 Wednesday, September 06, 2006
- by Quin Cullen, Grade 5
Tony Cullen, my father, was a great person. He and my mom grew up together in Ithaca, New York. My father was the youngest of six children, two girls and three other boys. He attended Ithaca High School, where he got straight A's. He went to Hobart College, just like all of his siblings did, but transferred to Duke University after one year.
My father had played lacrosse his whole life, and he was good. He had a lot of moves that couldn't be beat. He brought lacrosse to Duke University, played on the team he created and coached it once he had graduated. He made the team good enough for the school to be able to afford. Slowly, they got better, won games, and, eventually, offered scholarships.
When the team was set, Dad decided to resign. He came home to stay with his family: my mom, Megan, Eamon, Rory, Kaity Shea, me, and Ainslie--the six Cullen kids. He was one of six, so it was only natural that we ended up with six.
The summer Dad was diagnosed with cancer, I was six years old. I didn't understand that it was life-threatening. Everything seems so surreal when you're six.
Dad didn't get better. In fact, because of his Crones, he got worse. He would get a rash from Crones that only the sun could cure, but the sun was what was killing him. Dad's melanoma got worse and worse, and eventually he couldn't get out of bed. I still went to school, but I didn't talk much, not even to Gracie, my best friend.
My dad passed away on Cinco de Mayo 2001, the Mexican celebration of freedom. The next school day, I went to my first-grade classroom trying to pretend nothing was different. I knew it was. I knew I would never see my dad again in real life, only in dreams and pictures.
Before he left us, Dad gave us all one more present. We moved in on May 3rd. Dad lived in that house for two days before he left. For the next three years, we took every Cinco de Mayo off from school, until I was in fifth grade and Megan, Eamon, and Rory were freshmen in college. I felt sorry for myself for a while, but then I realized: I'm not the one who had my life cut short. I probably won't leave my family 45 years into life. Dad's the one who labored his whole life and never had the time to have a break.
Today, I remember Dad. I know he watched the Carolina Hurricanes win the Stanley Cup and I know he watches us. He's not on Earth, but he keeps us safe.
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Friday, September 01, 2006
   
    
 
One year ago today, our little literary blog came into the world. With a flourish of trumpets and another flourish of manic typing, WORD came to be. Now WORD is officially 1. And he's more jazzed than ever to be here!
In its 2nd year on this planet, WORD will be bringing you more writing tips, more book news, and much more student writing! Click "submit your writing" on the right hand side of the page to send us your stuff! Poems, stories, essays... it's all good! Yah! You can also write us any time at word@weeklyreader.com.
And now in celebration of this glorious day, we give you a few of our contributors' thoughts on what WORD means to them.
DALLAS WOODBURN, WORD CONTRIBUTOR
 In first grade, I started keeping a diary. I remember being disappointed that my conversations were always one-sided. No matter how many times I poured my heart out on those pages or asked questions about what I should do, the only response I could hope to find was within my own mind. Being involved with WORD, I feel like I finally get to write in a diary that responds back. I get to be a part of a community of writers just like me! If I am struggling with writer's block, I can blog about it and others will respond with support and advice. If I read a good book, I can talk to other people who have read it, too -- and find out what else they're reading. When I finished my novel and blogged about it, other WORD members responded with a barrage of exclamation-pointed congratulations and cheers. Who needs a diary when we've got WORD? Happy birthday, WORD, and here's to many, many more! :)
DEBBIE NEVINS -
Managing Editor, READ, WRITING, and KNOW YOUR WORLD - EXTRA
In the beginning was the WORD. For me, WORD has been the beginning of a whole new literary adventure, since I wasn't really into blogs before we launched this one. I think this is the coolest thing ever, and I just want to say, Blog on!
 SANDHYA NANKANI - Senior Editor, WRITING
Words have always been magical to me. WORD is magical to me as well because it connects me to the readers of our magazine every single day. It's one thing to put your thoughts down on paper for your eyes to see; it's another thing to put your thoughts down for the world to see. It takes guts to hit the <send> button and that's why there's nothing more exciting to me than checking the WORD inbox and seeing it filled up with words by you, our prolific and poetic student writers. You are brave and inspire me with your writings about your lives, your experiences, your fears, your dreams, and your epiphanies.
