Eleven by Sandra Cisneros
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Eleven by Sandra Cisneros
What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you are--underneath the year that makes you eleven. Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three. Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is. You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don't even feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is. Only today I wish I didn't have only eleven years rattling inside me like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box. Today I wish I was one hundred and two instead of eleven because if I was one hundred and two I'd have known what to say when Mrs. Price put the red sweater on my desk. I would've known how to tell her it wasn't mine instead of just sitting there with that look on my face and nothing coming out of my mouth. "Whose is this?" Mrs. Price says, and she holds the red sweater up in the air for all the class to see. "Whose? It's been sitting in the coat room for a month." "Not mine," says everybody. "Not me." "It has to belong to somebody," Mrs. Price keeps saying, but nobody can remember. It's an ugly sweater with red plastic buttons and a collar and sleeves all stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope. It's maybe a thousand years old and even if it belonged to me I wouldn't say so. Maybe because I'm skinny, maybe because she doesn't like me, that stupid Sylvia says, I think it belongs to Rachel." An ugly sweater like that, all raggedy and old, but Mrs. Price believes her. Mrs. Price takes the sweater and puts it right on my desk, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out. "That's not, I don't, you're not . . . Not mine," I finally say in a little voice that was maybe me when I was four. "Of course it's yours," Mrs. Price says, "I remember you wearing it once." Because she's older and she's the teacher, she's right and I'm not. Not mine, not mine, not mine, but Mrs. Price is already turning to page thirty-two, and math problem number four. I don't know why but all of a sudden I'm feeling sick inside, like the part of me that's three wants to come out of my eyes, only I squeeze them shut tight and bite down on my teeth real hard and try to remember today I am eleven, eleven. Mama is making a cake for me tonight, and when Papa
Like a rings in a tree, you always have the other parts of yourself in you
I agree with your theme
the tree cannot grow without the rings it grew before. if the ring it grew last year was gone then technically it wouldn’t grow.
i think this is the best one because it really states how all of the years, all the ages you have been before are still inside you just buried deep. you don’t act like you are one a lot because that is the first age you were, and it is buried the deepest. it takes you the longest to get to the inner-most layer of the onion since it is the farthest inside you.
The Main Idea is that you can always act your old ages when you grow up.
I chose this sentence because the sentence is showing how you are still every age you already past. This sentence shows you can still be three even though you are 11.
you have lived all those ages. Without being one years old at one point in time to become 11 years old.you cannot be 11 years old the day you were born.
I chose this sentience because I feel that I can relate to this thought and a lot of times I feel the same way.
I like this sentence because it is so true, to me at least. I remember when I turned 11 I still felt like it was just another day being 10, still having the kids’ menu at restaurants and being able to go into 10 and under kids areas.
This sentance is true because I remember on my 11th birthday I and it felt the same
me 2, but I don´t get how this is the theme
I felt the same when I turned 11
I like how you actually put an example out there too
I think this sentence is important because the story is about when it’s your 11th birthday, you aren’t just 11, you are also all the other years you have been.
The story revolves around the fact that as you get older, you retain all the layers of years that you have once been a part of (as broken-down by the sub-story about the red sweater told in Eleven) and this sentence uses figurative language to project that idea.
BMMS Student Mrs. Farmer’s Humanities Mrs. Campos’s 6th Grd… (more)
BMMS Student Mrs. Farmer’s Humanities Mrs. Campos’s 6th Grd… (more)
The whole story is based on the fact that the 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1 year old part of her started crying on her birthday. She wishes that she wasnt 11 and that instead, she was 102.
I like this sentence because it has three similes in a single sentence showing how creative Sandra Cisneros is.
My view of my sentence that I chose is important to me because I feel the the author is trying to say that every time you have you grow, your past years influence you and are always at work molding and breaking and fixing you to make a better foundation ground for you to grow more and progress better. You know what they say; better foundation, better buildings, or in our case, better influence/foundation, better human.
