan Francisco Manzano who was enslaved in Cuba in 1797. As a house slave, Juan was treated nicely, in comparison to field hands. But, he was not educated. Juan taught himself to read by memorizing plays and poems. When Juan was traded to another slave master, she was as cruelty itself. Juan was taken away from his parents and whipped often. Juan wrote poems in secrecy until he escaped from his awful master. The book is written entirely in a poetic format using stanzas instead of paragraphs. This is how Juan would have written as he was going through this journey told in the story.

Excerpt My mind is a brush made of feathers painting pictures of words I remember all that I see every syllable each word a twin of itself telling two stories at the same time one of sorrow the other hope I love the words written with my feathery mind in the air and with my sharp fingernails on leaves in the garden

Excerpt When my owner catches a whiff of the fragrance of words engraved in the flesh of succulent geranium leaves or the perfumed petals of alelí flowers then she frowns because she knows that I dream with my feathers my wings Poetry cools me, syllables calm me I read the verses of others the free men and know that I’m never alone

Excerpt Poetry sets me aflame I grow furious dangerous, a blaze of soul and heart, a fiery tongue a lantern at midnight My first owner was sweet to me I was her pet, a new kind of poodle my pretty mother chosen to be her personal handmaid My mother María del Pilar Manzano a slave

Excerpt These were my mother’s duties: dress La Marquesa undress her cool her skin with a palm-‐leaf fan answer questions never ask collect milk from new mothers in the huts near the fields slave milk, the lotion used for softening the skin of noble ladies This my mother accomplished: deliver the milk grind eggshells and rice into powder for making la cascarada a pale shell for hiding the darkness of Spaniards who pretend to be pale in our presence

Excerpt Together we belonged along with countless others human beasts of burden to Doña Beatríz de Justíz, La Marquesa the proud Marchioness Justíz de Santa Ana noble wife of Don Juan Manzano who shares my name even though he is not my father Don Juan rules El Molino his plantation on this island of sugar and many other sweet illusions

Sixteen Years in Sixteen Seconds: The Sammy Lee Story Yoo, Paula, and Dom Lee (Illus.). Sixteen Years in Sixteen Seconds: The Sammy Lee Story. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2005.

Annotation Since Sammy Lee was a young boy he loved to dive and he dreamed of going to the Olympics and winning a gold medal. His father had a different plan for him; he wanted his son to become a doctor. Sammy managed to keep his grades high and perfect his diving. The road to the Olympics was not an easy one. Sammy had to work very hard. Being Korean, he was often discriminated against. He wasn’t allow to into certain places, such as the pool, unless it was on the assigned day for colored people. Since the pool was only open to people of color on Wednesdays, Sammy had to practice diving into sandpits the rest of the week. After the death of his father Sammy took time away from practicing diving and studied to be a doctor; he discovered his love for medicine. Sammy still wanted to fulfill his dream of getting a gold medal; in 1948 Sammy was allowed time off from work and trained for the Olympic games in London. He trained his whole life for this moment and he was able to achieve his goal; Sammy received a perfect score and became an Olympic champion.

Excerpt At the age of twenty-‐eight, Sammy qualified to be a member of the U.S. Olympic diving team. The diving competition was held at the Empire Pool in Wembley Stadium in London. Sammy was in awe as he entered the stadium. Here he was, the son of Korean immigrants, representing the United States at the Olympics. He knew his family would be proud. Sammy’s first diving event was the 3-‐meter springboard dive. He was nervous, and the excitement was almost unbearable. At previous competitions, Sammy would usually put lamb’s wool in his ears to block out the crowd so he could concentrate. But Sammy was finally at the Olympics. He did not want to miss a thing. He took out his earplugs so he could hear everything. Sammy stood on the diving board. He was sure everybody could hear his heart beating. Then he focused himself, jumped high, and made one of his best dives ever. It won him the bronze medal.

Excerpt Sammy was happy but not satisfied. He wanted to win a gold medal. He knew his strength lay in the upcoming 10-‐meteer platform event. Here was his chance to show he was the greatest diver in the world. Right before the event, Sammy heard some rumor that there might be some prejudice against him because he wasn’t white. This only added to his determination to win. Sammy remained calm. “I’m going for the gold,” he told his teammates before climbing up the ladder. He no longer wanted to win just for himself. He wanted to win to prove that no one should be judged by the color of his or her skin.

4-‐5 Band: Folklore The Invisible Princess by Faith Ringgold Magic Hoomeats: Horse Tales from Many Lands retold by Josepha Sherman: Linda Wingerter, illustrator

The Invisible Princess Ringgold, Faith. The Invisible Princess. New York: Crown, 1999.

Annotation This is the story about two slaves named Mama and Papa Love. They were given these names because of their love for children, but never had children of their own for fear that they would one day be sent away. Then one day The Great Lady of Peace came to tell Mama Love that she was going to have a baby girl; she would not be an ordinary girl, she was going to be a princess. The Great Lady of Peace promised that the girl would be invisible so that the mean slave owner would not make her into a slave. The princess was born and then turned invisible to keep her safe. Then as time went on the slave owner’s daughter, who was blind, seen the invisible princess and told her father. Her father then searched for this princess and when he could not find her said he was going to send Mama and Papa Love away so that they would never see each other or the princess ever again. The slave owners daughter warned the invisible princess and she knew she had to help her parents. With the help of Great Lady of Peace, the invisible princess turns all the slaves invisible; they slaves were now free.

Excerpt One day, the Great Lady of Peace came to tell Mama Love that in spite of all her fears she was soon to have a baby girl, who would be the envy of all who saw her. The Great Lady of Peace promised that the little girl would grow up to be a princess, who would bring peace, freedom, and love to the slaves’ Village of Visible. Mama Love was very happy, but she was frightened, too, for she knew that if Captain Pepper got wind of this, he would want to make the baby princess a slave. So Mama Love begged the Great Lady of Peace to hide her baby and protect her freedom. And so the Great Lady of Peace asked the Prince of Night to conceal the beautiful princess in his great cloak of darkness and keep her forever safe from human eyes.

Excerpt On the morning the baby was to be born, the sun shone brightly and the flowers blossomed and the birds sang sweetly and the bees swarmed and buzzed in chorus and everyone in the slaves’ tiny Village of Visible could feel a strange sense of peace and love that they had never felt before. As the beautiful baby princess cam into the world, the Prince of Night appeared and spread his black cloak across the sky, turning day into the blackest night. The sudden darkness woke the Terrible Storm King, who flew into a thunderous rage, releasing tumultuous rains and hurricane winds on the Village of Visible. It was during this storm that the Prince of Night wrenched the beautiful baby from Mama Love’s arms and disappeared with her tiny body into the stormy night.

Magic Hoomeats: Horse Tales from Many Lands Sherman, Josepha, and Linda S. Wingerter (Illus.). Magic Hoomeats: Horse Tales from Many Lands. Cambridge, MA: Barefoot, 2004.

Annotation Magic Hoo„eats contains several different stories about different mystical horses that live in all parts of the world. These horses are all different; some can fly and others can talk. They all have their own strengths. The main goal of these horses is to make sure that they always help the good people defeat the evil.

Excerpt The people of Iran have an ancient saying: “When our children are between the ages of seven and seventeen, we teach them two lessons: how to tell the truth and how to ride,” so it is not a surprise that horse riding has been a central part of Iranian culture for many centuries. In fact, the history of horses in Iran reaches back to the third millennium BC. Iran used to be known as Persia. The horse that is unique to this region is Caspian, which is probably the most ancient domestic breed of horse in existence. The Caspian horse is represented in carving at the ancient capital of the Persian Empire, Persepolis, and it also appears on the seal of King Darius, who ruled Persia in the sixth century BC. This regal breed is quite exquisite – it has a delicate head and a dished face, like that of an Arab horse, with large, prominent eyes, flaring nostrils, and a silky mane and tail. It is very spirited, with a proud bearing, and seems almost to float as it moves, with its head and tail held high. Yet it stands just 10 to 12 hands high, making it smaller than the average modern-‐day pony!

Excerpt The Caspian horses disappeared from history when the Muslims conquered Persia in AD 627. Until 1965, everyone believed that they were extinct. Then an American woman, Louise Firouz, who ran a riding school for children in Tehran, heard rumors of a wild herd of miniature horses in the remote Elburz mountains in northern Iran, near the Caspian Sea. She set out on horse back to track them down – and found her way to a scattered group of about thirty small horses, which she immediately recognized as Caspians. She brought back thirteen of the horses, and blood tests proved her belief that they belonged to the ancestral breed from which Arabian and other hot-‐blooded horses are all descended.