JEFF IVES - News Group, Editor
 WORD is more than just another blog to me. WORD is the calm center of the internet storm. When everything in cyberspace roils with the madness of rumors … When online newspapers have boring and confusing headlines that I don’t care about … When all hope for an enjoyable, relaxing read have faded into the abyss of my monitor … That’s when I turn to WORD. And it never disappoints. While I have made my own small contributions to this wonderful blog, I think we all know that WORD is bigger than any one person. WORD is made by all of us and for all of us. And it shall never perish from this internet. Happy birthday WORD. You may only be a year old, but your place in my heart is endless.
BRYON CAHILL - Literary Editor, READ & WRITING
 Dear WORD,
Hey buddy. Sup chu? Happy birthday, brutha! Yeah, that's right. You're an old man now. Welcome to the club. Hey, let me ask you something. Where do you get your ideas? That's probably a question you despise, huh? When you get together with the other literary blogs, do you laugh about numbskulls like me who ask you silly questions? Well here's another: Who is John Galt? Ay, there's the rub. What rub? What are you talking about? It's the pig that's unusual. It says so, right there in the middle of the web. Are you sure? I have a good mind to believe that your truth is questionable! Prove it! No. I'm outta here. Goodnight, my little prince. Goodnight.
Truth and fiction live in books. Nonsense in a Cheshire Cat's grin. Everything in-between lies here. We give you our WORD.
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Tuesday, August 29, 2006
- Poem by Sadaf Qureshi, Grade 11
I like the way it works its way up into my mouth,
the way it sounds when it escapes
an-eh-mauws-it-y
It starts out hard-headed and proud
But by the time you get to the third syllable it has lost its staccato,
Instead it flows like thick liquid,
as though it has slipped on the wet surface of my tongue,
and when you expect it to finish off staying down,
it gets back up and regains its composure—but with a lost severity.
There's a picture in the paper today,
About the lives they led
And what that has all been reduced to—a muddle of paraphernalia scattered on a sidewalk,
About the living, breathing, feeling, human debris that
War has left in its path,
About animosity in action
"Civilians collect their belongings from their shop
that was damaged by Israeli air strikes in southern Beirut, Lebanon."
That is the picture in the paper today.
The picture has it looking as though
Animosity never had to wipe the dirt off a scraped knee,
Or bare a bruise on its shin
It looks as though it has never had that humbling and humiliating opportunity
To get up and recover from a miss because it never does miss
Never trips up
Never forgets to strike
It looks more unrelenting and nimble than it sounds.
Still, they say that looks can be deceiving
They never say anything about sounds
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Friday, August 25, 2006
WARNING: If you have not read Of Mice and Men yet, you may not want to read this blog entry. It kinda sorta spoils the ending. 'Nuff said.
In Issue One of READ magazine, we asked you a few questions about the Reader's Theater play Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. One of the questions was:
Does George make the right decision at the end of the story? Why or why not?
Here is what a few of our READers thought:
 Sarah M., Grade 7 said
Yes, I think that he made the right decision. Like they were talking about earlier in the play, you shouldn't let someone else kill your best friend. But also, he was wrong because it was murder.
Heather, Grade 8 said
I think George makes the right decision. If George didn't kill him, a stranger would have ... or he would have lived with the guilt forever. I'm not saying if a friend does something bad that you should kill them, but you sometimes have to be a little rude to get them to stop. So both ways are right.
Hayley, Grade 7 said
Yes, George made the right decision. He didnt want a stranger to kill his friend. It was like the guy with the dog said "I should have killed him myself" George thought Lennie was sorta his responsibility. He didn't do it out of anger, he did it out of love!
Laura S., Grade 7 said
George and Lennie were such good friends that George wouldn't feel right if he didn't kill him. He would probably feel sad and not be too happy that someone else shot his best friend. I think that since Lennie was so fond of the rabbits that that is what George wanted his last thought to be.That is why I think that George did the right thing.
So it sounds to me like everyone agrees that George did the right thing. It still breaks my heart though. Does anyone else out there agree? Is there anyone that thinks George should have not killed Lennie? Leave a comment below or email us at word@weeklyreader.com.
Until next time...
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