Aresean re-reads Fantastic Fox
Walking into Marina’s class after my PB&J sandwich and thirty minute recess break was never enough. This was the worst part of my day: silent reading. I did not see the point of reading a book when the stories were so boring compared to the high-flying action on TV. Sitting in a sunlit room to read a book I had no interest in was horrific. I wanted to go back outside and dominate the soccer field for another hour. I would rather eat a nasty school lunch--Spaghetti O’s and cold pasta with bean salad--instead of silent reading.
I sat in my seat near the sink facing the window, starrng blankly in search of the New York skyline, but I could only see an ugly Tribeca brick building. Marina approached me seeing that I had nothing in front of me and said, "Why aren't you reading Arsean?"
"I don't know what to read," I answered as I looked up at my white haired teacher; the curls reminded me of a telephone cord.
"Lets go to the library." The two second walk to our in class library was overwhelming to me, it was filled with so many books, so many choices, some good, some great and some terrible. She pulled out The Giver and I shook my head from left to right, then she asked if I had read Roald Dahl.
"Nope," I answered.
"Try one of these," she said, while handing to me The BFG, The Witches, and Fantastic Mr. Fox. I observed the three books, reading the hooks and pretending like I cared about the content to impress my teacher.
"I think I'll take this one," I said after my careful deliberation. I took the book that had an off-white cloth wrapping with a simple picture of a smiling fox on the cover, but most importantly the fewest pages. Walking back to my seat I couldn't help to look at Resa, my first crush. She was the most entertaining part of my independent reading time.
When I opened to the first page, I remember being bored before I even started, but at the end of the chapter there was a small poem that intrigued me. In all of my past readings the stories were somewhat boring and uninspiring, but this seemed different. At that moment I didn't bother to look over at the best looking girl in the first grade, instead I kept reading.
When the lights turned on, it was the first time in my life that I was upset that silent reading had finished. The time went by in an instant; independent reading usually felt like an eternity but now I didn’t even want to build blocks, play bingo or listen to read aloud, all I wanted was to finish reading about that fox. How could I consider finger-painting when the fox was going to get shot? I went to the cubby marked A. Maghami on red electric tape and placed the book into it. It was sitting there next to the extraneous papers I never brought home.
The following afternoon continued as usual and I wasn’t upset when I heard the loud obnoxious whistle belting from the mouth of the tall man with a red mustache. I used to abhor this man that would put an end to my reign on the soccer field, but now i didn't care. Instead I was happy to go too independent reading.
I sat in my usual shrunken seat with the skyline in view. I turned the pages and saw a picture of this Fantastic Fox out foxing the frantic farmers from finishing him. The fox hid behind a wall from a farmer holding a double barrel shotgun in his hand, the black and white picture covered half of the page. I didn’t know how the Fox was getting out of this. I was excited. I read further and was a bit passed halfway finished when the lights turned on. The Fox family was in danger when I stopped. Were they ok? I was actually worried about a book! How could I be worried about anything besides power rangers and play-dates? I became attached to the book, creating a bond between me and a novel that never existed before.
The pages were old and the spine was broken but I felt a connection to the book. I never imagined reading to be like this, I knew why people sat hours at a time reading a novel to find out if the main character was okay. They sat on the subway unattached to the people around them, in a park reading the words off the page, or wherever else their books took them. I went on to James and the Giant Peach, Matilda, The Witches, and others. The novels I read in ECC both engaged me and allowed me to enjoy my reading. It carried me into middle school where my enjoyment in reading would be lost again.
Opening the now lime Green cover with a leaping fox didn’t have the same affect as the cloth covered book I read in first grade. No the book I fell in love with was becoming like the rest with their gimmicky covers. Why would this make a book appealing? When I opened the book again I began to read, I had no recollection of what happened in those opening pages except for that poem. Bunce, Boggis and Bean reentered my mind with all of their nastiness and bad hygiene. I continued rapidly through the book; I thought the book was a lot longer than it was. Slowly as I reread the book, images of Marina’s class came through my mind, sitting in a room with miniature furniture, my first crush, who was across the room from me at the time and my friend Sky who was on the other side of the table. I was distracted from reading because of my memories of the previous reading.
