Dia De Los Muertos

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The Cotton Picking Sack

As a sixty year old woman, I wonder why I was so anxious to grow up so quickly.  I could have waited and remained a child for many more years.



Here it was again. The beginning of the summer cotton picking season; and Mom was distributing the cotton picking sacks to my sisters, brother, and me.

 I was so excited. I knew I was old enough to get my very own large cotton picking sack that adults used. I had cried previous summers when my mom would hand me a burlap sack that little kids used. I was no longer a little girl.

 Mom saved the largest sack for herself and handed another large sack to my oldest sister. I kept smiling knowing that it would be my turn before too long. My older sister got the following cotton picking sack.

Mom looked at me and said, "I have no money to pay for a large sack for you, my dear."

"What do you mean?"  I cried.

How could my mother do this to me?  I was too old for a burlap sack.  I stomped to the bedroom so that I could cry my heart out by myself.

I could hear my younger sister and brother laughing as they received their burlap sacks.  They were happy to begin the summer cotton picking season.  They were not too old for a burlap sack.  I was already ten years old and I needed a cotton picking sack for adults.

I was caught in the middle again.  I was never old enough for most things, and I was never young enough for most things.  I was never enough to fit in anywhere.

Mom walked into the bedroom and said, "Mijita, I will talk to the foreman tomorrow and ask him to lend me a cotton picking sack for an adult."

I rubbed my tear swollen eyes and looked at my mother to see if she was telling me the truth.  I could tell that my mom felt bad that I was crying.

When we arrived at the cotton fields next morning, I saw my mom approach the foreman.

"Domingo, I need to buy a cotton sack from you for one of my daughters." I heard my mom say.

"Teresa, are you asking for a large cotton sack for your daughter, Paula?  He asked as he looked at me.  She is too young to fill a cotton sack all by herself.  Just give her a costal (burlap sack)."

My mom responded, "No, Mingo, my daughter is old enough to fill the cotton sack by herself.  She says she is too old to carry a costal."

Domingo winked at me as he handed me a brand new cotton picking sack just like my older sisters had.

I felt like a grown up as Mom showed me how to place the thick strap of the sack on my shoulder.  I knew I was no longer a baby.

When we reached the other end of the field to select our rows of cotton, I noticed that Mom selected four cotton rows for us.  I looked at her with a question in my eyes.

"Mija, you need a row of cotton all your own so that you can fill the big cotton sack," my mom said.

Having a cotton row all to myself was scary.  But, I was determined to prove to everyone that I was old enough to carry a cotton picking sack for adults.  I quickly began to pick cotton and stuff it into my sack.

I kept looking back every five minutes to see if my sack was getting as full as the ones that my mom and sisters had.  An hour later, I felt like I would never be able to pick enough cotton to fill the sack.  But, I was determined to prove to Mom that I deserved an adult-sized cotton sack.

Two hours later, I did not have to look back to know that I was filling up the cotton sack.  I was having problems walking forward.  The cotton sack felt heavy on my shoulder no matter how I twisted the strap that went around the shoulder.  Now I understood why my mom and older sisters did not talk while picking cotton.  It was hard pulling the big sack behind me as I picked cotton and tried to stay up with everybody else.

Mom saw my red face under the hot sun and came toward me.  She took the strap off my shoulder and used both her hands to hold the sack up.  She shook the sack up and down.

"It is easier to pull the sack behind you if you push the cotton to the very bottom." she explained.  We have about an hour before lunch."

I wondered if I could hold out for a full hour, but I said nothing.  I kept on picking, even though the strap on my shoulder was cutting into my skin.  That was a sign that I was really filling up my cotton sack.

I looked around and noticed that my sisters were hauling their cotton sacks on to their shoulders.

"It's lunch time," my mother said as he turned to look at me.

The panic was all over my face; there was no way I could lug the cotton sack up onto my shoulder and walk all the way to the truck to weigh it.

"Here, let me show you how to do this," my mom said as she picked up the sack and placed it on my shoulder.

The heavy cotton sack kept falling off my shoulder.

"Once the sack is on your shoulder, place your hand on your hip so that the sack will not fall to the ground," instructed my mother.

I was ready to cry with exhaustion, but was determined to keep my agony to myself.  I walked as much as I could and had to keep stopping to re-adjust the sack on my shoulder.

I finally made it to the truck and trailer and let the huge cotton sack fall to the ground as I waited in line for the foreman to weigh the my sack.

"Let's see how much this brand new cotton sack weighs, little one," said the foreman, Domingo.

I gave him a huge smile.  I knew the cotton had to weigh at least one hundred pounds.

"Let's see," said Domingo, "You have thirty pounds of cotton, mija."

I could not believe my ears!  All morning long, and I had only picked thirty pounds of cotton.  That meant I had earned about $1.25.  My face turned as red as my shoulder.

My mom quickly placed her arm around me and said, "thirty pounds of cotton is a good morning's work.  You have earned the right to use a large cotton sack for adults."

I was determined not to cry.  I was so exhausted, I could not eat.  I simply lay under the trailer and fell asleep.

It seemed like I had slept for five minutes when Mom woke me up an hour later.

"You can stay here longer, if you like," she said.

I quickly rose to my feet as my whole body protested.  My shoulder was in pain from where the strap of the cotton sack had rubbed the skin raw.  I was determined not to admit that maybe I had asked for a large cotton sack a few years too early.

My mouth silently switched the strap to my other shoulder without saying a word.

I headed out to the fields with my mom and older sisters.  My younger sister and brother would sleep a little longer under the trailer.

I kept wuiet as I picked cotton the rest of the afternoon.

We followed the same procedure of weighing our cotton sacks before going home.  I remained quiet when Don Domingo told me my cotton sack weighed sixty pounds.

"Mijita, you should be proud of yourself.  You have worked hard all day long." praised my mom.

I folded my cotton sack and climbed on to the truck to head back home.  I sat on the cushion my big folded cotton sack provided and thought about everything that my huge cotton picking sack represented.  I looked at my mom and two older sisters with a new-found respect and sadness.

None of us could exchange our huge cotton picking sack for the light burlap sack reserved for the children.

