Lesson 1 How Others See Me
LP_Second_Quarter_Grade_7_English - baitang7
LP_Second_Quarter_Grade_7_English - baitang7
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classmates, and write only one word on each of their respective papers. That word must<br />
be an adjective which you think best describes that classmate. After five minutes, take<br />
the piece of paper from your back and look at how your classmates described you. Now<br />
compare the descriptions that your classmates wrote for you with those you wrote for<br />
yourself. <strong>How</strong> similar are they? <strong>How</strong> different are they?<br />
YOUR TEXT<br />
THE CENTIPEDE<br />
by Rony V. Diaz<br />
When I saw my sister, Delia, beating my dog with a stick, I felt hate heave like a caged, angry<br />
beast in my chest. Out in the sun, the hair of my sister glinted like metal and, in her brown dress, she<br />
looked like a sheathed dagger. Biryuk hugged the earth and screamed but I could not bound forward nor<br />
cry out to my sister. She had a weak heart and she must not be surprised. So I held myself, my throat<br />
swelled, and I felt hate rear and plunge in its cage of ribs.<br />
I was thirteen when my father first took me hunting. All through the summer of that year, I had<br />
tramped alone and unarmed the fields and forest around our farm. Then one afternoon in late July my<br />
father told me I could use his shotgun.<br />
Beyond the ipil grove, in a grass field we spotted a covey of brown pigeons. In the open, they<br />
kept springing to the air and gliding away every time we were within range. But finally they dropped to the<br />
ground inside a wedge of guava trees. My father pressed my shoulder and I stopped. Then slowly, in a<br />
half-crouch, we advanced. The breeze rose lightly; the grass scuffed against my bare legs. My father<br />
stopped again. He knelt down and held my hand.<br />
―Wait for the birds to rise and then fire,‖ he whispered.<br />
I pushed the safety lever of the rifle off and sighted along the barrel. The saddle of the stock felt<br />
greasy on my cheek. The gun was heavy and my arm muscles twitched. My mouth was dry; I felt vaguely<br />
sick. I wanted to sit down.<br />
―You forgot to spit,‖ my father said.<br />
Father had told me that hunters always spat for luck before firing. I spat and I saw the breeze<br />
bend the ragged, glassy threads of spittle toward the birds.<br />
―That‘s good,‖ Father said.<br />
―Can‘t we throw a stone,‖ I whispered fiercely. ―It‘s taking them a long time.‖<br />
―No, you‘ve to wait.‖<br />
Suddenly, a small dog yelping shrilly came tearing across the brooding plain of grass and small<br />
trees. It raced across the plain in long slewy swoops, on outraged shanks that disappeared and flashed<br />
alternately in the light of the cloud-banked sun. One of the birds whistled and the covey dispersed like<br />
seeds thrown in the wind. I fired and my body shook with the fierce momentary life of the rifle. I saw three<br />
pigeons flutter in a last convulsive effort to stay afloat, then fall to the ground. The shot did not scare the<br />
dog. He came to us, sniffing cautiously. He circled around us until I snapped my fingers and then he<br />
came to me.<br />
―Not bad,‖ my father said grinning. ―Three birds with one tube.‖ I went to the brush to get the<br />
birds. The dog ambled after me. He found the birds for me. The breast of one of the birds was torn. The<br />
bird had fallen on a spot where the earth was worn bare, and its blood was spread like a tiny, red rag. The<br />
dog scraped the blood with his tongue. I picked up the birds and its warm, mangled flesh clung to the<br />
palm of my hand.<br />
―You‘re keen,‖ I said to the dog. ―Here. Come here.‖ I offered him my bloody palm. He came to<br />
me and licked my palm clean.<br />
I gave the birds to my father. ―May I keep him, Father?‖ I said pointing to the dog. He put the birds<br />
in a leather bag which he carried strapped around his waist.<br />
Father looked at me a minute and then said: ―Well, I‘m not sure. That dog belongs to somebody.‖<br />
―May I keep him until his owner comes for him?‖ I pursued.<br />
―He‘d make a good pointer,‖ Father remarked. ―But I would not like my son to be accused of dogstealing.‖<br />
Grade 7 English Learning Package 2