When Mack Came Back by Brad Strickland; Dial Books for Young Readers: New York, 2000; $15.99 I’ve always loved dogs, but I can never have one, because of my allergies. The book When Mack Came Back was appealing to me because I could understand how much the boy wanted a dog and what he felt like when he thought the dog would die. Whether you have a dog or not, you will enjoy this book! This book is about a family’s struggles during World War II. The older brother Ben has gone off to war and the youngest son, Maury, feels very alone. There is very little money, and people can barely buy what they need. The father doesn’t like Maury as much as he likes Ben because they are so different. For example, the father and Ben like hunting while Maury would rather read and go to school. I admire Maury because he is very good at school and he is so brave. He knew his father wouldn’t approve, but he made the choice to sell his bike to save his dog. He risked getting in trouble, because calling the vet was the right thing to do. Sometimes, whether people like it . or not, you have to do what you know is right. There are many exciting parts in this story that make it difficult to put down. One of these times was when Maury thought he would lose his dog due to illness. A vet came and cured the dog just when Maury thought he would die. The father still tried to get the dog out of the house by attempting to give the dog away. To my relief Mack and Maury got to stay together after all. I have had a similar experience. Once I had a pug, but my mother gave him away because of my asthma. I missed playing with Brooklyn very much. I feel lucky because my dad plays with me and is much nicer than Maury’s dad. I learned many things from When Mack Came Back. Unlike Maury’s father, you can like people even if they are different from you. For example, if there is a new kid who comes to your school who is different, you can still be friends. I also learned to do what’s right even if other people are against you. Maury makes some tough decisions but gets some great rewards . Austin Alvermann, 8Richboro, Pennsylvania
March/April 2001
Every Nordic Night
The Nordic Express is a large freight boat that comes in extremely late every Thursday night, now, but when I was little it used to come in around six-thirty or seven o’clock every Friday night. Mom and I would usually just be finishing the supper dishes when we’d hear the great loud blast of the horn coming from the Nordic Express as it came to a stop beside the pebbly gray wharf of our tiny rock-covered island, Harrington Harbour. That’s when Dad and I would start getting ready. I would scurry around for my rubber boots, gloves and warm jacket, sometimes leaving the dishes. No matter how much I tried to hurry Dad was always ready before me, but he was patient and never complained. Then after lightly kissing Mom good-bye, I’d hurry off after Dad. He’d stroll along with me trotting along beside him, my rubber boots flapping as we headed for the wharf. Usually a fall-flavored wind nearly blew our feet from under us, but still we always continued on. If the gangplank wasn’t down, we’d go into the shed to keep out the ever blowing wind and wait and watch; Dad liked this; so did I. I liked holding his hand as he explained things about the boat to me For some reason when I was on the wharf I always held my dad’s hand. His skin was worn like leather and it looked like it had been stained brown; mine wasn’t quite so brown or worn, just evenly tanned. Even though he never said so, I knew Dad didn’t hold my hand because I might fall in the water; he trusted me not to go near the edge, and I didn’t hold his hand because I was scared. He knew this even though I didn’t say so. That’s the way we are; we don’t have to say everything, we just know. I liked holding his hand as he explained things about the boat to me. I liked looking into his deep sea-green eyes whenever he talked about boats; they shone like diamonds in the eerie darkness of the night. My dad loves boats, and so do I. Once the gangplank was down and the people got off, Dad and I would get on. I liked swaying back and forth as we walked up the shaky gangplank. As soon as we boarded we always headed straight for the vending machines. Dad always had a loonie or two in his pocket; he’d let me push the buttons and drop the money in too; he knew I liked it without me having to tell him. I’d get a bag of chips or a chocolate bar, then sometimes, while I was contentedly munching my little treat, we’d talk to Dad’s friends who worked on the boat, or rather he’d talk, I’d eat and listen. Then we’d head for home, with the wind lashing at our backs, just me and Dad. I love this memory of my childhood, and so does Dad. Naomi Rowsell, 12Harrington Harbour,Quebec, Canada
Rattlesnake!
In the summer of 1996, I was lounging in the moss of my grassy backyard. The perimeter of the yard was bordered by a leafy hedge, which led to a huge pine forest. Our pine forest covered about fifty square acres, and housed giant evergreens. In the corner of the yard was a log pile, with half-rotted logs jumbled in a heap. Next to the decaying mass of wood was a green garden, which belonged to my mother. She had planted many bright yellow marigolds, light green cucumbers, and ripe, red tomatoes. This was a perfect feast for a mouse, which we had an abundance of. Even though I was only seven, I knew there were some snakes living in either the pine forest or the log pile. I loved reptiles, and I often scoured the woodlands for them. That day I had decided to search near the rotting logs, which were home to a family of mice. Snakes love to devour mice, by first biting, strangling, or poisoning them, then swallowing them whole. I crawled on my hands and knees, peering through the tall, yellow grass. I was as quiet as an owl, looking for any sign of movement. Very suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fast-moving ripple in the dead grass. As I turned to face it, I could then see the brown, slithering snake. I should have gotten up and left, for my father had told me never to approach a wild animal. But I stayed, held there by curiosity. Little did I realize that the agitated snake would think I was threatening it by my action I studied the snake for a while, staring at it in awe. I watched the snake intently, wondering what type of snake it was. The thought that it was a rattlesnake crossed my mind. I shook the thought off, saying to myself, “There are no rattlesnakes here.” But I was wrong. The sun reflected off the snake’s brown scales, which were shimmering like diamonds. The small, beady eyes of the snake stared up at me. Its tongue was as red as blood and it flicked in and out, smelling the air, sensing my presence. The snake backed up, I leaned over to get a closer look, and . . . I heard the sound of an angered timber rattlesnake. The shaking noise of the snake’s rattlelike tail bore into my head. My heart froze. The rattlesnake rose up into its curved striking position, and again, the crimson red tongue shot in and out of sight. “Nice snake,” I mumbled to the venomous terror. The snake hissed and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I sat there, transfixed at the sight of the beautiful, but dangerous, creature. I then realized I had to leave the yard, and run into my house. I was sitting on my knees, so when I rose to get up I put my hand on the ground for support. Little did I realize that the agitated snake would think I was threatening it by my action. That was a costly mistake. FOOP! The snake shot out of its poised stance and sunk its fangs into the muscles of my hand. The strike was as fast as lightning. The rattlesnake’s mouth was wide open, and for a few seconds I could see its fangs glisten in the sunlight. At first, I felt excruciating pain in my hand. Then the world started to dance around my head. I felt like I was on an out-of-control roller-coaster. “Help!” I screamed feebly. Even though it was a pitiful attempt to attract attention, I saw my mother coming to the window. Flashing lights illuminated the sky, and then the earth went black. Two days later I awoke, with a doctor standing over me. I was in the hospital, but I had recovered, all except for the puncture wound the snake had inflicted on my hand. The doctor had explained to me that normally people do not become unconscious when bitten. I had had a severe allergic reaction to the venom. Later that day, my brother told me that the flashing lights I had seen were on the ambulance that my father had called, which had come screaming to my house. In the afternoon I returned home. I have never seen another rattlesnake in our woods, and hopefully, I won’t encounter any more of them. Ben Guarino, 11Colchester, Connecticut Garrett Landon, 12Santa Cruz, California