Picking Clean Cotton

Even though my mother spoke no English, I was learning the most important lessons in life.  All I had to do was watch how my mother lived life.  She was good at answering my questions and tying in everyday life with the values of honesty, courage, and perseverance.

I learned about honesty while I picked cotton.  I remember that not all people picked cotton in the same manner.  Some pickers would not just pick the pure white part of the cotton plant.  They would start from the bottom of the plant and take the leaves, some of the branches and boll, along with the cotton.  Other pickers would add dirt and stones into the cotton bags.  Mom had taught us to pick only the white part of the cotton and place it in the sack.  Our way of picking cotton was slower, it would take longer to fill the sack and then the cotton sack would not weigh as much as the others.

I began to pick like some of the other pickers.  I picked faster and my cotton was dirtier.  Mom told me that was not the right way to pick cotton when she observed what I was doing.

I stood up, placed my hands on my hips and said, "Everyone else picks cotton differently than we do.  They leave us way behind.  We are the last ones to finish picking a row; we are the last ones to fill a cotton sack; and by the end of the day we have made less money than most of the other cotton pickers."

Mom responded with the question:  And if all those cotton pickers jump in the canal without knowing how to swim, will you follow them also?"

I looked at my mother with a puzzled expression on my face.  What on earth was she talking about?

She continued.  "You don't do things just because other people do them.  You need to decide what is right and then follow through based on your truth."

"But Mom," I argued."  "some of your friends and relatives do not pick clean cotton.  I've seen them put stones in the cotton sacks so that they will weigh more.  We are losing money by the way we pick cotton."

"Truth is more important than money," Mom said quietly.

I looked at my mom while she picked cotton and realized that truth and honesty were important to me, also.  I understood that many times, following my truth, meant following the lonely road, the one less traveled.

Several times I heard the foreman explain to cotton pickers that they needed to pick cleaner cotton.  I knew I would feel shame if the foreman ever had to tell me and my mom that our cotton was not clean enough.

And so it was that, at a young age, under the hot sun in the middle of the cotton fields, I learned about truth and honesty from my mother.

 

Discussion and Writing Prompts:

1.  What important  life lessons have you learned in life by watching your parents lead their lives.  Write or talk about your lesson and elaborate about it in a well developed essay.

2.   Draw a cotton bag.  Decorate it with words pictures and quotes that go with the story.

3.   What activities does your family enjoy doing together?  Do these activities provide time for discussions for the opportunity for learning?  Explain and use examples.

4.  What if someone does not have a traditional family unit?  Think of nontraditional family units?  Can they create activities and situations to learn life lessons?  Explain.

5.  Draw a cotton plant.  Decorate it and cut it to look attractive.  What kind of discussions can plants have with one another?  What lessons can they teach one another?  What lessons can students learn from having discussions with lesson plants?

Math Task Cards

I am a secondary teacher and I love task cards.  They can be used in so many different ways to help students.

# 1:  Task cards can be used in math centers.  You can place 5 - 10 task cards or more.  Students get to choose which task cards they want to work on or solve.  Our task cards are set up with differentiation in mind, but the teacher does not select the card for the student.  One problem is set up in four different ways to help students.  The first has pictures and lower level vocabulary.  The numbers are not spelled out but written in numeric form.  The second card is the same as the first, but has no pictures.  The third one has simple sentences, and the numbers are spelled out for the students.  The fourth and last card has a compound sentence and higher level vocabulary.  The students will select the cards that will show his mastery and success.

# 2:  Teachers can give each student a set number of cards, and the students can sit at their desk and solve the problems.  The teacher selects the cards for each student.  The students can be given additional cards when the student has completed the first set.  The teacher can even provide an answer key for each student so that they can grade and correct their own work.

# 3:  The teacher can place cards at each desk.  Each student will work on the first set, and when the teacher says "scoot", the students can move to the next desk with a different set of cards.  The students can scoot as many times as the teacher wants them to do so.  Scoot is wonderful because students do not have to sit long periods of time in one place.

Feel free to visit our store, www.teacherspayteachers.com/Store/Creative-Expressions to get the hundreds of task cards that are available.  We have the cards in Spanish also.

Hasta luego!!!  

Paula

The Border Patrol/La Migra

Little did I know that the issue of immigration was going to be as strong when I was six years old as when I was sixty years old. The story and issue have become a nightmare that haunts me still.

"Orale muchachos!"  is what I heard the foreman say as we saw the border patrol van stop by the side of the road where we were picking cotton.  I heard the scurrying of feet of the young men, but I couldn't see where they were going.  I really didn't  understand what was going on.  I saw two men getting out of the truck.  They were wearing beige hats, dark glasses, black boots and khaki green uniforms.

"Mom, who are those men?"  I asked, puzzled by the activity.    

"Ignore them and pick cotton.  Tell them you are from the United States, if they ask," my mother whispered back to me.

I was confused and scared because I had no clue what was going on and everyone's behavior had changed to one of quiet fear.  I was used to the conversations going back and forth between the groups as all of us picked cotton.

I looked toward the cotton trailer and could see one of the young men underneath the cotton.

"Mom, why is that man underneath the cotton?  Won't he find it difficult to breathe?  Why is he doing that?"

"I told you to be quiet and pick cotton.  Do not say anything to anyone."

I lowered my head and continued to pick cotton even though I kept wondering what those men were going to do to us.  I wondered why everyone was behaving so differently.

I could hear the men in the green uniforms asking different people if they were U.S. citizens and wondered why they were asking that question.  Everyone was responding yes.  In some cases, one of the men in the green uniforms would ask for a birth certificate and inspect it while the other man looked around at all of the cotton pickers.

It was difficult to pick cotton as I worried about what the men in green were going to ask me and what would happen to the young men that had disappeared from the cotton fields.

I saw a black boot right beside me, and I had to look way up before I could see the man's face.  The man bent and patted my head, "And, how are you doing?  Aren't you a little young to be out here picking cotton? he asked.

I continued to look at him and thought "How can I answer two questions at once?"  I knew how to speak English, but fear made it impossible for any words to come out of my mouth.