It was 6:20; I had to leave for soccer, but I wanted to finish the book. I put the book in my duffle bag and ran to the A train. I would only stay on until the 42nd so I could catch the 7 to Flushing. As I ran through the underpass and down the stairs to the 7 train I saw that there won’t be much room to sit. I stood there waiting for the express train knowing I had to be on my toes if I wanted a seat. The train slowly came to the station; everyone began getting closer and closer until the doors opened. The people inside were permitted to leave and chaos broke people pushed through the doors to get a seat, I managed to wrangle myself through two teens listening to their Ipods. The single red seat that was left called me; I sat down jamming myself between, what looked to be a construction worker and a secretary. The doors closed and I saw an enormous woman, her belly must have been carrying triplets, a woman this pregnant looked like a pin would pop her belly. I looked around and everyone was looking away as if to say I can’t see her so I won’t give my seat up. I took another look around and still everyone was looking down or away, closing their eyes, turning their heads, anything to avoid acknowledging this woman’s existence. “Excuse me… You want to sit here,” I told her while pointing to my seat.
“Thank you,” she said as she held the bottom of her belly. I stood up cramped next to two other men who were in search of these seats. There was no room in this cramped train to read now, my nose was running and I felt so uncomfortable, but that lady was standing for two, so it was worth it.
I came home after an intense soccer practice and came back to reread what happened to this Fox that I adored. I knew that he would live but why did I like it now. I found myself in search of reasons to explain my attraction to this book. I really couldn’t put my finger on it. I finished reading Dahl’s novel and went to bed that night wondering how Wes Anderson would create this Fantastic Fox in his new movie. Putting a more mature and modern twist on a book I fell in love with as a child.
Walking into Marina’s class after my PB&J sandwich and thirty minute recess break was never enough. This was the worst part of my day: silent reading. I did not see the point of reading a book when the stories were so boring compared to the high-flying action on TV. Sitting in a sunlit room to read a book I had no interest in was horrific. I wanted to go back outside and dominate the soccer field for another hour. I would rather eat a nasty school lunch--Spaghetti O’s and cold pasta with bean salad--instead of silent reading.
I sat in my seat near the sink facing the window, starrng blankly in search of the New York skyline, but I could only see an ugly Tribeca brick building. Marina approached me seeing that I had nothing in front of me and said, "Why aren't you reading Arsean?"
"I don't know what to read," I answered as I looked up at my white haired teacher; the curls reminded me of a telephone cord.
"Lets go to the library." The two second walk to our in class library was overwhelming to me, it was filled with so many books, so many choices, some good, some great and some terrible. She pulled out The Giver and I shook my head from left to right, then she asked if I had read Roald Dahl.
"Nope," I answered.
"Try one of these," she said, while handing to me The BFG, The Witches, and Fantastic Mr. Fox. I observed the three books, reading the hooks and pretending like I cared about the content to impress my teacher.
"I think I'll take this one," I said after my careful deliberation. I took the book that had an off-white cloth wrapping with a simple picture of a smiling fox on the cover, but most importantly the fewest pages. Walking back to my seat I couldn't help to look at Resa, my first crush. She was the most entertaining part of my independent reading time.
When I opened to the first page, I remember being bored before I even started, but at the end of the chapter there was a small poem that intrigued me. In all of my past readings the stories were somewhat boring and uninspiring, but this seemed different. At that moment I didn't bother to look over at the best looking girl in the first grade, instead I kept reading.