4-‐5: Informational Texts 1621: A New Look at Thanksgiving by Catherine O’Neill Grace and Margaret M. Bruchac; photographs by Sisse Brimberg and Cotton Coulson Emancipation Proclamation: Lincoln and the Dawn of Liberty by Tonya Bolden Heart and Soul by Kadir Nelson Let It Shine: Stories of Black Women Freedom Fighters by Andrea Davis Pinkney; Stephen Alcorn (Illus.). Sit-‐in: How Four Friends Stood Up by Sitting Down by Andrea Davis Pinkney and Brian Pinkney (Illus.) Songs from the Loom by Monty Roessel

1621: A New Look at Thanksgiving Grace, Catherine O’Neill Grace, Margaret M. Bruchac, Sisse Brimberg and Cotton Coulson (Photos.). 1621: A New Look at Thanksgiving. Washington, DC: National Geographic, 2001.

Annotation This book emerges from the research of the Plimouth Plantation, Massachusetts, which is a living-‐history museum. The authors seek to give voice to the Native perspective on Thanksgiving, and the myths surrounding this holiday.

Excerpt On the autumn day Winslow described in his letter, when Governor Bradford sent four men to hunt wildfowl, the Wampanoag in the area no doubt heard the shooting. When the Englishmen started marching and firing their muskets in unison, the noise got even louder. It is likely nearby Native people felt that Massasoit should be informed. Perhaps Massasoit wondered if the English were preparing for war. We may never know, but the fact that he showed up with 90 men, and apparently no women, shows he was being cautious. When it became clear the English were celebrating, Massasoit sent some of his men to hunt deer for meat to contribute to the feast. Once it was seen to be safe, it is likely that Native women and children, particularly Hooamock’s family, joined them.

Excerpt For three days, the English and Native people met and ate together. In English style, Massasoit and his advisers probably ate with the leading men of the colony at a “high table” which featured the best food. Tables were probably set up both indoors and outdoors for the other diners. Men, women, and children all helped in getting and preparing the food. This work included butchering the deer, grinding corn, plucking birds, gathering shellfish, roasting meat, and preparing whatever else was at hand. Other “entertainments” took place, which probably included playing ball, competitive sports, singing, music, and perhaps even dancing. The Wampanoag were especially fond of games of chance.

Emancipation Proclamation: Lincoln and the Dawn of Liberty Bolden, Tonya. Emancipation Proclamation. New York: Abrams, 2013.

Annotation This brilliantly written book by Tonya Bolden offers vivid glimpses into Lincoln’s life and decisions, and his relationship with Frederick Douglass. During his presidency, Lincoln had run-‐ins with John Brown, who was an anti slavery activist. Lincoln, during his running, had many issues to contend with such as North vs. South land issues and, obviously, slavery. Pressing into the 1860’s, the violence between the North and South had center stage and ultimately, the Civil War broke out. The book ends with a timeline and a synopsis of the thirteenth amendment, which ultimately ended slavery in the United States.

Excerpt: On August 20, 1861, from his base in St. Louis, Fremont put Missouri under martial law. In outlining what it is meant to be under military rule, he proclaimed that, among other things, Confederate sympathizers would have their property seized. If that property included people, they would be freed! Whoa! Lincoln, who learned of Fremont’s decree in the newspaper, couldn’t let that stand. He promptly wrote to Fremont, pressing him to void the passage on freedom. Confiscation was fine, but freedom was political dynamite. It would, said Lincoln, “alarm our Southern Union friends, and turn them against us-‐ perhaps ruin our rather fair prospect for Kentucky.” Lincoln worried about Kentucky for good reason.

Excerpt Back in April, when the president called out to the states for troops to put down the rebellion, his birth state had refused. Its governor, Beriah Magoffin, responded thusly: “I say, emphatically, Kentucky will furnish no troops for the wicked purpose of subduing her sister Southern states.” Then, within weeks, Kentucky officially declared neutrality. After Fremont refused to revise his proclamation, Lincoln did it for him. (Their relationship was beyond repair. Before the year was out, the general was relieved of command.) Many Union loyalists cheered Lincoln for revoking Fremont’s freedom edict. But not abolitionists. They bombarded the president with letters of protest, pilloried him in publications, and commiserated with one another over what they saw as his maddening timidity. Abolitionists clamored all the louder for Lincoln to champion black liberty as key to Union victory.

Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans Nelson, Kadir. Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans. New York: Harper Collins Publisher, 2011.

Annotations Heart and Soul captures the true identity of the African American people. It takes the reader on a century long journey filled with information both known and unknown in search of true freedom.

Excerpt Come years later, we saw more terrible wars; we saw leaders like Dr. King, Malcolm Shabazz, and Bobby Kennedy shot and killed by people who, as Dr. King put it, “cannot disagree without being disagreeable.” We watched cities burn, a man walk on the moon, presidents impeached, the Berlin Wall come down, millions more Americans march on Washington; we followed controversial elections and watched broken levees drown most of a city. There’d be plenty of trouble in the world, but a lot of joy, too. Black folks began to do things that only decades before we hadn’t dreamed of. African American generals commanded great armies for the first time. Black mayors and governors were elected in large cities. There were black principals of integrated schools, managers and owners of major professional sports teams. African American writers, actors, and directors won Nobel Prizes and Academy Awards. And we saw the first black Supreme Court justices and astronauts. There were plenty of firsts, honey. But the best was saved for last.

Excerpt Forty-‐five years after Dr. King spoke on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, I marched my old legs to the polls along with millions of other Americans to vote in an historic election. It was the first time that an African American—Barack Obama—had won the Democratic nomination and appeared on the national ballot for president of the United States. As I cast my vote, I thought about my grandfather Pap, who didn’t live to see this moment, and my three children and two brothers, who did; I thought about my mother and father, and my aunts and uncles; I thought about Abe Lincoln, Frederick Douglass, and Harriet Tubman; I thought about presidents Kennedy and Johnson, Dr. King, Thurgood Marshall, the Freedom Riders, the marchers, and all of the people who lived and died so that I might walk into this booth and cast my vote. I thought about them all and smiled; and as I walked away, I closed my eyes and said, “Thank you.”

Let It Shine: Stories of Black Women Freedom Fighters Pinkney, Andrea Davis, and Stephen Alcorn (Illus.). Let It Shine: Stories of Black Women Freedom Fighters. San Diego: Harcourt, 2009.

Annotation This is a collection of biographies of ten strong Black women who fought for the rights of African Americans. Some of these women are well-‐known for their efforts, but a few of them are less well-‐known. Pinkney includes Sojourner Truth, Biddy Mason, Harriet Tubman, Ida B. Wells-‐Barnett, Mary McLeod Bethune, Ella Josephine Baker, Dorothy Irene Height, Rosa Parks, Fannie Lou Hamer, and Shirley Chisholm.

Excerpt Harriet (Tubman) now ached for freedom more than ever. She had learned of the abolitionists, who sought to end slavery. These people had created a system for hiding runaway slaves who were heading north. The abolitionists called their hide-‐and-‐help network the Underground Railroad. Word spread among the Brodas slaves that a white woman who lived nearby was helping runaways use the Underground Railroad. Whenever folks got to speaking this woman’s name, Harriet listened carefully. One night, without telling her husband, Harriet gathered three of her brothers. She showed them the North Star and urged them to escape with her right then. Harriet’s brothers agreed. But as they followed Harriet, their fear of getting caught became too big. Harriet did her best to persuade them to keep on, but all three refused. And they made Harriet return to the Brodas plantation with them. Harriet relented. She sneaked back with her brothers but vowed to herself that next time she’d flee alone and leave her scaredy-‐cat brothers behind.

Excerpt Mary (McLeod Bethune) had the gift of finding just the right words, delivered with respect and kindness for others. During her study to become a missionary, Mary preached on the streets of Chicago to people who were down on their luck or just needed a little boost in their spirits. She visited jails, slum houses, and hospitals, where she offered comfort and inspiration by leading people in prayer or singing a hymn. Mary could hardly wait to finish her studies at Moody; they would qualify her to carry out missionary work in Africa. But soon after graduation, in 1895, Mary was saddened to find there were no jobs for missionaries in Africa.

Sit-‐in: How Four Friends Stood Up by Sitting Down Pinkney, Andrea Davis, and Brian Pinkney (Illus.). Sit-‐in: How Four Friends Stood Up by Sitting Down. New York: Little, Brown, 2010.

Annotation Sit-‐In is based on the true events of the 1960 Sit-‐Ins. It tells the story of four Black male college students who started the sit-‐ins to stand up against racial injustices in the Southern states. After sitting in a Whites-‐only café in North Carolina daily for weeks, students acquired a large support following. Eventually, the sit-‐in became televised and groups from other states began to take a stand as well. Soon, students formed the SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee). In 1964, President Lyndon B. Johnson put in act the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed segregation in public places.