"You sure are a cute little girl," said the man with the boot.  The other man in uniform continued to look all around the cotton field as if he was looking for something.

The man beside me continued speaking, "Are you a U.S. citizen?"

My mom answered for both of us.  "Si, somos de los estados unidos."

"Thank you, man," said the uniformed man and continued walking through the rows of cotton speakin to the different cotton pickers.

After they had spoken to everyone of us they went back to the foreman who was picking cotton.  I could see that he stopped picking as the uniformed men were talking to him.  He removed his cotton sack from his shoulder and headed toward the cotton trailer.  I watched, trying to figure out what was going on with the uniformed men.

I saw the young man who had been trying to hide come out from underneath the cotton and jump off the trailer.  The uniformed men asked him some questions, but the young man just cast his eyes toward the ground and placed his hands behind his back.  One of the uniformed men placed handcuffs around the young man's wrists and they both escorted him to their van.  As they drove away, everyone started speaking at once.

"It's okay, he will return within a couple of weeks," hollered the foreman.

"He could have died underneath all that cotton and the heat is unbearable," said a woman beside us as she made the sign of the cross over her face with her fingers.

Everyone began to laugh and rejoice as three of the other young men who had hidden re-appeared.  They had not been taken away.

"Who were those men in uniform?" I asked my mom with my hands on my waist.

"That was la migra, mija," answered my mom as she picked cotton.

"I don't know what that word means, but why did they take that man with them?" I pestered my mom with a frown on my face.

"They took him because he was not born in the United States," my mom told me.

"How did they know he was not born in the United States?" I persisted with my question.

"Well, he could not speak English and he did not have a birth certificate to prove that he was born in the United States," my mom answered patiently.

"But Mom, you don't speak English and neither do the majority of the people in these cotton fields!" I said in exasperation.

"I don't speak English, but I carry our birth certificates with us to prove that we are U.S. citizens," she explained.

The whole experience had frightened me terribly.  Even though I was six years old, this was the first time I realized that people were not free to travel wherever they wanted.  They had to prove they had been born in the United States; and the English language proved that you were a U.S. citizen.  

This just did not seem fair to me and I let my mother know that I did not like the men in the green uniforms.  My mother informed me that I had better get used to the border patrol visiting the cotton fields or any other field we were working.

At about 6:00 in the evening, the foreman announced that it was time for us to go and everyone began to climb on to the back of the truck to head home.

I could see two young men picking cotton.  They had hidden from the migra and would be able to stay in the United States to pick cotton.  

"Why aren't they going home?" I asked my mom.

"They don't have a home here.  They live far away in Mexico, just like your dad did before he died," my mother answered sadly.

"But mom, what are they going to eat and where are they going to sleep?"  I asked in desperation.

"Don't worry, mija.  They will have extra hours to pick more cotton to make more money to help their families in Mexico.  I am sure that they have some food with them."  My mom was trying to reassure me that everything would be fine, but at the same time, I heard her say a brief prayer for the young men.

Because I was six, I did not fully comprehend what had happened, but the little I did understand did not seem just or fair to me.  As human beings, shouldn't people be free to walk on whatever part of the earth they wanted?  Who had made these laws and why? It was a difficult lesson for a six-year-old to learn.

As a child in the cotton fields, I was petrified that la migra would take me to Mexico.  As an adult, far away from the cotton fields, I carry my birth certificate in my purse at all times. 

Discussion and Writing Prompts:

1.  Why was immigration an issue in the 60's and why is it an issue today, 2016?

2.  Are you familiar with a situation like the one in this story?

3.  Why are immigrants getting hired in the U.S. if they do not have the proper documents to work in the United States?

4.  Why can't people travel wherever they want?

5.  Why is there a wall between the United States and Mexico?  Is this the answer to the issue of immigration?  Compare and contrast the Berlin wall that President Reagan was responsible for removing and the wall between Mexico and the U.S.  How are they different and how are they alike?

My Name is Maria!

Have you ever wondered why so many Hispanic women are named Maria?  It's tradition in our family....seriously!

I have three sisters, and all of us are named Maria.

  

It all started with all of us having different names..... Santos, Enedelia, Paula, and Diana.  Our mother did tell us that our first name was Maria.  She had given all of us the first name of Maria.  No big deal we thought.  All of us go by our middle name so it doesn't matter that all of us are named Maria.

We didn't discover how wrong that belief was until we became professionals.  We had to fill out forms for all kinds of governmental agencies like the Social Security Office, the Internal Revenue Service, and the Human Resources Office.  We wanted to get paid so we filled out the forms.  

It wasn't too long before all of us were having to sign with our first name, Maria.  Our checks had to have our first name on them, Maria.  When different agencies call us at our home.  Guess who they asked for?  You got it, Maria!!!

I asked my sister why all of us were named Maria.  They didn't know.  I decided to ask the person who named us, our mother.

"Mom, why on Earth did you name all of us Maria?  

"No, I didn't.  I named you, Santos, Enedelia, Paula, and  Diana."

"But, Mom, all of us have Maria as our first name.  When people ask us what our first name is we have to say and write Maria."

"Oh, when I went to baptize you, the priest asked that I give you a name out of the bible.  I selected Maria."

"Mom, there are several names in the bible aside from Maria."

"I know, but every time I spoke to the priest I could only think of Maria.  So I named all of you Maria.  I didn't think that all of you would have to go by your first name."

There you have it.  That is why so many of us are named Maria.  I guess all parents thought like my mother did.

  

Discussion and Writing Prompts:

1.  What is your full name?  Do you like your name?  Why or why not?

2.  What is the true meaning of your name?  Do a bit of research and find out the meaning of your name. 

 

3.  Does your name fit you or your personality?  Why or why not?

4.  Select the name that you would like to have.  Why did you select that name?  What do you like about it?

Uno, Dos, Tres

One of the concepts to learn next in Spanish is numbers.  

The easiest way to start is to have students repeat the numbers after you.....uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez.

Something fun to do is have one student say uno, another student says dos, the next one says tres and so on.  The students have to be alert and ready to say whatever number is next.

 Have students stand in a line, but have them change the order so that they can practice saying all numbers that they need to practice that day or class meeting.

