A Wreath for Emmett Till–by Marilyn Nelson

Nelson, Marilyn.  A Wreath for Emmett Till. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2005.

Emmett Till was only fourteen in 1955, a friendly kid from Chicago on a trip down south to meet his relatives.  He was probably like you in many ways.  You may even have committed his crime yourself: whistling at a pretty girl.  But where you might have gotten a cross look or a joking slap for your trouble, Emmett became the victim of one of the most notorious lynchings in American history.

“Pierced by the screams of a shortened childhood,
my heartwood has been scarred for fifty years
by what I heard, with hundreds of green ears.
That jackal laughter.  Two hundred years I stood
listening to small struggles to find food,
to the songs of creature life, which disappears
and comes again, to the music of the spheres.
Two hundred years of deaths I understood.
Then slaughter axed one quiet summer night,
shivering the deep silence of the stars.
A running boy, five men in close pursuit.
One dark, five pale faces in the moonlight.
Noise, silence, back-slaps.  One match, five cigars.
Emmett Till’s name still catches in the throat.”

Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy–by Gary D. Schmidt

Schmidt, Gary D.  Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy.  New York: Clarion Books, 2004.

“Turner Buckminster had lived in Phippsburg, Maine, for fifteen minutes shy of six hours.  He had dipped his hand in its waves and licked the salt from his fingers.  He had smelled the sharp resin of the pines.  He had heard the low rhythm of the bells on the buoys that balanced on the ridges of the sea.  He had seen the fine clapboard parsonage beside the church where he was to live, and the small house set a ways beyond it that puzzled him some.  Turner Buckminster had lived in Phippsburg, Maine, for almost six whole hours.  He didn’t know how much longer he could stand it.” (p. 1)

In some places, being the son of a minister is no big deal.  Phippsburg, Maine, is not one of them.  Everybody is constantly scrutinizing Turner to see if he is upright enough, moral enough, brave enough, polite enough, and even whether his shirt is starched-white enough.  So far, he is a miserable failure.

And things only get worse after those first six hours.  Within two days of his arrival in Phippsburg, he has become the laughingstock of the whole town for his failure at playing baseball, been teased mercilessly as a coward for not jumping off a huge cliff into the ocean, and gotten caught skipping rocks across water that just happened to bump into somebody’s old fence.  Before he can blink, he is sentenced to spend his summer reading and playing organ for a repulsive old woman who yells at him, helps spread the rumors about him, looks and smells funny, and is absolutely obsessed with her own death and making sure her last words will be written down.  He’d just as soon die.

But then he meets Lizzie, an island girl who can row a boat, play baseball like nothing else, dig clams, and speak to whales.  And that changes everything forever.

Elijah of Buxton–by Christopher Paul Curtis

Curtis, Christopher Paul.  Elijah of Buxton.  New York: Scholastic Press, 2007.

Life’s hard, right?  You have to go school, do what crazy grown-ups tell you even when it doesn’t make a lick of sense, and put up with being called “fra-gile” all the time even when you are clearly NOT being fragile.  Elijah gets this all the time, even from his parents!  He’s pretty sure the WORST thing on earth has happened to him after his mom decides to play a trick on him:

“…I moved my hand ‘round in the bottom of the jar, I felt one n’em rope cookies…and Mrs. Brown must’ve just brought these cookies over, ‘cause the last one left was still warm!  I pulled the cookie outta the jar.

“My heart quit beating, my blood ran cold, and time stood still!  My fingers were wrapped ‘round the neck of the worst-looking snake in Canada West!  I screamed, ‘Snake!’ and afore I knowed it, I was tearing off ‘cross the road into the woods.  By the time I worned myself out I must’ve run two miles.  I stopped and leaned ‘gainst a tree, waiting for my breathing to catch up to me.  Something made me look down in my hand.

“I screamed, ‘Snake!’ for the second time.  But this time I remembered to turn the snake’s neck a-loose and throwed it down.  I wouldn’t’ve thought I had enough strength left in me to run, but being afeared and being tired look like two things you caint feel at the same time.” (p. 19)

TOTALLY unfair, right?  Never mind that this was payback for putting the biggest toady-frog in Canada West in his ma’s sewing basket!  And Elijah gets it worse than anyone because he, the first child born free from slavery in the Buxton settlement in Canada, had a terrible accident as a baby…which unfortunately involved vomit and a visit from Frederick Douglass…but never mind that, just wait till Elijah gets growned, then he’s gonna show everybody!

But when there comes an opportunity to buy a neighbor’s family out of slavery, it looks like he’s gonna have to show how grown up he is sooner than anybody thinks…