Excerpt As the sit-‐ins grew, angry people gave the students a big dose of hatred – served up hot and heaping. Coffee, poured down their backs. Milkshakes, flung in their faces. Pepper, thrown in their eyes. Ketchup – not on the fries, but dumped on their heads. They yelled at the students. “We don’t serve your kind!” “Go home!” Goodbye!” Soon folks were so busy arguing about who was right and who was wrong, that they stopped going to Woolworth’s and other segregated places. Some shops were forced to integrate to keep their businesses alive. But the struggle was far from over. In April, an activist named Ella Baker organized a student leadership conference at Shaw University in North Carolina to help the young demonstrators.

Songs from the Loom Roessel, Monty. Songs from the Loom. Minneapolis: Lerner, 1995.

Annotation Navajo photographer and author Monty Roessel explains Navajo weaving. His mother, Nalí Ruth, teaches his daughter, Jaclyn, how to weave the Navajo way. History is woven into the narrative.

Excerpt Jaclyn Roessel sat anxiously on the edge of her chair. Spread across the floor in front of her was a Navajo blanket. She stared at the intricate design of the rug as she listened to her Nalí—her father’s mother—tell stories. Today’s story was about the Long Walk. In the 1860s, the United States Army forced 8,000 Navajos to leave their homeland in what is now called the Four Corners area of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado. The Navajos had to march 250 miles to Fort Sumner in eastern New Mexico. More than 3,000 people died from starvation, the cold, or bullet wounds.

Excerpt But the story of the Long Walk is also one of triumph, because the Diné (the Navajo word for themselves, which means the People) never gave up hope that they would someday return to their homeland. After four years, their prayers were answered. The Navajos negotiated a treaty with the United States government that allowed them to go home, to Diné Bekayah, the land surrounded by the four sacred mountains. To the Navajos, a home is more than walls and a ceiling. A home is everything around you. The design of the tradition, Navajo home, called a hogan, imitates the land. The walls are like four mountains, and the ceiling is round like the sky.

Excerpt As Nalí Ruth ended the story, Jaclyn got off the chair and sat on the rug and tried to poke her finger through the yarn. She couldn’t. The rug was tightly woven, a sign of a good rug. “Nalí Ruth, can you teach me to weave?” Jaclyn said. “Shi Nalí, my son’s daughter, I was wondering when you were going to ask. I’ll teach you only if you are interested in learning the Navajo way to weave,” Ruth said…. “You must be willing to learn the songs and stories as well as the weaving process.”

4-‐5 Band: Novels: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Novels and Novellas Becoming Naomi Leon by Pam Muñoz Ryan Eagle Song by Joseph Bruchac The Heart of a Chief by Joseph Bruchac How Tía Lola Saved the Summer by Julia Alvarez Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key by Jack Gantos Rain Is Not my Indian Name by Cynthia Leitich Smith Return to Sender by Julia Alvarez Rules by Cynthia Lord Wanting Mor by Rukhsana Khan

Becoming Naomi León Muñoz-‐Ryan, Pam. Becoming Naomi León. New York: Scholastic, 2004.

Annotation Naomi Soledad León Outlaw is a soft spoken girl of Mexican and American descent. She lives with her great-‐grandmother, Mary and her little brother, Owen, in a trailer park in California. Naomi was abandoned by her mother, Skyla, who was too young to raise her children and wanted to “find” herself, alone. Skyla reappears after seven years to try and take Naomi away with her to Las Vegas to live with her and her new boyfriend, Clive. Skyla does not want Owen because of his disability. Mary will not let Skyla take Naomi away and decides to go to Mexico with friends in pursuit of finding their father. While in Mexico Naomi realizes she has always lived with the last name, Outlaw, and discovers that her father’s last name, León, was who she really was. They find their father in Mexico who writes a letter for Mary allowing her to continue raising his children. When the court date arrives, Skyla tries to convince the judge to grant her custody of the children. When the judge ask Naomi what would she like, she finally finds her voice and tells the judge the kind of person her mother really is.

Excerpt On the inside though, I was different. I had experienced Barrio Jalatlaco, Las Posadas, and quesillo. I had walked on cobblestone streets and thrown pottery at a church, just for the sake of good luck. Me! I had discovered my mother. I supposed Owen and I would always long for her a little and wondered what it would have been like if she had been different. Gram said Skyla could clean up her act and take us back to court someday but that we shouldn’t count those chickens before they hatched. Gram said it wasn’t likely that Skyla would make the effort to visit us, either, but if she did, I wouldn’t mind. I would like to feel her hands on my head, French braiding my hair again.

Excerpt I had also found my father, who had loved me for a long time without being nearby. How many others were walking around and not even knowing that someone far away cared for them? Imagine all that love floating in the air, waiting to land on someone’s life! Although we had discovered our parents, our lives with Gram were carved into our beings. We were her prizes, and that was good enough for us. Santiago had taught me that you must carve what your imagination dictates so that what is inside can become what it is meant to be. In the end, the figure will reveal itself for what it really is.

Excerpt It was true. In Mexico, I had seen carvings of wooden angels with horns, a parrot with a fish tail, a lizard with wings, a three-‐legged dog. I worked the same with people, too. A mother with a cat’s claw. A father with a lion’s heart. A great-‐grandmother with a bird’s protective outstretched wings. A mouse with a lioness’s voice. I hoped my father was right, that like the figures we carved from wood and soap, I was becoming who I was meant to be, the Naomi Soledad León Outlaw of my wildest dreams.

Eagle Song Bruchac, Joseph. Eagle Song. New York: Puffin Books, 1997.

Annotation Bigtree is a young boy struggling to find his place in the Big Apple, his new home away from the reservation. With support from his father, the once bullied Danny learns to accept his new home by embracing his culture.

Excerpt The Peacemaker and Aionwahta formed the plan for a Great League of Peace. The nations which had been at war would join together. They worked together for five years establishing the Great League. Then they returned together to Onondaga. Adodarhonh, who had done all he could to work against this league, knew they were coming. He hid himself so that no one could find him. But among the Onondagas were two men who could transform themselves into animals. One of them became a bear and the other became a deer, and they went into the forest to seek Adodarhonh. When they came back, they said, “We have found Adodarhonh. He is terrible to see. His body has seven great bonds in it and his hair is filled with snakes.” Then the Peacemaker and Aionwahta went with a great multitude of people to the place where Adodarhonh was hiding. As they went, they sang the Peace Hymn which Aionwahta had taught the people, the song given to him by the Great Turtle.

Excerpt Their powerful song pierced the air like the cry of the eagle. And they came at last, singing the Peace Hymn, to Adodarhonh’s lodge. Haii, haii Agwahw-‐yoh Haii, haii Agwahw-‐yoh They sang to heal the mind of Adodarhonh, and when he heard the Hymn of Peace, he could not move. Then the Peacemaker and Aionwahta entered Adodarhonh’s lodge. The Peacemaker held out his hand and straightened Adodarhonh’s body. Aionwahta combed the snakes from his hair. With his body and his mind healed, Adodarhonh stood and joined them.

The Heart of a Chief Bruchac, Joseph. The Heart of a Chief. New York: Puffin Books, 1998.

Annotation Living on the Penacook Indian Reservation and attending school in the nearby town defines the two worlds of sixth grader, Chris Nicola. His other name, used mostly by grandfather, Doda, is Log Resting Firm on Both Shores Wide Enough to Walk Upon. This strong name accurately describes the eleven year-‐old boy’s ability to bridge the gap between these two communities. A young activist at heart, Chris seems to perceive people and events with wisdom beyond his years. He is grounded in tradition and family customs, looking after his elders, Doda and Auntie along with his younger sister Celeste. When his Language Arts teacher, Mr. Dougal writes CONTROVERSIAL TOPICS, on the board for the next group report project, his circle of friends instantly chooses him as their leader, and the discussion begins to select a subject to research and report on.

Annotation When it is time to commit to a topic, “Using Indian names for sports teams,” is his group’s unanimous choice. Very fitting considering the school’s team name is the Chiefs! After stirring up controversy over the team’s name, he leads his circle of friends through a presentation that bridges the way to positive change. Finally he completes his mission to save the island in the heart of the Penacook people from the casino developers by coming up with a plan that satisfies the needs of all. This compromise and solution accurately demonstrate his heart of a chief.

Excerpt I listen, trying to hear more of Mito’s voice. But he is not saying anything more. The call is about to end. When we end a phone conversation we don’t say good-‐bye. It’s an English word and there is no word for good-‐bye in Indian. Usually we just wish the other person a good journey. But this time Auntie says something different before she hangs up. When Auntie speaks in English, sometimes her words aren’t quite right. At least that is what my Language Arts teacher would say. Auntie has a Penacook accent and she has a hard time with letters like F and sounds like sh. Words like Frenchman come out as Platzmon in Penacook.