Another way to practice is for the teacher to say a number in English and the students can say the equivalent number in Spanish.  The teacher can also use a soft ball to throw at a student.  She/he can say the number in English and the student can say the same number in Spanish.

It's also a good idea to have a number line with large numbers.  Use a yard stick and point to different numbers, and the students can call out the correct number in Spanish.  

Students can also recite the numbers in order individually in front of the class or whisper it to their teacher so that teacher can assess mastery.

This lesson has several of the necessary handouts to help students learn the numbers in Spanish.

Nifty Numbers

Tips for Teaching the Spanish Alphabet

Students love the Spanish alphabet because it helps them learn the language more quickly.  How do you hook students into learning the Spanish alphabet?  Use the following tips to begin and end your class on a positive note every single day.  Let students work on the Spanish Alphabet Dictionary during the middle of class.

Tip # 1:  Make sure that you have the alphabet wall cards on your wall.  Have attractive wall cards with the uppercase and lowercase letter.  Use a yardstick to point to each letter.  If you have a fancy pointing stick the students will like this activity even better.  Point to the letter and say the letter by yourself.  Ask the students to repeat the letter after you.  Some students will feel uncomfortable with chorus reading at the beginning, but you, the teacher, need to keep saying the letters aloud.  Before you know it, all students will be repeating the sounds of the alphabet every day.  Make this a routine.  Start your class in this manner every single day immediately after roll call.  Begin the same routine about five minutes before the bell rings and repeat the same routine. Alphabet Word Wall 

Tip # 2:  Have students listen to this drill march, and you sing along to show them that everyone of them can learn to sing the same drill march.  The singing of the drill march will increase the tempo every single time.  I promise you that the students will be fascinated.  Provide students with the link of the drill march so that they can practice at home.  The bravest students will join the singing of the alphabet on the first day.  It will not be too long before you have all students singing along with the drill march.

Tip # 3:  On the second or third day of class, provide students with the materials to create their own Alphabet Dictionary.  They will need to find a word that begins with each letter in the Spanish alphabet.  Students will then write the word on the handout provided and include a picture that they find in a magazine or one that they decide to draw on the handout.  Tell students that they are to decorate their own letters, words, and pictures.  Provide students with the due date of the project.

This is a good way to conduct the first seven days of your Spanish I class. Students will say the alphabet, sing the alphabet at the beginning and ending of class.  They can work on their Alphabet Dictionary during the middle of class. 

Students will be able to sound out the pronunciation of Spanish words by learning the sounds of the alphabet.  Letters of the Spanish alphabet will always have the same sounds as they have when you say the letters of the alphabet.  These are strong tips to use during the first week of class for your Spanish I students.      

Creative Expressions: Mini Story and Activities

Creative Expressions: Mini Story and Activities: As I type this short story, I still wonder why I was ashamed to let others know that I was a field laborer.  I felt like I was different, a...

Mini Story and Activities

As I type this short story, I still wonder why I was ashamed to let others know that I was a field laborer.  I felt like I was different, and that people would laugh at me.  Or worse yet, maybe, they would feel sorry for me.  I always felt so ashamed, and I wish I hadn't.  This is who I was, and I didn't want people to know who I really was.  I was so uncomfortable in my own skin.

  

Extracurricular Activities

My older sister and I were both in the high school band.  I was a freshman and she was a junior at the school.  Summer band practice would start three weeks before the first day of school.  When we received our letters indicating the schedule for band practice, my sister told me that we would have to rush from the cotton fields, take a bath and be ready to drive into town so that we could make band practice on time.  My mom had already made arrangements for one of our aunts to drive us to practice.

While I was bathing for the first band practicie, I remember that every bone in my body ached.  My face was red with sunburn and it hurt when I talked or smiled.

My hands were sore with blisters and cuts from the cotton plants.  As we were driving into town, I told my sister I hurt all over.  She told me to ignore the pain and I would be ok.

I held out my hands and asked, "How can I play my clarinet with the blisters on my hands!"

My sister replied that once I got started the pain would disappear.  This was the first time I'd had to go through this ordeal and I wondered how my sister had survived the three years that she had been in the high school band.

Sure enough, I had problems putting my B flat clarinet together and I cringed as I placed the instrument in my mouth.  I pretended that my sunburned face did not hurt and I ignored the pain I experienced with every note that I played.  When other band members asked if I had spent a lot of time at the beach, I just nodded and smiled.

We practiced playing our music inside the band hall and another reality hit me as the band director announced that we would be practicing our marching in the football field for the next two hours.  I discovered a new pain as I lifted each foot to march as our band director had taught us.

I remember looking at my sister with the pain in my eyes.  She never complained and continued with the assigned tasks from our band director.

During our drive home, I realized that this would be the ritual for the next two or three weeks.  My admiration and appreciation for my sister increased as she modeled the level of endurance necessary to pick cotton and participate in our high school marching band.

At the crack of dawn the next morning, my sister and I followed the early morning ritual of cotton field laborers.

Discussion and Writing Prompts:

1.  Why do you think the writer was embarrassed about the fact that she was a field laborer?  Explain your answer and opinion in a well elaborated essay.

2.  Why do you think the writer's older sister had not explained how difficult it was going to be to participate in the high school band and work in the fields?  Explain your answer and opinion in a well developed essay.

3.  Illustrate a picture depicting the pain from working in the fields.

4.  Using a Venn Diagram, compare and contrast the similarities and differences of working in the fields and marching in the high school band.  Write about the comparisons and contrasts in a well developed essay.

5.  Create a collage with pictures and adjectives symbolizing the difficulties of working in the fields and turning right around and participating in band practice.

   

Creative Expressions: The Red Cotton Picker

Creative Expressions: The Red Cotton Picker: To this day, cotton fields lure me still as if in the lull of a dream. I could see the white cotton fields in the background.  I wa...

The Red Cotton Picker

To this day, cotton fields lure me still as if in the lull of a dream.

I could see the white cotton fields in the background.  I was amazed by the whiteness of the cotton and the bright green cotton plants.  It always felt good noticing that the cotton plants were not high enough to cover my whole body; it was difficult to breathe when the plants climbed way over my head.  These cotton plants were perfect for picking.