I chose this sentence because kids my age can really relate to Rachel. There has been many times when we wish we were older than we actually are. When we wish we had more power, to speak up and be able to tell our thoughts and emotions. We wish we were one hundred and two, so we had the courage to express what is filling our brains, but not able to come out of our mouths.
comes home everybody will sing Happy Birthday, happy birthday to you. But when the sick feeling goes away and I open my eyes, the red sweater's still sitting there like a big red mountain. I move the red sweater to the corner of my desk with my ruler. I move my pencil and books and eraser as far from it as possible. I even move me chair a little to the right. Not mine, not mine, not mine. In my head I'm thinking how long till lunchtime, how long till I can take the red sweater and throw it over the schoolyard fence, or leave it hanging on a parking meter, or bunch it up into a little ball and toss it in the alley. Except when math period ends Mrs. Price says loud and in front of everybody, "Now, Rachel, that's enough," because she sees I've shoved the red sweater to the tippy-tip corner of my desk and it's hanging all over the edge, like a waterfall, but I don't care. "Rachel," Mrs. Price says. She says it like she's getting mad. "You put that sweater on right now and no more nonsense." "But it's not--" "Now!" Mrs. Price says. This is when I wish I wasn't eleven, because all the years inside me--ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one--are pushing at the back of my eyes when I put one arm through one sleeve of the sweater that smells like cottage cheese, and then the other arm through the other and stand there with my arms apart like if the sweater hurts me and it does, all itchy and full of germs that aren't even mine. That's when everything I've been holding in since this morning, since when Mrs. Price put the sweater on my desk, finally lets go, and all of a sudden I'm crying in front of everybody. I wish I was invisible but I'm not. I'm eleven and it's my birthday today and I'm crying like I'm three in front of everybody. I put my head down on the desk and bury my face in the stupid clown-sweater arms. My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I can't stop the little animal noises from coming out of me, until there aren't any more tears left in my eyes, and it's just my body shaking like when you have the hiccups, and my whole head hurts like when you drink milk too fast. But the worst part is right before the bell rings for lunch. That stupid Phyllis Lopez, who is even dumber than Sylvia Saldivar says she remembers the red sweater is hers! I take it off right away and give it to her, only Mrs. Price pretends like everything's okay. Today I'm eleven. There's a cake Mama's making for tonight, and when Papa comes home from work we'll eat it. There'll be candles and presents and everybody will sing Happy Birthday, happy birthday to you, Rachel, only it's too late. I'm eleven today. I'm eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven, because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see it.
To me the first sentence summarizes the entire passage by showing you even if your older part of you is still younger. Thats the part of you that your eleven year old self wouldnt do and this sentence perfectly shows that.
I think that the sentence “I take it off right away and give it to her only Mrs. Price pretends like everything’s okay.” is a great sentence. This relates to large problems in the adult world too. I see it in the news. Somebody is wrong and it effects somebody in a negative way and they find out there wrong and pretend like everything’s okay. It’s wrong. Just wrong. I think that Rachel should have stood up for herself and told the teacher no.
I like this sentance to because it shows that the teacher feels bad but dosen’t want to show it
Rachel should’ve stood up for herself.
I think that this sentence is important to the theme because she keeps on coming back to this sentence. Also she keeps on talking about how she doesn’t want to deal with the red sweater. She also feels all of her ages inside of her which are 10, 9, 8 , 7 , 6 , 5 , 4 , 3 , 2 , and 1. She has all of her ages bubbling up inside of on her eleventh birthday due to the sweater.
I think that’s a great sentence because it shows her deepest feelings.
click this link for more ideas on theme:
https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1Nzcxds_t5nj7IVvzVvSbJqCCpVb3OE6uo7liUWzcZAg/edit
What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two and one.
I like this sentence because it says that all of you is still under you now. It supports the theme by saying that all of you makes you who you are.
General Document Comments 0
I think this is the theme because it talks about being eleven and what issues she is having about being eleven.
This is my favorite sentence because it explains about how you don’t really feel any different when you have your birthday and how you share your feelings with your younger years.
I like this sentence because it is so true, to me at least. I remember when I turned 11 I still felt like it was just another day being 10, still having the kids’ menu at restaurants and being able to go into 10 and under kids areas.
I feel the exact same way except I don’t play in the kids play area
I think this sentence is important to the theme because it shows an example of when all of her ages, especially the age of three, shows.
Its because you might be old on the out side but you might be young on the in side
I agree, the same thing is with my sentence!
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