Excerpt And sometimes she leaves words out too. Instead of saying “I am going to go to town,” she might say “I go town.” Some people would say she speaks broken English. But when she switches into Penacook, she speaks it with such beauty. Her voice gets stronger, even though it doesn’t get louder. There is so much power in her voice when she speaks Indian. I am sure that everything around is listening to her then, the birds, the trees, the wind. She ends the call in Penacook, saying to Mito, “We need you.” Except what she says means a lot more than that. It means that all of us, him included, need the person he really is.

Excerpt I hear her hang up. She pads back into the room where Celeste is sound asleep. In the bed next to me Doda sighs and then rolls over. I guess he was listening too. The call has made me think of so many things. I’m trying to feel happy. But mostly I feel worried. I wonder if Doda’s head is aching now. I wonder about what Auntie meant when she was talking to Mito about me. I wonder when my father will find himself and bring the person he really is back to us all.

How Tía Lola Saved the Summer Alvarez, Julia. How Tía Lola Saved the Summer. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2011.

Annotation Miguel lives in Vermont with his mother, little sister, and aunt (Tía ) Lola. Miguel has grand plans to kick off the summer, but his plans are soon dashed when his mother invites the Sword family to come spend a week with them. Mr. Sword is friend of his mother; a single dad raising his three daughters. He is coming to see if Vermont might be a new home for him and his family. Just in time to ruin Miguel’s summer. Tía Lola realizes how upset Miguel is and promises to keep the girls busy so they do not interfere with his summer plans and baseball practices. Tía Lola decides to have her own summer camp with all the children, and eventually, even Miguel joins in. They play different games and go on trips. During his week, everybody learns something new about themselves and conquer their one greatest obstacle. Thanks to Tía Lola this trip is better than anyone would have ever expected.

Excerpt After hugging each girl, Tía Lola announces: “Welcome to Tía Lola’s summer camp!” Summer camp? Miguel doesn’t know what on earth his aunt is talking about! And by the same looks on their faces, Mami and Juanita don’t either. But they do seem delighted to hear that Tía Lola is taking charge. The middle one’s interest is piqued. “You didn’t say it was going to be a camp,” she confronts her father. “What kind of camp?” she adds more suspiciously. “A magical one,” Tía Lola says, winking at the one and only Esperanza. “I’ve never been to a magical camp,” little Cari admits, hugging her father’s leg tightly, something she does when she is feeling excited or shy. “What do you say we go upstairs and settle you in?” Tía Lola suggests. “You might want to take a little rest. We have a long night ahead.”

Excerpt “We do? Victoria’s face brightens. This camp is starting to sound like a teenager’s idea of fun. “It won’t be scary, will it?” Little Cari had used up her quota of courage for today. After all, she has come as far as she has ever been from home to stay with some new friends Papa made in Vermont. “Not scary at all,” Tía Lola assures her. “A nighttime treasure hunt.” “A treasure hunt at night? But how can people even read the clues or see where the treasure is buried?” The middle one scoffs. But she sounds a tiny bit intrigued. “I have ways to make you see in the dark!” Tía Lola says mysteriously. “Remember this is a magic camp!”

Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key Gantos, Jack. Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1998.

Annotation Joey Pigza is a young boy whose life is ruled by his ADHD. Joey is a smart, funny and caring boy whose loving qualities are overshadowed by his ADHD. At school, Joey is constantly in trouble for either sticking his fingers in a pencil sharpener, spinning in the halls, shouting out loud, and the worst of all: running in the hall with scissors and cutting a student’s nose. Joey’s mother has to make the decision to give him ADHD medicine and place him in a special school. There, Joey finally gets the support he needs to learn to overcome his obstacles and return to his regular school with hope for the future.

Excerpt Usually I wake up with springs popping inside my head, like I’m in the middle of a pinball game where I’m the ball, and I shoot out of bed and directly to the kitchen where I ricochet around after food until by chance I snatch some toast off the counter, then go slamming off the padded stool tops like they were lighted bumpers and zing up the hall and into the bathroom where I try to brush my teeth, but I brush mostly my lips and chin and then I explode back out the door and across the living room and carom off the furniture until mom gets a grip on me and wipes the toothpaste off my face and works a pill down my throat.

Excerpt Then she holds the back of my head and pushes my face into her soft belly and just holds me like that for a few minutes, and if the meds are working I begin to settle down real well and when I pull my face away and look up at her she is smiling and stroking my head and if she is in a good mood we both start to laugh because it is so funny that I’ve just gone from being Ricochet Rabbit to Charlie Brown in no time flat. And this makes both of us happy.

Rain Is Not My Indian Name Smith, Cynthia Leitich. Rain Is Not My Indian Name. New York: HarperCollins, 2001.

Annotation Rain’s entire world comes crashing down when, on her fourteenth birthday, she finds out that her best friend Galen has died. For six months she stays in her house, finding ways to keep busy, and to keep her mind off Galen. Her brother tried convincing her to go to the Indian camp that her aunt is running that summer, but she has no interest. Ultimately, Rain decides that it is time to get out of the house, so she takes a job with the local newspaper photographing the campers at the Indian camp. While working with the newspaper and photographing the camp, Rain finds out that for the last six months people in the town have believed she was part of the reason Galen died. This was very hard for Rain to understand, but she quickly realizes that only she and Galen know what happened the night he passed away and that she can’t spend her whole life being upset about what happened in the past because she cannot change it.

Excerpt “My photographer,” the Flash said. “And I thought I lacked experience.” Ignoring him, I spotted Aunt Georgia’s tomato-‐red hair. She was one of five people seated beneath a tree across the park. “There,” I said pointing. “Now all I have to do is ask them whether I can shoot the story.” “Ask?” the Flash repeated. “We’re talking about a publicly funded program on public property.” It seemed disrespectful to barge in with camera ready, and I hoped that Natalie remembered to call Aunt Georgia earlier this morning. Natalie used to click of her things to do, but lately she hadn't been herself. “Why?” the Flash asked, glancing at my camera. “Will they think you’re trying to steal their souls or something?” It required a supreme effort, but I decided to be the professional one, so I kept my mouth shut. The Flash followed me, and our footsteps sank into the soggy grass.

Excerpt As the Flash I grew closer, Spence grinned at me. I’d heard Aunt Georgia speak to him now and then. The son of lawyers with an in-‐ground pool in their suburban backyard. A tad round for a Gap ad, though he dressed for the job. Played baseball. Into computers. He could’ve passed for a full-‐blood if it weren’t for his eyes. The only reason Spence and I hadn’t met already was that he’d been staying with his Osage grandparents in Pawhuska last summer when Aunt Georgia, Galen, and I had gone down to Okie City. Twins Dmitri and Marie Headbird had kicked off their sandals and placed them side by side in the grass. They were two of the local Native teenagers Mrs. Owen had mentioned in her letter the editor.

Return to Sender Alvarez, Julia. Return to Sender. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009.

Annotation Twelve year olds Tyler and Maria live on a dairy farm in Vermont. Tyler’s family owns the farm and is trying to keep the farm running after his father had an accident that left him unable to do as much work. Maria’s family has emigrated, undocumented, from Mexico, and her father and uncles have been hired to work on the farm. In Return to Sender, Tyler comes to terms with having the Mexican family on the farm and befriends the girls, while Maria deals with her feelings of being an outsider, missing her mother, and the fear of her family being discovered and deported.

Excerpt It is difficult to be the one different from my sisters. Some boys at my school made fun of me, calling me an “illegal alien.” What is illegal about me? Only that I was born on the wrong side of the border? As for “alien,” I asked the teacher’s helper, and she explained that an alien is a creature from outer space who does not even belong on this earth! So, where am I supposed to go? Even at home, I feel so alone sometimes. I cannot tell Papa about the boys making fun because he would pull us out of school, especially now that he is so protective after you left. I cannot speak to my little sisters, as I don’t want to worry them anymore than they are. Besides, Ofie has such a big mouth, I am afraid she would tell Papa whatever I tell her. And how could any of them understand why I feel so lonely? I am not like my sisters, who are little American girls as they were born here and don’t know anything else. I was born in Mexico, but I don’t feel Mexican, not like Papa and my uncles with all their memories and stories and missing it all the time.

Excerpt If only you were here, Mama, you would understand. Now that you are gone, Papa says I am to be the mother to my little sisters. “But who will be my mother?” I ask him. He just bows his head and gets so quiet for days on end. I’m not going to make him more sad by asking him that again.

Rules Lord, Cynthia. Rules. New York: Scholastic, 2006.

Annotation Catherine is twelve, a great artist, and loving and caring sister. Catherine has a younger brother, David, who is autistic. Like any older sister should, she tries to protect him at all costs even if that means creating strict rules for him to follow. Like any young girl, Catherine is insecure and worries about what other people think about David. Once Catherine meets Jason, a young boy in a wheel chair who cannot communicate, she realizes life is easier if you enjoy the small things that make you happy.