I was standing on the porch in the early morning admiring the perfect cotton fields when I saw a bright red cotton picker drive up and park by the side of the street next to our house.  The cotton picker looked redder because of the starkness of the white cotton that was piled in the back.  I had never seen a red cotton picker; the ones I had seen were all green.

I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief as I noticed my father climb out of the cotton picker cab.  He was such a young man at the age of 27 and he had such a zest for life.  I watched as he walked briskly toward the porch of our house where I stood.

When he approached me I jumped into his arms and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm home from work.  I never left you.  I want to make sure that you understand that you will no longer have to pick cotton in the hot sun.  I have come to take care of you," my dad answered.

I laughed as only a four-year-old can as I was whirled in my father's arms.  I was relieved to discover that he had never left me.  All of my relatives that kept telling me everyday that my dad was never coming back were wrong.  My dad had gone to work and was now back home.

He released me from his arms and I landed on my feet, only to run into the house to tell my mom, sisters and brother that Dad was home.

I felt my heart expand with glee as I saw my mom standing by the doorway looking at my father.  My mom was not smiling; she still had that sad look on her face that had been there ever since Dad had left.  Why wasn't she happy to find out that he was home?

"Mom, look at Dad!  He's home, and he never really left.  He just told me himself.  Everyone else lied to you about Dad.  He's come back to take care of us."

I forced my eyes back from my mom to my dad.

Reality and disappointment entered my heart as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes at the crack of dawn.

I was reminded that my dad was dead and he was not coming back to me.  I peeked outside the bedroom window to make sure that a red cotton picker was not parked by the side of the road of our house.

I backed away from the window with a deep sadness, then began dressing in my red pants and pink shirt to face one more day of picking cotton in the hot sun.

My dad would not be joining us.

Discussion/Writing Prompts:

1.  What are three symbols in this short story, and what do they represent?  Illustrate these symbols and write about them?

2.  What is the symbolism of the dream itself?  Why is the narrator having this specific dream?

3.  Illustrate a title page for this short story.

4.  What colors are represented as symbols in the story?  What emotions do they represent?  Combine these emotions to colors in a well developed essay.

5.  Write about one of your dreams or illustrate it with captions or subtitles.

 

Creative Expressions: Don Tomas

Creative Expressions: Don Tomas: I have never understood why Don Tomas made such an impression on me, but he did.  I often think about his, his physical characteristics an...

Don Tomas

I have never understood why Don Tomas made such an impression on me, but he did.  I often think about his, his physical characteristics and wonder what happened to him.

Don Tomas

The dark, wrinkled hands and face caught my attention as I looked up to see who was handing me a piece of pan dulce (sweet bread), a marranito (gingerbread pig).  I was shy about taking the piece of bread from the old man.  In all my seven years of life, I had never seen a man who was so dark and so wrinkled.

I looked at my mom as she said, "Agarra el pan, mija.  Don Tomas lo trajo para ti.  (Take the bread, my daughter.  Mr. Tomas brought it for you.)"  I took the bread but I kept watching Don Tomas as he climbed on the truck that was taking about fifteen of us to the cotton fields.

I couldn't understand why this man was so dark and why his skin was so wrinkled.  He wore a straw cowboy hat, a beige shirt with a blue jean jacket and pants.  Then I noticed that he was wearing large knee pads.  I could hardly wait to get to the cotton fields so that I could ask Mom some questions.

I munched on my pan dulce as I stared at Don Tomas.  He smiled at me, which made his skin wrinkle even more.  I refused to smile at him because I wasn't quite sure if I could trust this old man.  I didn't understand why this viejito (little old man) was paying so much attention to me.  I began to munch on my marranito as we traveled to the cotton fields early in the morning.

We picked up our cotton bags and belongings was we arrived at the fields and began climbing off the truck.  I looked at the hundreds of rows of cotton and began to feel tired as I saw how long the rows were.  Mom gave me my hat so I could protect my face from the sun.

I felt silly in my cotton picking clothes.  Mom would make me wear a long-sleeved light pink shirt and red pants with socks and tennis shoes.  She always told me that I needed to protect my skin from the dangers of the hot sun.

I felt guilty for wishing that I were old enough so that I could be at school with my older sisters.  I did not want to be at the cotton fields with all the old cotton pickers.  They kept telling my mother how cute I looked and asking how young I was.  My mom would tell them that I was only seven years old, but she could not afford a baby sitter.  Even though I was seven, I knew I was going to have to help my mom pick cotton and I was not happy about it.  Cotton picking was hard work, even at the age of seven.

As I followed my mom to the opposite end of the field, away from the truck, I complained about how long the cotton rows were.  I told my mom that it would take us all day to pick just one row of cotton.  Mom said that we would pick two rows at a time really fast so that we could get a  lot of cotton into our sacks.  This meant more money to buy food on the weekend.

We finally reached the end of the rows of cotton and everyone began select which cotton rows they wanted to pick.  As I stood there contemplating the long, hot day, I could see that everyone was already beginning to pick.  I refused to wear the oversized gloves that Mom gave me because it was hard to pick cotton with them.  Mom gave me a stern look and told me to start picking.  The gloves were

supposed to protect my hands from the sun and the harsh cotton plant branches.

I looked at Don Tomas who miraculously stood beside me as he said "Com on Paulita, the day will be over before you know it."  I blushed a deep red when I realized that Don Tomas had heard me complaining to my mom.

Don Tomas dropped down to his knees and began to pick cotton very quickly.  I stood there at the end of our rows and watched his fast fingers picking cotton and dropping it into his cotton sack.  I had never seen anyone pick cotton so fast,  Mom forced me to look away as she called me to start picking.

I began to pick cotton and asked Mom, "Why does he kneel down to pick cotton?

"His back hurts," was my mom's response.

I felt sorry for Don Tomas Tomas because he seemed so old and so alone.

I continued picking slowly and asked Mom,  "Why is he by himself?  Doesn't he have a family?"

My patient mom answered, "I don't know, but he probably has a wife and older children.  Picking cotton is hard work and maybe he does not want to bring his wife and children."

