Chilled Turkey: Change your Point of View

Teacher’s Note: Try this classic writing assignment with your students, and they will love it!  Have your students write a Thanksgiving story from the Turkey’s point of view!  First use the Turkey Planning Sheet to help students organize their ideas and think about the point of view of this story.  Or, for those students who need a little more direction, use plan sheet B.  The plan B worksheet also provides a great lesson on creating suspense! After planning, have your students write the story.  Use the self-evaluation sheet to help your students figure out what may need to be revised.  Finally, have the students share their stories in groups or to the whole class.  Use the Turkey Story Rubric to grade the stories!  Have fun!

Here is a link to the hyperlink to rubric.

***

As the light crept into the shadows, the moment like door opened in the grocery store freezer. It was the head chef. He was a plump man with stubby fingers, possibly tall as he was round. As he shouted commands to the kitchen staff, I would see his flubber jiggle and face turn red as the illuminated light of the in-house tanning bed clicked on. Since the gravy boat incident of Thanksgiving 2010, Chef Alfred and his two-tone mustache become my arch nemesis. However, he had no idea his demise would come at his limited spryness. Now I can rest easy until Big Red appears next month.

I remember our latest battle all so clearly…

Mountains of crimson rounds stood tall in the stainless steel room and the constant drone was replaced with melodies of sleighs and bells. The parade of white hats almost caught me resting one morning as the small hand of the clock struck the lowest number. Astonished, the mountain of rounds from the previous day was now being bathed by the white hats.

Did I miss an important message?

Curious as any bird could be, I explored the bakery side of Chef Alfred’s work station. Piled high and deep were beautiful, succulent rotund cherries normally only seen in summer. However, it was too early for harvest time.

I needed to alert the frozen food section. The newbies had no idea what is coming at them. Lives are lost daily as an abundant queue of mischievous midgets tug on trousers of the pepper sprayed haired men bellowing commands to the white hats behind the counter. There was a high demand for my kind to be performed in experiments on the wooden slab with four legs. In my close encounter with the new white hats last year, I recall watching cousin Howard pierced with a razor-sharp stiletto that amputated his left leg. Each one poked and prodded with their dingle hopper. My heart screeched to a halting stop as Chef Alfred yanked the sacred “wish bone” that all family members hold near and dear to their heart, literally.

“This bird wished it had a final wish,” Chef Alfred chuckled as his belly jiggled up to his double chin.

In a moment of panic, I instantly remembered where I was and left the safety of the steel door area to the supermarket aisles. Lights flickered as the ties broke the threshold of the sliding doors. My time was limited and I was persistent to make a difference in saving my specie.

Skating on the slick, glossy squares, I tumbled into the ice chest. The commotion caused a disturbance in the force as giant ties dashed to see what was wrong. I laid stone cold still.

“How did we miss this one?” a red tie mentioned to the black tie. “I’ll drop it off to Alfred in the kitchen.”

Upset about being too warm, Chef Alfred demanded I be placed behind the stainless steel barrier near the ceiling. The pattern of tiny rods made an indentation on my backside. AS the day went on, white hats trotted in and out of my chilly new refuge/ Each time I sat in panic as one entered. Eventually, I maneuvered myself closer to the floor to avoid the overbearing drone of the box hanging from the air.

My annoyance of the drone led to my great fortune. Hours after my initial check-in, Chef Alfred waddled into my new home. I dreaded the look in his eyes; he was on a hunt. Searching at eye level, he reached through several boxes and lunged on his tippy toes to seek the top shelf. I knew he was becoming weary as steam rose from his brow.

“A-hah! There it is,” he claimed looking at me. Reading towards me, a pop caused the tubby man to somersault towards the ground.

Fat boy had thrown his back out, and I lived to see another day.

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About briancookeducator

Husband, Daddy, teacher, #Mountaineer, coach, and aspiring school leader | Thoughts are my own.
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