Excerpt “Wear your seat belt in the car,” David states. “That’s the rule.” “You’re right.” I click the seat belt across me and open my sketch book to the back pages. That’s where I keep all the rules I’m teaching David so if some-‐day-‐he’ll-‐wake-up-‐a-‐regular-‐brother wish doesn’t ever come true, at least he’ll know hoe the world words, and I wont have to keep explaining things. Some of the rules in my collection are easy and always: Say “excuse me” after you burb. Don’t stand in front of the TV when other people are watching it. But more are the complicated, sometimes rules. You can yell on the playground, but not during dinner. A boy can take off his shirt to swim, but not his shorts. Sometimes people don’t answer because they didn’t hear you. Other times it’s because they don’t want to hear you.

Excerpt I look between the fat boards and imagine my always-‐wish, my fingers reaching through the perfect top of David’s head, finding the broken places in his brain, turning knobs or flipping switches. All his autism wiped clean. Tomorrow I’m going to tell mom she has a point about David needing his own words, but other things matter, too. Like sharing something small and special just my brother and me. Kneeling beside David, our arms touching, our faces reflect side by side in the glass. I let that be enough.

Wanting Mor Khan, Rukhsana. Wanting Mor. Toronto: Groundwood Books, 2009.

Annotation Overcoming the devastating obstacles of a loss of a loved one, a facial deformity, and abandonment, Jameela, the young protagonist Wanting Mor rises above adversity with grace and dignity. This novel is based on a true story about a girl living in post-‐Taliban Afghanistan. Her mother, or Mor, dies leaving her alone with her father, a self-‐centered man who turns his back on his grieving daughter. He remarries and when his new wife quickly grows tired of young Jameela, he takes his only daughter to the marketplace and leaves her on her own. Jameela’s journey from lost child to confident young woman, gives a glimpse of life in a Muslim orphanage. Her Mother always told her “If you can’t be beautiful, you should at least be good. People will appreciate that.” Jameela is both beautiful and virtuous; her respect for traditions and courage against the unknown make her a well-‐loved character full of the essence of magnificence.

Excerpt “Come, Jameela. Stand right here. I need to do something.” I grab hold of his sleeve. “Where are you going?” His face is twisted. He doesn’t look at me. “Never mind.” I let go of his sleeve. He hitches up his shoulder to make his shirt fall properly. Then he takes five steps out into the crowd and does a strange thing. He looks back at me for a moment. Just for a moment, our gaze is locked over the distance that separates us. Then some people pass in front of me and when they move away he is gone. (page 50) There has been a new crop of arrivals at the orphanage. Some of the girls have families so poor they left them here, but at least they come to visit now and again. And then there are true orphans like Soraya, Zeba and Arwa. The only one who’s been totally abandoned is me, and they all know it.

Excerpt I can see it in their eyes when they pass me in the hallway, and I can see it in the way they pause in their whispering when I come into the prayer hall. Girls in groups of two, with their heads bent toward each other, looking right at me, talking out of the sides of their mouths. Saying how could her father do such a thing? It’s unnatural. What’s wrong with her that he would do such a thing? What did she do to deserve it? They’ll stop after a while if I just leave them alone. If I pretend it doesn’t bother me and keep my head high, they’ll eventually stop. The scar on my lip has faded. I look almost perfect. I wish Baba could see me this way. Would he change his mind and want me back? (Page 89)

4-‐5 Band: Novels: Fantasy and Science Fiction Novels and Novellas Summer of the Mariposas by Guadalupe Garcia McCall Craig Low of Lee & Low Books also recommended: Galaxy Games Monster in Mudball (we ran out of time)

Summer of the Mariposas Garcia McCall, Guadalupe. Summer of the Mariposas. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2012.

Annotation While swimming in the Rio Grande one lazy afternoon, the five Garza sisters encounter a sight that would change their lives forever: a mysterious dead body. In an effort to return the body to his family and home for a proper burial, the Garza sisters embark on a treacherous yet magical journey from Texas to Mexico. Along the way, they encounter icons of Mexican folklore such as La llorona, el chupacabra, and the Aztec goddess Tonantzin. Their epic adventure brings the girls closer together as well as to the answer they have been seeking as to the whereabouts of the father that left them.

ExcerptJuanita came back into the room, looking more like herself again. “You’re a lousy sister!” she yelled. “Enough!” I finally raised my voice the way Mamá does when she’s done putting up with them. “Now go to bed before I call Mamá back and tell her what’s really going on. And you, stop cursing, or I’ll wash your mouths out with Clorox.” To my surprise, the twins flounced off the bed. All four of my sisters marched out and down the hall to the kitchen without another word. I went out the front door, locked it, and put the spare key to the deadbolt in my pocket. There was no other set of keys in the house to that door, so if they wanted to open it again, they’d have to wait until Mamá came home or jump out a window. The thought had barely entered my mind when I heard the unmistakable sound of a window being slid open. I turned around to look at the darkened house. The only light was in Pita’s room, which faced the front.

ExcerptYou can’t back out of this! We out-‐vote you four to one!” Juanita screamed, her body halfway out the window. I lifted my hand in the air, my index finger extended. “Rule Number One of the code of the cinco hermanitas: The eldest sister has the final word. Always. Good night.” I left the yard, closing the gate behind me noisily, so they could hear me leaving even in the moonless night. Then I walked resolutely up the sidewalk toward Brazos Street. The thought of them escaping through a window made me cringe. I froze momentarily before I reached the corner, but then I realized they wouldn’t do that. They might be wild, but they depended on me for everything. If I wasn’t in on it, it usually didn’t fly. That was the beauty of following the code of the five little sisters. We really did do everything together.

4-‐5 Band: Novels: Historical Fiction Novels and Novellas Bat 6 by Virginia Euwer Wolff Morning Girl by Michael Dorris One Crazy Summer by Rita Garcia-‐Williams P.S. Be Eleven by Rita Williams Garcia A Single Shard by Linda Sue Park

Bat 6 Wolff, Virginia Euwer. Bat 6. New York: Scholastic, 1998.

Annotation World War II has just ended and life is slowly returning to normal. The Bear Creek Ridge and Barlow Road Grade schools are about to play their annual softball game. The sixth grade girls from each team train long and hard for this big game; it is their only opportunity. This year both schools welcome a new girl to team. Aki, a Japanese girl, will playing first base for Bear Creek Ridge. She and her family spent time in the Japanese internment camps during World War II. Barlow Road Grade School also has a new player, Shazam. She is living with her grandmother after losing her father in the attack on Pearl Harbor. Bat 6 is told through the point of view of all the girls on the team. They take turns sharing about themselves, their teams, and the new girls. This all leads up to the big softball game where Shazam hurts Aki because she is Japanese. The girls then share how this affected them and how they come to terms with all that has happened.

Excerpt Little Peggy, right field While we were lining up to do the traditional shaking hands with Barlow team, I was watching Mr. and Mrs. Porter standing with the Barlow coach and his wife, all laughing their heads off about something. I had been quite nervous about trying to play well, and I had woken up too early in the morning, full of worry. But seeing those coaches laughing and friendly, I was suddenly reminded it was just a game, it is not life and death who wins. But because I looked away at them I stepped in the wrong place in the lineup, and by accident I got between Aki and Lorelei. When I noticed my mistake and began to step out of line, we had to continue along shaking every hand, and Lorelei nudged me back into place ahead of her. so I ended up seeing something nobody else might have seen. It is because I am short and my head is lower to the ground, I suppose. Lorelei is much taller than me. She might not have looked down.

Excerpt We were going along shaking hands and I saw a Barlow girl start to shake Aki’s hand and then pull back like from a snake you might see in front of you. Then she fisted her hand against her stomach and moved along the line. She shook my hand and moved on to Lorelei. Refused to shake Aki’s hand. I personally could not believe it. I nudged Aki with my left hand while I was going on shaking with my right one. I said right up against her left ear, “I saw that. I’m gonna say something –” And Aki shook her head and said it was okay, it didn’t matter.

Morning Girl Dorris, Michael. Morning Girl. New York: Hyperion, 1994.

Annotation Morning Girl is a boisterous, energetic, twelve-‐year-‐old who rises before the sun while her brother, Star Boy, is a creature of the night. The siblings live with their mother and father on an undisclosed Bahamian island in the year 1492. Life in their village is idyllic, they are at peace with nature and with each other, as much as any brother and sister could be. The story of this Taino family alternates from each child’s perspective and tells of village and family life, relationships, and ultimately, their reaction to change. At the end of the book, it is Morning Girl who witnesses what will inevitably become the biggest change of all, the first arrival of the Europeans who are in search of gold.