I looked at Mom with my big, brown eyes and asked,  "Why don't they come help him; he's all by himself!  If they pick cotton together, they will take more money and he won't be alone."

Mom told me, "He chooses to  come by himself.  Now you start picking so that we can fill our cotton sacks!"

I sighed as I looked at our empty cotton sacks.  It wasn't long before I asked my next question.  "Why does the old man wear those things on his knees?"

Mom continued picking as she answered.  "Since he picks cotton his knees, the pads protect his knees from pain.  They are called rodilleras.  (kneepads)"

"Well, why can't he pick cotton standing up like the rest of us?"

"i told you that his back hurts.  He is an older gentleman and he has picked cotton for a long time.  His back hurts too much if he bends all day to pick cotton and the kneepads help."

"Will we have to wear kneepads if we pick cotton for a long time?"  I asked.

My mom answered, "Mijita, you will not be in the cotton fields all your life, if you get an education.  If I had an education, I could have an easier job.  Someday, if both of us go to school, we will be able to get good jobs and we will not have to worry about rodilleras."

By this time, Don Tomas was way ahead of us.  He moved quickly even though he picked cotton while on his knees.

I looked at my small burlap sack and told Mom that I had already filled it and wanted her to put my cotton into her cotton sack.  Mom told me to just leave the burlap sack beside her.

"But what will I do with the cotton that I pick?"  I asked her.

"Walk all the way up to where Don Tomas is and start picking there.  Just make motoncitos (little bunches) and I will pick them up as I pick and travel toward you."

This sounded different to me so I began walking away from my mom and closer to Don Tomas.  As I approached him, I stopped and stared.

Don Tomas winked at me and smiled as he said, "Come on little one; you and your mom will fill up a big cotton sack that will weigh many pounds before you know it."

I lowered my covered head and continued to pick.  Don Tomas was ahead of me in seconds.  I watched him as I removed my hat and wiped my forehead.  It was no later than 9:00 AM, but I could already tell that it was going to be a blistering hot day.  I continued to pick cotton and tried to imitate the quickness of Don Tomas.  Mom smiled and shook her head as she looked at me.  It was on my knees picking cotton like Don Tomas.

I lifted my head to look at my mom and told her, "My back hurts and kneeling makes me feel better."

Kneeling while I picked cotton made me feel grown up.  I picked for a while longer and asked mom if I could go get some water.

My mom told me to go ahead and gave me a jar so that I could bring some water back with me.  All I can remember is the excitement about getting out of picking cotton for as long as I could.  I was hot and tired.

I began to walk toward the truck and realized I would have to pass by Don Tomas.  I was shy about doing that.

Sure enough, as I walked by Don Tomas he asked "Para donde vas, Paulita?"

I told him I was going to get some water.  Don Tomas never looked up as he talked and picked cotton.

It took me a while to get to the water truck, but that was the whole point.  The water gave me an excuse to get away from the cotton fields.  I was exhausted and the long, hot day loomed ahead of me.  I climbed the truck and removed the lid from the drinking keg, knowing there would be a huge piece of ice in the water.  I could hardly wait to drink the cold water.  I drank slowly and prepared a jar of water for my mother.

I enjoyed my walk back toward my mother and felt shame because everyone was picking cotton faster than my mom and she had been left far behind.  This made me sad as I lifted the jar of water to her.  I folded my arms in front of my chest and looked down at the ground out of respect for my mother.  When she lowered the jar from her mouth, she asked that I take some water to Don Tomas.  As I turned toward Don tomas, who was way ahead of us, my mom asked that I show him respect.

I approached Don tomas shyly and told him that my mom has asked me to bring him some water.

His brown eyes, almost hidden in his wrinkled brown ace, showed a twinkle as a smile spread across his face.  "Me le das las gracias a tu mama.  (Give my thanks to your mom for me.)"

Don Tomas kept smiling as I crossed my arms across my chest and lowered my eyes toward the ground.  As I waited for Don Tomas to drink the water, I guessed that he must be at least 60 years old.  I felt sorry that he had to pick cotton even though he had a bad back.

"Ten, Paulita, (Here, Paulita,)" said Don Tomas.  "Deja agua en el jarro para que tomes mas agua mas tarde.  (Leave water in the jar so that you can drink water later.)  El dia va ser bien caliente y tenemos que trabajar.  (The day will be very hot and we have to work.)"

I went back to my mo and decided that I was going to pick cotton and work hard just like Don Tomas so that my mom would not have to work in the cotton fields when she was 60 years old.

Throughout the years, I continued picking cotton and so did Don Tomas.  He continued to being me pan dulce at least once a week.  I brought him water whenever I could and shared Mom's delicious tacos with him.  In our own quiet way, Don Tomas and I  became special friends.  I respected his tolerance for picking cotton with a bad back and his elderly age.  I sensed that Don Tomas and I were kindred spirits.  One day after many years of picking cotton together, Don Tomas just stopped coming to work.  I missed his friendship.  Most importantly, I never forgot that I needed to get an education so that my mom and I could stay out of the cotton fields. 

Discussion and Writing Prompts:

1.  Do you think that Don Tomas pays special attention to Paulita?  Why or why
     not?  Support your answer in a well developed essay.

2.  Using a Venn Diagram, compare and contrast Paulita and Don Tomas.  How
     were they different and how were they alike?  Write an essay comparing and
     contrasting the two characters.

3.  Illustrate the likenesses and differences between Paulita and Don Tomas by
     using a Venn diagram.  Draw the two characters and list the characteristics of
     each one.

4.  What did Paulita think would change her mother's lives and hers?  What
      would keep them out of the cotton fields and poverty?  Explain your answer
      using data regarding people in poverty.

5.   Illustrate the encounters between Paulita and Don Tomas.  Write a sentence
      or two below each picture showing their conversations.  What did the dialog
      between the characters tell you about each one?

Creative Expressions: Summer Vacation in the Cotton Fields

Creative Expressions: Summer Vacation in the Cotton Fields: When I was a kid, I always wanted our family to take a vacation to Disney World, but we were too poor.  Instead of going to Disney World...