When the lights turned on, it was the first time in my life that I was upset that silent reading had finished. The time went by in an instant; independent reading usually felt like an eternity but now I didn’t even want to build blocks, play bingo or listen to read aloud, all I wanted was to finish reading about that fox. How could I consider finger-painting when the fox was going to get shot? I went to the cubby marked A. Maghami on red electric tape and placed the book into it. It was sitting there next to the extraneous papers I never brought home.
The following afternoon continued as usual and I wasn’t upset when I heard the loud obnoxious whistle belting from the mouth of the tall man with a red mustache. I used to abhor this man that would put an end to my reign on the soccer field, but now i didn't care. Instead I was happy to go too independent reading.
I sat in my usual shrunken seat with the skyline in view. I turned the pages and saw a picture of this Fantastic Fox out foxing the frantic farmers from finishing him. The fox hid behind a wall from a farmer holding a double barrel shotgun in his hand, the black and white picture covered half of the page. I didn’t know how the Fox was getting out of this. I was excited. I read further and was a bit passed halfway finished when the lights turned on. The Fox family was in danger when I stopped. Were they ok? I was actually worried about a book! How could I be worried about anything besides power rangers and play-dates? I became attached to the book, creating a bond between me and a novel that never existed before.
The pages were old and the spine was broken but I felt a connection to the book. I never imagined reading to be like this, I knew why people sat hours at a time reading a novel to find out if the main character was okay. They sat on the subway unattached to the people around them, in a park reading the words off the page, or wherever else their books took them. I went on to James and the Giant Peach, Matilda, The Witches, and others. The novels I read in ECC both engaged me and allowed me to enjoy my reading. It carried me into middle school where my enjoyment in reading would be lost again.
Opening the now lime Green cover with a leaping fox didn’t have the same affect as the cloth covered book I read in first grade. No the book I fell in love with was becoming like the rest with their gimmicky covers. Why would this make a book appealing? When I opened the book again I began to read, I had no recollection of what happened in those opening pages except for that poem. Bunce, Boggis and Bean reentered my mind with all of their nastiness and bad hygiene. I continued rapidly through the book; I thought the book was a lot longer than it was. Slowly as I reread the book, images of Marina’s class came through my mind, sitting in a room with miniature furniture, my first crush, who was across the room from me at the time and my friend Sky who was on the other side of the table. I was distracted from reading because of my memories of the previous reading.
It was 6:20; I had to leave for soccer, but I wanted to finish the book. I put the book in my duffle bag and ran to the A train. I would only stay on until the 42nd so I could catch the 7 to Flushing. As I ran through the underpass and down the stairs to the 7 train I saw that there won’t be much room to sit. I stood there waiting for the express train knowing I had to be on my toes if I wanted a seat. The train slowly came to the station; everyone began getting closer and closer until the doors opened. The people inside were permitted to leave and chaos broke people pushed through the doors to get a seat, I managed to wrangle myself through two teens listening to their Ipods. The single red seat that was left called me; I sat down jamming myself between, what looked to be a construction worker and a secretary. The doors closed and I saw an enormous woman, her belly must have been carrying triplets, a woman this pregnant looked like a pin would pop her belly. I looked around and everyone was looking away as if to say I can’t see her so I won’t give my seat up. I took another look around and still everyone was looking down or away, closing their eyes, turning their heads, anything to avoid acknowledging this woman’s existence. “Excuse me… You want to sit here,” I told her while pointing to my seat.
“Thank you,” she said as she held the bottom of her belly. I stood up cramped next to two other men who were in search of these seats. There was no room in this cramped train to read now, my nose was running and I felt so uncomfortable, but that lady was standing for two, so it was worth it.
I came home after an intense soccer practice and came back to reread what happened to this Fox that I adored. I knew that he would live but why did I like it now. I found myself in search of reasons to explain my attraction to this book. I really couldn’t put my finger on it. I finished reading Dahl’s novel and went to bed that night wondering how Wes Anderson would create this Fantastic Fox in his new movie. Putting a more mature and modern twist on a book I fell in love with as a child.
