P5 & P6 Composition – An Argument
One of the compositions that my P6s wrote this month has been a very interesting experience. In fact, it was the first one of the year and I was extremely pleased with what I saw.
It was on the theme of An Argument. (Pictures: A broken piggy bank, dirty hands, a mud-caked t-shirt). This topic can also be found in my February E-learning . During our 5 mins to plan, I saw the look of confusion on their faces as soon as they read the theme (which could have also been because it was the first lesson of the year!)
So, I told them to start with the WHO. Who were you arguing with? What did that person mean to you? A friend? A brother or sister? Your mother? Or was it a complete stranger?
When they had figured that out, they moved on to the WHAT. What was the argument about? A change in behaviour? A resentment you have been carrying? Or a simple accident?
What amazed me after, was the number of different stories and perspectives I received from my students after that 5 minutes of planning. Some played it safe (argument with their sibling), others more daring (argument with their mothers) and others bold (argument with a stranger). One student wrote about an argument that his parents had had.
What I enjoyed reading was the way they developed the relationship between their characters. Some were touching, others realistic. I was proud of my students. It isn’t easy to dig deep and write a story in 60 minutes, let alone ones that reflected experiences that they may have had, read or heard about.
Below, I have put up 2 compositions. Take note of the dialogue written that shows an argument clearly. I have typed them out because the words are not clear when scanned. I have corrected the grammatical error. The content is all theirs!
Even though I am thirty years old now, I can still remember a frightening incident that had happened twenty-four years ago. It was an unforgettable argument between my mum and dad.
That fateful night, I was in a deep slumber when suddenly a loud noise woke me up. I slowly got up from my cot and saw my parents outside my room shouting at each other. They were even pointing their fingers viciously at each other.
“You know that I have lost my job and you are still spending so much of money on our son and yourself! Do you even have a heart to think about our future?” my dad shouted, his face suffused with anger.
“What is the meaning of this? This month I spent less than what I normally do and yet you call this a lot?” my mum replied with rage.
At that point, my dad was seeing red everywhere and his fist was tightly clenched.“Come here and say that again!” he cried angrier than ever.
Without any hesitation, my mother screeched like never before, “That’s it! I have been wrongly accused and this is the last straw and I am at the end of my tether!” With a strong push powered by a loud cry, my dad was flung back against the wall.
He sat down in pain, his arms bruised. He was definitely not lucky to have faced the full force of my mum’s wrath. With his body violently moving up and down, it was no longer time to feel safe. Unable to control himself, he stood up and flipped the table, making my piggy bank fly off the table and onto the floor, shattering into pieces. The clanging of the numerous coins that had fallen was distinctively loud and shrill. Unfortunately, the throwing of items did not end there. My dad picked up my Ipad right beside him and smashed it on the floor. The shattered screen flew in the air like diamonds in all directions. Luckily no one was injured.
As it was so loud and scary, I started to rain tears down my cheeks. My mum who suffered a shock and felt the same as me, came over to comfort me. She also started to tear up and hug me tightly. Then she started pleading with my dad to stop. At first, the angst and fire in him was impossible to extinguish so he ignored my mum. However, as I started to cry louder, the emotions got to him, making him come back to his senses. He slowly calmed himself down and walked towards us. Although it was tough for him after everything that he had done, he still put aside his shame and pride and said sorry to us, promising to control his anger next time.
That argument left a scar in me that I cannot forget nor let go. This teaches all parents that they should never argue in front of their children. Parents should learn to reason things out instead of arguing when faced with difficulties.
I knelt down on the floor, putting away old clothes and toys in the attic. Plumes of dust floated in the air in suffocating layers. As my hacking cough passed, my eyes fell on a pile of neatly-folded clothes. Picking them up, I beamed, recalling the hefty lesson I had learnt after an argument.
“Joey, go and do your homework now, it is due tomorrow!” yelled my mother from the kitchen. Practically the entire neighbourhood could hear her. I sighed, putting down the clothes I was folding halfway. My mother had a habit of giving a task to do immediately for one who was in the middle of another. Wearily, I dragged myself to the living room and did my homework. Numbers filled the page, making me dizzy just by looking at them. At that moment, my younger brother arrived from soccer practice.
“Answer is 48 and done!” I cheered, putting down my pen. I rushed to the pile of clothes, ready to finish my job. There, I saw my younger brother painstakingly folding my clothes. My heart nearly broke at the sight of his helpfulness, until I caught sight of my clothes.
“What did you do to my clothes?” I shrieked, picking up one of them like it was a bomb. Crusty mud was smeared all over it, bits of it dropping to the ground.
I would have thought that it was chocolate if it were not for the bits of grass stuck to the mud. My younger brother’s jaw dropped. Apparently, he had not noticed it earlier. I glanced at my brother’s mud-caked hands to my similarly ‘designed’ clothes, putting two and two together.
“You ruined my clothes!” I raged
“I was trying to help!” my brother protested.
“You should have washed your hands first, dummy,” I pointed out furiously.
“I’m not a dummy! You did not even thank me!” he screamed.
“Why should I?” I shot back.
My brother stared angrily at me, his face livid with fury. He grabbed a nearby tissue box and aimed it at me. Unfortunately, he missed. My face was stuffed with anger. Feeling hot under the collar, I stormed out of the room, shouting, “I do not want to see you!” The rest of the day passed with wordless glares.
The next day, my brother knocked on my door. “Enter,” I grumbled, still upset about yesterday’s incident. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he placed a small pile of clothes on my bed.
“Sorry for ruining your clothes yesterday and trying to hit you with the tissue box. I used my allowance to buy you new ones. Will you forgive me?” he peeped. I stared at him wide-eyed. Was this my brother? I had to just remind myself to nod and lowering my head with guilt, I apologised, “Sorry for scolding you yesterday and thank you for helping me.”Suddenly we burst into peals of laughter, all the tension dispersed.
“Joey can you help me in the kitchen?” my brother asked, breaking my train of thought. I grinned. I had definitely learnt my lesson that day and I never yelled or fought with my brother again.