Summer Vacation in the Cotton Fields

When I was a kid, I always wanted our family to take a vacation to Disney World, but we were too poor.  Instead of going to Disney World, I spent my summers in the cotton fields helping my mother earn money to feed all five of us.  I became an avid reader as soon as I learned to read English which was at about the age of seven.  I read about family vacations, so I created special summer trips in my mind as I picked cotton.

 

Summer Vacation in the
Cotton Fields

Every year, on the first day of school, I could count on my teacher’s first assignment.  We had to write about how we spent our summer vacation and then read what we had written to the rest of the class.  It never mattered what grade I was in, the assignment was always the same; and it was nothing that my classmates or teachers could relate to.

Every summer I would pick cotton, but nobody else in my class picked cotton.  They all had something exciting to read to the class.  Some had gone to Disney World with their families, others had gone to the big cities of San Antonio, Austin or Houston to visit relatives, while others had stayed on South Padre Island for most of the summer.  I couldn’t even begin to relate to those experiences.  Some summers, Mom would save enough money to take us to visit our father’s relatives in Mexico.  None of my classmates ever talked about visiting relatives in Mexico.

I was so embarrassed about picking cotton and visiting relatives in Mexico that I lied about what I did during my summer vacation.  I would write that I had spent most of my summer on South Padre Island.  That was how I explained the tan I’d gotten from spending time in the cotton fields.

I wish I had had then the pride in my culture as I do now.  I wish I could have just told my teachers and classmates that I had picked cotton and visited my relatives in Mexico.

Now that I am an adult, I am sharing my cotton picking life stories and lessons with pride and joy.  I realize that my experiences were unique and helped me become the woman that I am today.  Picking cotton was hard, but my mom turned it into a fun and learning experience.  It was definitely nothing to be ashamed of, but I did not know any better.

Visiting Mexico helped me understand my dad’s culture and gave me an insight about another country.  The trips to Mexico that Mom insisted we take helped me appreciate people that are different from me.

As a child and young adult, I was so ashamed that I lied about who I was.  I am proud of the fact that I am no longer ashamed.  I can let the whole world know that being different is a good thing.  To this day, I do not fully understand why I was ashamed of my life.  I understand that I am proud of every experience that made me different and helped me become the special person that I am.

 Discussion and Writing Prompts:

1.  Write an essay about something that you have lied about and wish you hadn’t.

2.  Illustrate a cover that you would use with this story.

3.  Do you think that her classmates would have understood about picking cotton and visiting relatives in Mexico?  Why or why not?  Explain your answer in an essay.

4.  Select a tradition from your culture that you think is unique.  Why do you think others would have difficulty understanding this particular tradition?  Write an essay explaining your point of view.

5.  Create an interview with questions that you would like to ask the narrator of this story.  Be able to justify why you would ask each particular question.

These stories will be provided and writing prompts will be provided on this blog free of charge on a weekly basis.  These stories and prompts can be provided to you in Spanish for a minimal fee.  Other bilingual activities can be reviewed and purchased at http://www.teacherspayteachers.com/Store/Creative-Expressions

We can customize products, if you cannot find what you like.  Feel free to contact us at creativeexpression@outlook.com

 

 

Stories and Activities

I am one of the Teacher-Authors at Creative Expressions for Teachers Pay Teachers.  I have wanted to be a writer all of my life, and I thought creating        educational products would nurture that passion, fulfill that need.  It provided a creative outlet, but it didn’t fulfill the need of writing on a daily basis.  My sister and I decided using the blog as a platform for creative writing with some activities would help nurture my spirit for creative writing. 

We will be providing a short story with discussion and writing prompts on a weekly basis.  If you would like additional activities, please let us know.  The stories can also be provided to you in Spanish with activities.   

Again, just let us know at creativeexpression@outlook.com and we will provide them for you for a minimal fee.  

You can find additional bilingual educational activities at www.teacherspayteachers.com/Store/Creative-Expressions

 

Early to Rise

I knew it was early.  I could hear the roosters crowing and my mom whistling one of her favorite Mexican tunes.  She rolled the dough to make fresh flour tortillas for our breakfast and lunch in the cotton fields that day.  It was 5:00 AM when I heard Mom say it was time to get ready for the day.

I could feel the pain as I tried to move my sunburned body.  Every bone ached as I tried to get out of bed.  My hands were lobster red and hurt as I tried to move my fingers.  There were scratches and blisters on my hands from the day before.  I could hear Mom’s whistling in the background.  How could she be so happy when I was so miserable about having to pick cotton?

I washed my face with cold water and brushed my teeth so that I could feel better about the day.  My cotton picking clothes consisted of bright red pants and a pink long sleeved shirt with socks and tennis shoes.  I knew I would have to wear a sun bonnet to protect my skin against the sun.  I focused on not complaining as I got myself ready for the long day ahead.

After getting dressed, I had to go to the kitchen to help pack our lunch.  Mom had enough food for an army.  There was hot coffee in a thermos to drink while we ate breakfast tacos and there was Kool-Aid to drink with our lunch tacos.  Mom was a great cook and her meals definitely made the long, hot day more bearable.

Once the breakfast and lunch tacos were packed, I went to the front porch of our house to fold my burlap cotton sack and make sure that I had my gloves to protect my hands.  As I sat there, I could see the foreman’s bright blue truck turn into our driveway.

I climbed into the back of the truck and looked for a corner so that I could avoid the cold morning air once the truck started moving.  The drive was about thirty minutes long.

I climbed off the truck as soon as we reached the cotton fields.  As I placed the sun bonnet on my head, I knew that I could count on the same painful ritual the next day.

As I bent to pick cotton, every bone in my body screamed to remind me that the only way to change the morning ritual for me was to get an education so that I could get out of the cotton fields.

I could hear Mom whistling her happy tune as she began to pick cotton.

 

 

 Discussion and Writing Prompts 

1. Why is the mother so happy and the daughter miserable and in so much pain?  Compare and contrast their outlook on life using a Venn diagram.  Explain your opinion and beliefs in a well-developed essay.

