Beebe Elementary Students Present Stories

Feb 13th, 2014 | By admin | Category: Education

Stealing Home

By Bryson Edwards

“Anyone can play ball, doesn’t matter if your black or white. It matters on what kind of ball player you were.” Jackie Robinson

Would you remember the time you stole home? I have! It all started at the break of dawn 7:30 a.m. The Conway Ball Parks were soggy, and that was a good sign.  It was the ninth inning and it turned out to be just like one person trying to build a 50 foot statue. I was at second base and wanted to advance to third anxiously. Finally, I dashed across the baseline as fast as a flash. “Safe!” yelled the umpire.

After I stole third, I slowly stood up dusting the dirt off of my stained uniform. The small dugout was about to explode with happiness, but they were also nervous. The sight of the huge scoreboard made me lose my focus.  Leading off carefully, the pitcher exchanged looks from me and home plate. “I am doing it.”  I told myself. As the pitchers leg swung fiercely to throw, I took off like a cheetah chasing a hawk.  While I bolted to the bag, a sight of Jackie Robinson increased my speed from fast to faster. I ran. When I slid, the bumpy dirt flew up like tiny people bouncing on trampolines. Suddenly, I heard the word, “Safe!”

It was like my soul escaped to Heaven. The smile on my teammates face made the bleachers go crazy!  As I walked across the drenched baseline to the gray brick dugout, the other team walked sadly to shake hands.  Their coach threw his rough-stitched hat down with disappointment. I know God had gave me this fine ability! I know segregation is over and that is great! But I had performed one of the best plays in baseball history!

A New Due

By Rylie Barker

Roses are red, violets are blue. I cut my hair off, how about you? My mom and nana were out and about when my Aunt Kris, who was watching me, told me that it was bedtime. I still wanted to watch television, I wasn’t tired. I thought about what to do. Then it hit me. I went into my nana’s room, grabbed scissors out of the top drawer, and took a plastic bag out of the corner. I picked the scissors up. I could smell the metal from the scissors. I could hear the plastic Wal-Mart bag ruffling. I could taste the wood from the dresser. I could touch the bed below me. I could see the door wide open.

Suddenly, the first snip of hair was gone. Snip. Snip. Snip. I thought I was making a good looking bob. Before long, most of the hair I began with was either on the bed or in the trashcan. Finally, My Aunt Kris heard me because she came down stairs. First, I reacted in a happy way. “How does it look?” I asked her. I smiled. When she saw me her eyes widened. I didn’t understand. I thought I looked amazing until I looked into the mirror. I saw why she was shocked. The worst part was that tomorrow was picture day. From that day on I wasn’t allowed to touch scissors until I was seven.

I never regret that night because it was a memory to look back on and to laugh at. I will always remember the time I cut my hair so short I looked like a boy.