1. Charlotte’s Web
2. The Call of the Wild
3. Sarah, Plain and Tall

The three books that nearly made me an SE at the age of 10.

I like Charlotte’s Web now. Kind of. Sure, I can think of a lot of children’s books I like better, but it was okay. But I remember as a third grader feeling insulted. By all of it. By the forced pace of one chapter a day. By the talking animals (“Just because I’m eight doesn’t mean I need talking animals, God”). By the way no one in the book seemed to know how a farm worked (pigs are for eating!! And why aren’t the sheep and geese worried?). When I was eight, I knew I was way too old for Charlotte’s Web. And the lame animated movie.

The Call of the Wild was, I’m positive, our teacher’s attempt to reengage all the boys in our class, who by that time had mostly already turned away from reading. I don’t know why she didn’t try nonfiction, but teachers seem to have an archaically narrow view about what constitutes “reading”. Maybe Call of the Wild worked for some of the boys in our class, but it didn’t work for me. For one thing, there were hardly any conversations, which, at the time, I knew were the pinnacle of literary interest. Also, it was about a bunch of men alone in the wilderness. Later, in middle school, I would learn to loathe Gary Paulsen’s The Hatchet for the same reasons. And, to an extent, Twilight without the whole survival aspect. Really, I don’t need a minute-by-minute play-by-play of how you started a fire, cooked some dinner, sharpened your knives, and made a camp bed out of leaves and forest moss. Wake me up when something interesting happens.

Even looking at this picture now makes me want to punch Newberry in the face

And then we come to the major culprit: Sarah, Plain and Tall. I don’t think I can emphasize enough how much I hated Sarah, Plain and Tall. I’ve been able to admit since that Charlotte’s Web is an okay book and that The Call of the Wild has its literary merits, but to this day I cannot stand Sarah, Plain and Tall and discourage library patrons from checking it out if they have a choice. Here is what I can remember of the story, that is not already too clouded by my mind’s cloaking mists of hatred:

The Setting: Some farm somewhere, the Great Depression.
Pa: Well, your mom’s dead and I’m sick of talking to you kids. Time to get me a mail order bride!
Children: We don’t want a new mom! We want food and water!
Pa: Too bad, it hasn’t rained in like a million years.
Little Boy: I’m going to place this cup on this fence post to catch the water when it does come. SYMBOL OF HOPE!
Sarah: What does it say about me that I would describe myself as PLAIN and TALL? Why do you think this is the title of the book?
Children: We’re going to be mean to you because we aren’t ready to trust again!
Sarah: [cries]
Children: J/K we’re sorry!
God: [rewards them with rain]
All: Rejoice! All of our interpersonal problems are solved! Who knew we just had to be more accepting to end the Great Depression?
THE END

I may have gotten the actual story confused with the million and one worksheets I remember having to fill out about it. Besides the rather boring storyline, Sarah, Plain and Tall had the difficulty of being forced upon me THREE YEARS IN A ROW. Seriously, third grade, fourth grade, AND fifth grade. Halfway through it in fifth grade, I complained so much that the teacher let me read the sequel, Skylark instead. It was, if possible, even worse, since the plot was the same “If only it would rain to solve our personal problems” tripe, but in a new and more annoying setting.

Another problem I had, particularly in third grade, was the way everyone always says the title so it sounds more like Sarah, Plain, and Tall. Coupled with the fact that the cover of the book had three people on it, I assumed it would be about three characters named Sarah, Plain, and Tall. I kept waiting for Plain and Tall to show up, knowing that their names meant they HAD to be more amusing than the rest of the book combined. Naturally, Plain and Tall disappointed me and I learned a valuable lesson about commas.

I have no idea why Sarah, Plain and Tall is STILL read in schools. Probably because everyone remembers reading it in the third/fourth/fifth grades and so makes their third/fourth/fifth graders read it too. I guarantee you, however, that there are more modern books that teach the same themes, whether you want to concentrate on the historical aspects of the Great Depression (Out of the Dust) or the whole getting-a-new-parent thing. I’ve made lists of them at the library, just to be vindictive. Each time I save a kid from having to read Sarah, Plain and Tall, I feel like I’ve justified my existence. Like some kind of bad literature superhero.

Basically, I wanted to answer the age old question: Will anything actually eat Cookie Crisp?

Here is my lab report, as put together based on this “scientific method” flow chart I found on Sciencebuddies.org

Ask a Question

Will anything actually eat Cookie Crisp?

Background Research

The reasoning behind this experiment is childish, but easy to follow, like all science should be. A few weeks ago I was at an unassuming Piggly Wiggly in Columbia, TN when I noticed they had Cookie Crisp cereal, so I bought some for Steven because I remembered him saying how much he liked it and how sad he was that it had apparently been discontinued. He disavowed any knowledge of this conversation (we’ve since worked out that it was actually Waffle Crisp) and the box has just sat around. We finally decided to do something about it, by finding someone or SOMETHING that will eat it.

The box claims to offer “the great taste of chocolate chip cookies and milk” when in reality it’s obvious that you have to add the milk yourself. Even before beginning the experiment I suspected the “great” in that promise is also a lie.

Construct a Hypothesis

Nothing will eat this shit. I bet it tastes like sugar-coated cardboard.

Test with an Experiment

Steven and I grudgingly agreed that we would at least have to taste the offending cereal before continuing on with the experiment. I now feel justified in my hypothesis, at least so far as “sugar-coated cardboard” is concerned. Steven was more generous in saying they were “over-processed, under-flavored, puffed sugar substitute with a little bit of plastic chocolate. But they’re mad cute”. Thinking that we were perhaps too old to comprehend the joys of eating cookies for breakfast, we turned to younger test subjects. My brother, a full 4 years younger, pondered for a few moments before pronouncing it “stale, with a hint of Saskatchewan”. Now that I am a scientist instead of an academ, I will refrain from trying to puzzle out the hidden symbolism. Still, it seemed less negative so we tried even younger. My ten-year-old cousin, who happened to visiting, passed the box of tempting Cookie Crisp up four mornings in a row in favor of the healthy Crispix alternative, despite my scientific cajoling.

Finally, in despair, we took our full box of Cookie Crisp to the park to see if the birds would even eat it. My money was on No. The ducks, ibises, and egrets that frequented Seminole’s parks have too discerning palettes for such trash. MAYBE the seagulls. But here is where I was wrong.

Immediately we had a sizeable crowd, mostly of seagulls and ibises

Although the commotion quickly moved towards the water where a surprisingly large group of turtles joined in

A satisfied turtle, now filled with Vitamin D

Is this ibis really now filled with essential vitamins and minerals? Results are inconclusive.

Analyze Results

People won’t eat Cookie Crisp, even if they are in the intended age group. But animals go nuts for it.

Hypothesis is false

Or at least, partially false. I still think they taste like sugar-coated cardboard.

Report Findings

Apparently, Florida’s staggering population of the elderly are not doing their jobs. These birds and reptiles were obviously starving to death, forcing them to take even the most pitiful nutrients offered by Cookie Crisp to survive. For shame, old people! Without your hoarded breadcrumbs, scattered like the lost opportunities and failed dreams of your life, America’s park birds will die out! And you can’t expect me to go around feeding them Cookie Crisp all the time. Eventually they’ll realize that they prefer starvation.

So scientific right now!!!