2. Is the family in the story rich or poor?  Write an essay explaining your answer and/or opinion.

2. Illustrate one of the scenes in the story.  Provide a title and subheading for the picture.

4. What is the main idea in the story?  Create a five sentence paragraph explaining the main idea of the story.

5. Create a character sketch of the daughter or mother.  Write a character sketch or draw a picture supporting your character sketch.     

 

Back to School Sale at Teachers Pay Teachers on August 3 - 4, 2015

Hola!

The BTS Sale is on August 3 - 4, 2015, with a 28% savings.  Let me bring you up to date on what is happening at Creative Expressions.

First of all, you need to remember to rate our products so that we can know how to improve our store and resources.  Also, you get free credit points that you can use when purchasing items at Creative Expressions or any other store at TpT.

Secondly, our bundles are always at 30% discount to save you more of your hard earned money.  They are at an additional 28% discount during the BTS sale.  Review our bundles so that you can purchase resources at a huge discount.

Last but not least, if you cannot find certain items at our store, feel free to send us an e-mail.  Ask us to customize materials specifically for your classroom.  You can leave a message on this page or e-mail us at

creativeexpression@outlook.com.

Diana and I hope that you will enjoy shopping at Creative Expressions during this huge sale.  

Stay connected during the great 2015-2016 school year.

Hasta luego,

Spanish Teaching Materials

It is a rude awakening when first year Spanish teachers enter their classrooms for the first time.  Based on my experiences, most teachers receive basic supplies such as a pair of scissors, a few pens, pencils, and a few dry erasure markers with eraser and not much else.

It takes so much more to begin and maintain effective teaching materials in a Spanish classroom.  If a teacher has 20 to 30 students per class, several materials are necessary for a simple hands on activity.  Markers, scissors, glue, colors, pens, pencils, construction paper, staplers, and computer paper are needed, for starters.  Basic supplies, provided for a teacher at the beginning of the school year, don’t even begin to cover the maintenance of supplies for one hands on activity per week much less the entire year.

All teachers need teaching materials, but Spanish teachers need specialized materials to set up an effective teaching classroom.  These materials are not typically provided by most school districts.  Therefore, teachers end up paying for these items out of their own pockets.  Would we ask a surgeon to purchase his own surgery equipment?  No, but we do expect teachers to buy their own materials.  This is a hardship for any Spanish teacher much less one who is teaching Spanish for the first time.  Teachers have to make their own teaching materials which means they have to purchase the supplies to make them, or they have to purchase custom made materials.  Either way, they pay out of their own pockets.

Another hardship for Spanish teachers is that these materials are not found in many educational stores.  Usually, the Spanish materials sold in Spanish are developed using a different Spanish dialect than the one spoken in a particular area.  Spanish teachers lag behind other teachers in getting materials because Spanish is considered an elective.

With 23 years’ experience, I can suggest what every Spanish teacher might need to establish an effective teaching environment for the students. Therefore, I am recommending that every Spanish teacher possess a Spanish Materials Back to School Kit consisting of the following:

1)      Calendar:  This is a “must have” for all Spanish teachers. The Spanish/English calendar should be large enough to include the days, weeks and months.  It should include special phrases that include:  Today is ___________________.  Yesterday was ____________________, Tomorrow is ________________________.  Special phrases would also include:  The temperature is ______________.  The day is ___________________.

2)      Spanish/English Labels: All Spanish teachers need labels with the names of classroom items in both languages.  Some examples are:  door/puerta, windows/ventanas, desk/escritorio, table/mesa, etc.  These labels need to be cut and laminated.  All of these materials take time to prepare.

3)      Poster with Essential Spanish/English Sentences: Spanish teachers should have a poster with essential Spanish/English sentences such as:  May I go to the restroom?  May I go to the nurse’s office? May I get a drink of water?  Many students come into our classrooms knowing only one language, and it is important to have a list of Survival Sentences in both languages.

4)      Welcome Back to School Letter:  This special touch is not mandatory, but definitely important.  Sending the letter home allows the Spanish teacher to form a strong first impression for parental outreach purposes.  The letter should be written in both Spanish and English since parents may know only one language.

5)      Classroom Rules List: The list should include the classroom rules in both Spanish and English. These classroom rules should be listed on a large laminated poster and placed in plain view so that the students are clearly aware of the expected behaviors in the classroom.  

6)      Classroom Supply List:  Parents will appreciate these lists to be included with the Welcome Back letter to ensure that all children bring classroom supplies, if the supplies are affordable. Having additional classroom supplies available for students who are unable to afford their own supplies is crucial.

Well, based on my personal experience, these are the items that should be part of any Spanish Teacher’s Back to School Kit. I hope that you find this information helpful. 

I would love for you to leave a note or comment if you think that I have missed anything that should be included in the kit.

Happy Teaching,

Paula Ramirez and Diana Gonzales

Creative Expressions

1st Annual Gonzalez Family Reunion

Our first family reunion was held on June 20, 2015, and it was so much fun.  All of us helped to find different addresses for different members of the family.  Family members made invitations, and others put them in envelopes and stamped them.  The results were phenomenal.  The actual reunion was held at my brother's ranch and home.  That was a beautiful decision because my brother and his wife have a beautiful and large home with a pool.  There are large, old shade trees on the property as well.  Only family members with health issues did not attend the Gonzalez Family Reunion.

The meat and basic side dishes were provided by my brother and his wife.  Drinks were purchased by one of our cousins and his family.  Hundreds of peaches were included by another one of my cousins and his family who live in the Hill Country of Texas.  Everyone helped with favorite side dishes and desserts.  The most popular dessert was provided by my aunt's family.  They managed to get the reunion invitation on a huge cake.  Even though we didn't want to eat it because it was so beautiful, the cake was delicious.

One of my sisters prepared a PowerPoint presentation of a variety of family pictures.  After a healthy meal, all of us walked outdoors to take recent family pictures.  Everyone had a lot of fun as jokes were hurled back and forth as we posed for pictures.  During the reunion all phones were out, as well as iPads, to take more pictures.

There were several activities such as swimming, volleyball, and dancing.  But talking and catching up with different family members was the most popular entertainment.  All of us were having so much fun that we decided to make the Gonzalez Family Reunion an annual event.
Most of us are already making plans for next year.

Hasta luego,