Excerpt The wind was angry that I had discovered how to stop myself. It slapped my cheeks and banged my head and pulled at my elbows. And just as suddenly as it had come, my calmness was gone, yanked away from me. “Mother,” I yelled. “Father, I’m here.” At first there was no answer, nothing beyond the roar, but then… “It’s all right, Star Boy,” came a gnarled voice, coiled as the twist of knotted wood. “Stay with us, and you will be safe.” It was my grandfather, high above me. “It’s you, isn’t it?” I whispered, and he laughed the way I remembered, when he used to hold me against his warm skin and tell me stories about the sort of man I would grow up to be.

Excerpt “I’ll visit with you as long as this storm lasts,” he said. “You must sit very still, and you must never tell anyone that I was here or what I say. It will be a secret between us.” “At least one person,” I begged him. “You always argue, Star Boy,” he sighed. “All right. Only Morning Girl, but she won’t believe you.” Then we talked and talked and talked. Later, when the rain once again began to seek the ground, when the palm fronds still attached to trees could once again return to their usual shapes, when I caught sight of my mother running toward me through the tangle of broken branches and heard my father promising her that they would find me soon, I thanked my grandfather and told him good-‐bye.

One Crazy Summer Williams-‐Garcia, Rita. One Crazy Summer. New York: HarperCollins Children’s Books, 2010.

Annotation Cassius Clay clouds, batter the 727 plane of sisters, Delphine, Vonetta, and Fern, as they embark on a cross county excursion to visit the mother who had abandoned them immediately after Fern’s birth. This rocky beginning continues throughout the story. The three sisters, raised by their father and Big Ma, their paternal grandmother, travel from the rules and structure of life in Brooklyn, New York, to a revolutionary life in Oakland, CA. Eldest sister, Delphine was charged with the responsibility of taking care of her younger siblings, while bridging the chasm that separates them all from their mother. With Cecile’s unusual behavior and uncommon visitors, the girls find their detached mother difficult to relate to.

Annotation, continued Cecile’s unconventional parenting style includes closing herself inside the forbidden kitchen and refusing to cook for the girls. Forced to fend for themselves, the sisters walk down to The People’s Center, to eat breakfast each day and participate in a summer camp program run by The Black Panthers. Through the tough and battering changes that take place in many childhood summers a transformation occurs, and the sisters begin to develop an understanding of their poet mother and the tumultuous world of 1968.

Excerpt Cecile didn’t care where we went or what we did on Saturdays and Sundays, as long as we stayed far away from her peace and quiet. Our first weekend, we had played Go Fish and tic-‐tac-‐toe in our room and waited for Cecile to announce that we were going to some adventurous place that existed only in California. By the second weekend I knew we had to have a plan. Since the sun rose high that Saturday, I figured it was a good day to go to the beach and collect seashells for souvenirs. Vonetta, Fern, and I had put on our bathing suits and sunglasses, and I’d asked Cecile to take us to the beach. I had never spoken Martian to someone and had them give me the look that could only be given to a Martian.

Excerpt Instead of answering our question, Cecile gave us a look that said, Who are you and what planet did y’all come from? I ended up taking my sisters to the city pool, where we swam and splashed around without thinking about all that chlorine water knotting up our hair. When we’d come back to her house smelling like chlorine, I’d ask Cecile if I could use her hot comb to press our hair, seeing how knotty it got. … For our third Saturday in Oakland I had a better plan. I told my sisters, “We’re going on an excursion.” Miss Merriam Webster would have been proud. Excursion. To Vonetta’s and Fern’s uncomprehending faces, I said, “We’re taking a bus ride to our own adventure.” It didn’t make sense to fly three thousand miles to the land of Mickey Mouse, movie stars, and all-‐year sun and not see anything but Black Panthers, police cars, and poor black people.

P.S. Be Eleven Williams-‐Garcia, Rita. P.S. Be Eleven. New York: Amistad, 2013.

Annotation Delphine is eleven years old and lives in Brooklyn with her dad, grandma (Big Ma), and two younger sisters, Vonetta and Fern. Even though Delphine is only eleven she has a lot of responsibilities and things that she worries about. Her uncle recently returned from Vietnam and is not the happy, fun man he use to be. He began to use drugs and eventually left and did not return. This made Big Ma very upset, leading her to move back to her own house in Alabama. Throughout the story, Delphine experiences many changes both at school and home. She shares these trials through letter writing with her mother in Oklahoma. Though life is tough, Delphine learn to makes the best of things and to just be ‘eleven’.

Excerpt We raced to the mailbox, although it wasn’t much of a contest. I came in first, long-‐legged as I am, and Vonetta second. She kangaroo-‐hopped and waved her fists above her head like she had won a prize fight. Vonetta and I waited for Fern, who held the postcard. I’d put it in her hand for that reason. We couldn’t do a thing without that postcard. All this to soothe Fern’s wounded feelings from always coming in dead last. She panted hard when she reached us. “Let me put it in,” Vonetta said. “No,” Fern said between gulps of air. “I’m the mail carrier, so I get to put it in the mailbox.” “But I beat you to the mailbox.”

Excerpt I swiped the postcard clean from Fern’s hand and gave it Vonetta. Fern balled her fist and socked me, and I said, “Ow,” just to say “ow.” Vonetta dropped the postcard into the mailbox, then hopped and danced until Fern yelled, “Quit it!” I’m usually good at staying one step ahead of a major squabble, but my sisters seemed to have gotten better at keeping things stirred up between them. We started back to the house in time to see Pa shuffling down the steps – and Papa’s no shuffler. Vonetta and Fern ran to him like nipping puppies. I lagged behind. “Where you going, Pa?” “Yeah, Papa. Where?” Pa gave both a pat on the head and said, “Out.” “Out where?” Fern asked. Only Fern could get away with tugging on Pa like that, although I also wanted to know. We had been gone from him for so long. Why was he leaving us?

Park, Linda Sue. A Single Shard. New York: Clarion, 2001. A Single Shard

Annotation Set in Korea during the twelfth century, this story tells of an orphan, Tree-‐ear, who longs to become a potter like Min, whose work he most admires.

Excerpt Tree-‐ear entered the city gates and stopped in midstep. How crowded it was! People, oxen, and carts jostled one another in the narrow streets; the houses were so close together that Tree-‐ear wondered how their residents could breathe. Behind him he heard shouts of impatience, as people tried to push past him. He moved on, swept along by the river of the traffic. On both sides of the street shop stalls were open. Their owners shouted, plying their wares; the customers shouted, bargaining for the best prices. Never had Tree-‐ear seen so many goods displayed—or heard so much noise! How could the people of Puyo possibly hear themselves think?

Excerpt There were stalls that sold food and drink already prepared, and stalls that sold vegetables and fish for cooking at home. One stall sold nothing but sweets. There were bolts of fine silk, trays of gemstones, wooden toys. All manner of household goods could be had, baskets and straw sleeping mats and wooden chests. And pottery. Tree-‐ear stopped abruptly in front of one stall. It was stacked with small mountains of pottery—not celadon work, but the very dark brown stoneware known as onggi, for storing food.-‐ The onggi seller’s stall displayed every size of vessel—from tiny sauce dishes to kimchee jars big enough for a man to stand hidden within. The wares were stacked in tall towers that seemed to tilt precariously.

4-‐5 Band: Picture Books: Contemporary Realistic Fiction Bird by Zetta Elliot; Shadra Strickland, illustrator Brothers in Hope: The Story of the Lost Boys of Sudan by Mary Williams; R. Gregory Christie, illustrator Four Feet, Two Sandals by Karen Lynn Williams, Khadra Mohammed; Doug Chayka, illustrator

Bird Elliott, Zetta, and Shadra Strickland (Illus.). Bird. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2008.

Annotation This is the story of a boy named Bird, who uses drawing to cope with the things going on in his life. At such a young age Bird sees his older brother struggle with the use of drugs. As a result his brother soon passes away. Shortly after his granddad passes away. Bird has a hard time understanding why his brother was not able to get better; he uses drawing as a way to remember his brother before he was sick and to help him get through this hard time in his life.

Excerpt I like to draw. I’m not real good at it yet, but I try to practice everyday. Uncle Son says that’s how you get better at a thing – do it over and over until you can practically do it with your eyes closed. For now I keep my eyes open ‘cause I’m still learning how to get it right. It’s kind of hard. Sometimes, the picture I draw on the page doesn’t look like the real thing. Other times, the picture I draw looks better that what I’m copying. That’s what I like about drawing – you can fix stuff that’s messed up just by using your imagination or rubbing your eraser over the page.

Excerpt I draw the things I see in my neighborhood – busses and trees and buildings and people. But mostly I like to draw birds. That’s not why they call me Bird, though. Granddad gave me the name after I was born. He said I used to lay in my crib with my mouth wide-‐open. I’d cheep just like a baby bird in it’s nest, waiting to be fed. When I was little, I needed someone to look out for me. My big brother, Marcus, used to do that, but he can’t anymore. Some days when my folks are working late I go up on the roof. I’m not suppose to do that. But I only stay for a little while, and I never go near the edge. I just sit and watch the birds fly. Most people think birds fly by flapping their wings, but that’s just partly true. They flap their wings for takeoff and landing, but once their up in the sky they just spread their wings and soar.

Brothers in Hope: The Story of the Lost Boys of Sudan Williams, Mary, and R. Gregory Christie (Illus.). Brothers in Hope: The Story of the Lost Boys of Sudan. New York: Lee & Low Books, 2005.

Annotation I was far from my home tending my animals when my village was attacked. I could hear bangs like thunder and see flashing lights in the distance. Suddenly an airplane was circling above. Clouds of dust rose from the ground and bullets began to rain down on my herd. Many of the animals were killed. Others ran away in fear. My throat and eyes were full of dust, but I found my way to the forest, where I hid in the shadows of the trees. When the storm of bullets passed, I ran back to my village to find my family, but everyone was gone. The houses were burning and everything was destroyed. I began to wander down the road, and soon I met other boys who could not find their families. We began to search together.

Annotation As we walked, we met more boys on the road. At first there was just me—one. Soon one became many. Too many to count. Before war came, I had never seen so many people in one place. My village had only one hundred people. Now I was in a moving village with thousands of boys. Like me, the other boys were away from their villages tending their cattle when war came. The adults and girls had stayed behind. Some of the boys were only five years old. The oldest boys were not more than fifteen. We were children, not used to caring for ourselves.

Annotation Without our parents we were lost. We had to learn to take care of one another. The older boys decided to have a meeting. “We must work together if we are to survive,” one of the boys said. “We will form groups and choose a leader for each group.” “Garang Deng!” Someone yelled. My name! I had been chosen to lead a group of thirty-‐five boys. I was proud but scared. I knew how to take care of animals, not boys, but I did not want to let my fear keep me from helping my brothers.

Four Feet, Two Sandals Williams, Karen Lyn, Khadra Mohammed, and Doug Chayka. Four Feet, Two Sandals. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans for Young Readers, 2007.

Annotation Lina, her mother and her two little brothers live in a refugee camp in Pakistan. When camp workers bring clothes to the refugees, a fight breaks out as people struggle to get clothes for their families. Lina manages to find herself one sandal. She has not worn shoes in two years. When looking for the matching sandal she sees that another girl has found it first. They soon decide that they will take turns sharing the beautiful yellow and blue sandals and in the process, they become close friends. One day Lina gets the good news that she and her family will be going to America. The girls decide to hold onto one sandal each until they meet again.

Excerpt She looked around for the matching sandal. A girl stood nearby. She was thinner and darker then Lina, and she wore a blue and yellow sandal. “As-‐salaam alaykum.” Lina greeted her. “Peace be with you.” The girl only stared. She was dressed in a shalwar-‐kameez. Her feet were cracked and swollen, as Lina’s had been when she first arrived at the refugee camp. Suddenly the girl turned, taking the matching sandal with her. In the morning Lina went to do the washing, wearing one beautiful sandal. She picked her way to the stream, careful to keep her sandal out of filth. Her old shoes had been ruined on the many miles of walking from Afghanistan to Peshawar, the refugee camp in Pakistan. She had carried her brother. Najiib, no bigger than a water jug then, but just as heavy.

Excerpt When she looked up from scrubbing, the girl from yesterday was standing over her. she wore one sandal that she bent over and removed. “Grandma says it is stupid to wear only one,” she placed the sandal at Lina’s feet. Then she turned and walked away. “Wait.” Lina grabbed both sandals and followed her. “I am Lina.” The girl turned slowly. “I am Feroza.” Lina held the sandal out. “We can share.” “What good is one sandal for two feet?” Feroza frowned. “You wear them both today and I will wear them tomorrow.” Lina smiled. “Four feet, two sandals.” Feroza smiled too. She took the sandals and put them on. “Tomorrow they will be yours.”

4-‐5 Band: Picture Books: Historical Fiction Crossing Bok Chitto: A Choctaw tale of Friendship and Freedom by Tim Tingle; Jeanne Rorex Bridges, illustrator Shin-‐Chi’s Canoe by Nicola Campbell; Kim LaFave, illustrator

Crossing Bok Chitto: A Choctaw Tale of Friendship and Freedom Tingle, Tim, and Jeanne R. Bridges. Crossing Bok Chitto: A Choctaw Tale of Friendship and Freedom. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos, 2006.

Annotation This is the story of a Choctaw girl named Martha Tom and an African American boy named Little Mo who become friends even though they were separated by the Bok Chitto river. On one side of the river the Choctaw people lived and on the other side the enslaved Africans lived with their owners. Any slave who crossed the river would be free. One day Little Mo found out that his mother was going to be sold. This devastated the whole family, who sought a plan for escape. Martha had taught Little Mo how to cross the Bok Chitto, though it would not be easy . With the help of Martha Tom and other Choctaw women Little Mo and his family were able to cross the river to freedom by stepping on stones just under the surface of the river, where no one could see

Excerpt He grabbed seven burlap bag and gave one to each member of his family, saying, “Pack quickly, pack light, and pack for running. We may have to.” They did pack quickly, the did pack light, but they were not quick enough. The men in the plantation saw them working late. They called for the guards with the dogs and the lanterns and the guns, and they surrounded the little house. When Little Mo’s daddy stood with his family around him, he looked out the back door and said, “We could go out that way. It would be dark and maybe safer. But this night’s journey was not about darkness and safety. It was about faith. It was about freedom. We will go out the front door.” And so they did, out the front door, down the front steps, walking just as Little Mo had reminded them – not fast, not too slow, eyes to the ground, away you go!

Excerpt Then something remarkable happened. This family became invisible! They walked into the circle of lanterns, but the light shone right through them. They walked so close to the dogs they could have stroked the dog’s fur, but even the dogs didn’t know they were there. They were invisible. Soon the stood at the banks on the Bok Chitto. Little Mo looked to the clouds covering the moon and said, “Daddy, I’ve never been here at night. I can’t get us across. “ His father picked Little Mo up and sat him on his hip till their faces almost touched. “Son, the hour is at hand,” he said. “You know that we call you Little Mo. But you know that is not your real name. Your name is Moses. Now, Moses, get us across the water!”

Shin-‐chi’s Canoe Campbell, Nicola, and Kim LaFave (Illus.) Shin-‐chi’s Canoe. Toronto, Canada: Groundwood, 2008.

Annotation Based on the experience of many of Campbell’s relatives, Shin-‐chi’s Canoe portrays two First Nation’s children being forcibly removed from their families to attend Canadian Indian Boarding Schools for most of the year. Shi-‐shi-‐etko, who has already attended the school, tries to help her six-‐year-‐old brother, Shin-‐chi, adjust. When the sockeye salmon return, the children are allowed to return home for the summer.

Excerpt When the cattle truck arrived, their dad tucked a tiny canoe into Shi-‐shi-‐etko’s hand. “My children,” their mom said, with tears in her eyes, “If we could, we would keep you here at home. We would never, ever let you go, but it’s the laws that force us to send you away to the residential school.” Yayah squeezed them so tight they could hardly breathe. “We’ll be waiting for you to come home,” she said. Then Shin-‐chi and Shi-‐shi-‐etko climbed into the back of the cattle truck with all the children from their Indian reservation. Dust came in waves, getting in their eyes and in their noses, until they could hardly breathe. It followed the truck like a snake all along the valley.

Excerpt “My Shin-‐chi, we will not see our family until the sockeye salmon return. These are the things you must always remember,” Shi-‐shi-‐etko said, gesturing to the trees, mountains and river below. “At night, when you go to sleep, remember the tug of the fish when you and Dad pulled the nets in and we made smoked and wind-‐dried salmon.” Shin-‐chi could not help himself. He looked at everything—the mountain with the trail that led to the caves, the deer in the field by their house. He memorized every fishing spot, the place where he caught the great big frog, the grasshoppers, the crickets and the slugs, until the rattle bump of the cattle truck rocked him to sleep. Shin-‐chi was dreaming when he heard Shi shi-‐etko say, “It’s time to wake up now, my Shin-‐chi.”

Excerpt When he opened his eyes it was dusk, and all he could see was the dark silhouette of the church steeple. “Remember, my English name is Mary. Your English name is David. And don’t forget, we aren’t allowed to talk to each other until next June.” Shi-‐shi-‐etko gave him the tiny canoe that their father had made. “This, my Shin-‐chi, is for you. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, be careful to keep it hidden.” When they got off the truck the priests and sisters said, “Juniors and intermediates, stand single file in separate lines. Boys stand here, girls stand over there. Then single file they marched inside.

Excerpt That night, in the junior girl’s wing, Shi-‐shi-‐etko wondered if her Shin-‐chi was okay. He was used to sleeping near his sisters. He had never slept alone. Down the hall, in the junior boys’ wing, Shin-‐chi lay in bed wide awake. He held his tiny canoe safely in his hands. The sweet scent of cedar smelled just like his dad. “Dad said the spring salmon come up the river first, Then the sockeye come in the summertime. That’s when we can go home again.” Finally he drifted off to sleep. …

Excerpt In the dinner hall the boys and girls sat on opposite sides of the room, brothers and sisters not allowed to talk to one another. They made up sign language to say, “Hi,” or “I miss you.” For breakfast the children ate porridge and burnt toast. Through the doors they could see their teachers carrying steaming plates of bacon, eggs and potatoes from the farm. For lunch they ate thin soup, and dinner was hard buns with stew. For dinner the teachers had meat, vegetables and corn. The children were never given enough food.

4-‐5 Band: Poetry The Dream Keeper and Other Poems by Langston Hughes; Brian Pinkney, Illustrator Elegy on the Death of César Chávez by Rudolfo Anaya; Gaspar Enriquez, illustrator When Thunder Comes: Poems for Civil Rights Leaders by Patrick J. Lewis

The Dream Keeper and Other Poems Hughes, Langston, and J. Brian Pinkney (Illus.). The Dream Keeper and Other Poems. New York: Knopf, 1994.

Annotation This is a poetry book that includes a variety of poems. These poems focus on the African American culture, and address subjects such as love, life, and dreams.

Excerpt The Dream Keeper Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamers, Bring me all of your Heart melodies That I may wrap them In a blue cloud-‐cloth Away from the too-‐rough fingers Of the world. Long Trip The sea is a wilderness of waves, A desert of water. We dip and dive, Rise and roll, Hide and are hidden One the sea. Day, night, Night, day, The sea is a desert of waves, A wilderness of water.

Excerpt Reasons Why Just because I loves you – That’s de reason why Ma soul is full of color Like de wings of a butterfly. Just because I loves you That’s de reason why Ma heart’s a fluttering aspen leaf Why pass by. Prayer I ask you this: Which way to go? I ask you this: Which sin to bear? Which crown to put Upon my hair? I do not know, Lord God, I do not know.

Excerpt Youth We have tomorrow Bright before us Like a flame. Yesterday A night-‐gone thing, A sun-‐down name. A dawn-‐today Broad arch above the road we came. We march! Merry-‐Go-‐Round Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry-‐go-‐round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down south where I come from White and colored Can’t sit side by side. Down south on the train There’s a Jim Crow car. On the bus we’re put in the back – But there ain’t no back To a merry-‐go-‐round! Where’s the horse For the kid that’s black?

Elegy on the Death of César Chávez Anaya, Rudolfo, and Gaspar Enriquez (Illus.). Elegy on the Death of César Chávez. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos, 2004.

Annotation After Chávez’s untimely death in 1993, Rudolfo Anaya wrote this elegy. Chávez had done so much for migrants and farm workers, and was beloved and admired by many, as this inspiring elegy shows.

Excerpt César is dead, And we have wept for him until our eyes are dry, Dry as the fields of California that He loved so well and now lie fallow. Dry as the orchards of Yakima, where dark buds Hang on trees and do not blossom. Dry as el Valle de Tejas where people cross Their foreheads and pray for rain. This earth he loved so well is dry and mourning For César has fallen, our morning star has fallen.

Excerpt The messenger came with the sad news of his death-‐-‐ O, kill the messenger and steal back the life Of this man who was a guide across fields of toil. Kill the day and stop all time, stop la muerte Who has robbed us of our morning star, that Luminous light that greeted workers as they Gathered around the dawn campfires. Let the morning light of Quetzacóatl and Christian saint Shine again. Let the wings of the Holy Ghost unfold And give back the spirit it took from us in sleep.

Excerpt Across the land we heard las campanas doblando: Ha muerto César, Ha muerto César. How can the morning star die? We ask. How can This man who moved like the light of justice die? Hijo de la Virgen de Guadalupe, hombre de la gente, You starved your body so we might know your spirit. The days do carry hope, and the days do carry treason.

Excerpt O, fateful day, April 23, 1993, when our morning Star did not rise and we knew that in his sleep César had awakened to a greater dream. And we, left lost on this dark, dry Earth, Cursed the day la muerte came to claim The light within his noble body. He was a wind of change that swept over our land. From the San Joaquín Valley north to Sacramento From northwest Yakima to el Valle de Tejas From el Valle de San Luis to Midwest fields of corn He loved the land, he loved la gente.

Excerpt His name was like a soft breeze to cool the campesino’s sweat A scourge on the oppressors of the poor. Now he lies dead, and storms still rage around us. The dispossessed walk hopeless streets, Campesinos gather by roadside ditches to sleep, Shrouded by pesticides, unsure of tomorrow, Hounded by propositions that keep their children Uneducated in a land grown fat with greed. Yes, the arrogant hounds of hate Are loose upon this land again, and César Weeps in the embrace of La Virgen de Guadalupe, Still praying for his people.

Excerpt “Rise, mi gente, rise,” he prays. His words echo across the land, like the righteous Thunder of summer storms, like the call of a Warrior preparing for the struggle. I hear his Voice in the fields and orchards, in community halls, In schools, churches, campesino homes and Presidential palaces. “Rise, mi gente, rise.” That was his common chant. Rise and organize, Build the House of Workers. Build the House of Justice now!

Excerpt Do not despair in violence and abuse. Rise together and build a new society. Build a new democracy, build equality, And build a dream for all to share. His voice stirs me now, and I rise from my grief. I hear the words of the poet cry: “Peace, peace! He is not dead, he doth not sleep— He hath awakened from the dream of life.” I hear César calling for us to gather. I hear the call to a new Huelga,

Excerpt I hear the sound of marching feet The guitarra strums of the New Movimiento The old and young, rich and poor, all move To build the House of Justice of César’s dream! The trumpet of righteousness calls us to battle! And the future opens itself like the blossom That is his soul, the fruit of his labor. He calls for us to share in the fruit. “He lives, he wakes—‘tis Death is dead, not he; Mourn not for Adonais.”

Excerpt Do not weep for César, for he is not dead. He lives in the hearts of those who loved him, Worked and marched and ate with him, and those Who believed in him. His disciples know he is not dead. For in the dawn we see the morning star! El lucero de Dios! Light comes to illuminate the struggle, And bless the work yet to be done. Throughout Aztlán we call the young to gather; Rise and put aside violence and temptations. Rise and be swept up by the truth of his deeds,

Excerpt Rise not against each other, but for each other, Rise against the oppressors who take your seat And labor and sell it cheap. “Rise, mi gente, rise!” Our César has not died! He is the light of the new day. He is the rain that renews parched fields. He is the hope that builds the House of Justice. He is with us! Here! Today! Listen to his voice in the wind. He is the spirit of Hope,

Excerpt A movement building to sweep away oppression! His spirit guides us in the struggle. Let us join his spirit to ours! Sing with me. Sing all over this land! “Rise, mi gente, rise! Rise, me gente, rise!”

When Thunder Comes: Poems for Civil Rights Leaders Lewis, Patrick J. When Thunder Comes: Poems for Civil Rights Leaders. California: Chronicle Books LLC, 2013.

Annotation When Thunder Comes is a compilation of poems that reflect the individual work, and deeds of civil rights leaders from all different walks of life. The poems in this book tell the story of each of these leaders from Black to Latino to Indian, even including female leaders into the mix as well.

Excerpt the activist We wept when the man was taken, But we knew it was meant to be. Daylilies drooped in the garden; Night birds fell dumb in the tree. We expected the worst of the future, For the future was seldom bright, And they carried away on the killing day The last of the first daylight. She moved to the front unbeaten, Stepped slowly up to the board. When she lost the man to the Ku Klux Klan Her silent shadow roared. Out in the enemy country, Death marshaled itself for a fight, But she led a choir in the line of fire The first of the next daylight Stand tall, stand all my children, Put away the sinister guns.. Embrace the boys that Hate employs, Like mothers do their sons. Daylilies can bloom in the garden, Night birds can sing in the night When dignity has set us free The rest of the best daylight. Coretta Scott King Civil rights leader 1927-‐2006

Excerpt the captive I was a typist, nothing more. I loved my life, I hated war. But it was war that stole from me My job, my life, serenity. They put me in a hateful house— Internment camp-‐-‐-‐and I, a mouse, Refused to squeak like most of these One hundred thousand Japanese, Until the day I told the man What constant thoughts my heart began: I am a typist, nothing more. And I am no conspirator! For 18 months, they tired the sun With talking. In the end, I won The freedom to resume all three: My job my life, serenity. Mitsuye Endo Japanese American interred during WWII 1920-‐2006

common-core-toward-an-inclusive-appendix-b

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?