Latest / Children's Hour / 10.11.25 - Part 2

Transcript

10.11.25 - Part 2 · Children's Hour

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Speaker 1: Hello, and welcome to Radio Eye's Children's Story Hour. As
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a reminder, Radio Eye is a reading service intended for
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people who are blind or have other disabilities that make
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it difficult to read printed material. Today we will be
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reading from various children's books. This book is about baseball.
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Your reader today is Diane. We will start with the
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book Playball Jackie, which was.
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Speaker 2: Published by Millbook mill Brook Press, division of Learner Publishing Group, Incorporated,
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and has a copyright year of twenty eleven by Steven Grinsky.
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Speaker 1: Playball called the home Plate Umpire at Evans Fields. It
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was Major League Baseball's opening day April fifteenth, nineteen forty seven.
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The Brooklyn Dodgers were playing the Boston Braves. More than
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twenty five thousand fans settled to their seats. One of
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them was Mattie Romano. He was sitting on the grandstand
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behind third base. The spring afternoon was cool, and the
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air smelled of peanuts and popcorn. Mattie was a big
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Dodgers fan. The team had finished second in the National
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League in nineteen forty six. Mattie knew they would do
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better this year. Just a few more wins and they
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would make it to the World Series. A lot of
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kids were in the stands, even on a school day.
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Mattie's father, like many others, had taken him out early
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for the afternoon game free tickets. His father had told
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him one of the guys had at work refused to go. Really,
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said Mattie, someone gave up tickets on opening day. He
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must be crazy. Mattie's father shook his head. Not crazy,
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he said, disgusted about what Mattie asked. His father pointed
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at first base. The first baseman was pounding his fist
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into his mint. Maddie knew his name, Jackie Robinson. He
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was a black man. For a lot of people, that
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was a problem. Up until now, black men didn't play
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Major League baseball. Oh, sure, they played baseball all the time,
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and some of them were really good, like Satchel Paige
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and Josh Gibson, but they played only in the Negro
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leagues where everyone was black. Baseball wasn't the only place
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that had banned black people. Maddie had read that in
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some parts of the country, black people couldn't eat in
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certain restaurants, they couldn't stay in certain hotels. When they
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rode a public bus, they had to sit in the back.
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Time seemed to be changing. Though black soldiers had fought
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for the United States in World War Two, now that
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the war was over, black people were doing some things
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that couldn't they couldn't before. One of those things was
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to talk, was to take part in Major League baseball games.
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What do you think, dad, Mattie asked, should Jackie Robinson
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be here? I want to see the best players out there,
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said his father. I don't care what color they are. Remember,
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your grandfather came to America from Italy. Lots of people
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didn't give him a chance either. He looked strange to them.
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His clothes were shabby, and he spoke English with an accent.
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He had to work long, hard for everything he got.
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Maddie remembered hearing his grandfather's story around the kitchen table.
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Everyone deserved a chance for a better life, his grandfather
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and Jackie Robinson too. Maddie watched the Braves shortstop Dick
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Coohler come to the plate. Dodger's pitcher Joe Hatton was
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on the mound. Come on, Hatton, Mattie's father yelled at
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the picture, show him the heat. Hatten pitched one out,
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two out, three outs, three up, three downs, said Mannie,
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just the way I like it now. The Dodgers came
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to bat, Johnny Saying was pitching for the Braves. Robinson
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was the second batter. Maddie had his fingers crossed, but
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it didn't help. Robinson grounded out to the third. You're
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an old man, Robinson yelled one spectator. Maddie turned to
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his father, Jackie's twenty eight. His father explained, that's old
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for a rookie, but he hit great in spring training,
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even with all he had to put up with. Like
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what asked Mannie, I read about in the paper, said
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his father. Some players on other teams gave him a
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hard time, and he couldn't stay at the same nice
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hotels as the white ball players. Mattie shook his head.
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He knows that some people in the crowd were wearing
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I'm for Jackie buttons, most of them were black. On
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the field, Jackie seemed comfortable at first base, helping to
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turn a double play. Robinson used to play shortstop and
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second base, said Mattie's father, but playing first was his
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best chance to make being the majors. When Jackie came
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up again, Mattie held his breath. This time Jackie flied
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out to left field. At least he got some wood
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on it. Maddie muttered, you stink, Robinson. Someone shouted behind him,
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go back where you belong. Maddie frowned. He knew how
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nervous he would be batting in his first major league game.
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Maybe Jackie was nervous too. He certainly looked tense his
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second time up, heading into a double play. At the
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seventh inning stretch, the Dodgers behind three to two. Maddie
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stood in line to buy a hot dog. Two white
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kids were talking to a black boy in front of them.
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That's stupid, said one, pointing to the eye for Jackie
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button the black boy was wearing. Negroes should stick to
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their own kinds, said the other. They'll never make it
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in the big leagues. Robinson zero for three today. Just
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you wait, said the black boy. Jackie will show you.
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There are plenty of good black players out there. The
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first kid laughed. But this is the majors, he said.
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It sure is, said Maddie. That's why it's so important
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for the Dodgers to have the best team possible. If
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some of the best players are black, they're the ones
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who can help us get to the World Series. That's
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what we all want, isn't it. The boys nodded, everything
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all right, asked his father when he got back. I
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see you got a button. Maddie nodded. It was a
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gift from a new friend. Oh we met these two kids,
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may explain They didn't think Jackie belong on the team,
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and his father asked, Maddie grinned. We straighten them out.
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Jackie came to bed again. In the bottom of the seventh,
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the ball rolled towards first It's Jackie ran the baseline.
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The first baseman, Earl Torkinsen, charged the ball. He filled
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it cleanly, but hurried his throat. The ball hit Jackie
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on the bike and rode into right field with it.
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Stansgill first. He bunted down the line. By the time
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right fielder picked it up, Jackie was on second base,
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Stanky was on third. Good hustle, Jackie yelled Mattie. His
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father was impressed. Did you see that? He just exploded
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out of the box. The next batter was Pete Riser.
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He was one of Mattie's favors. Come on, said Mattie,
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we need to tie it. At least. Riser hit a
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double just inside the right field line. Both runners got
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home easily. It was Jackie Robson's first run in the
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big leagues. We're ahead now, said Matty, hopefully for keeps.
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His hope came true. The Dodger scored once more that
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inning and won the game five to three. So what'd
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you think, Mattie's father asked as they stood to leave.
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Maddie laughed. I think the guy you work with is
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crazy crazy. Why is that because, said Maddie. I wouldn't
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have missed Jackie Robinson for anything. As Maddie and his
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father filed out of the stadium, they saw a lot
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of happy faces. I wonder how nervous Shacky was, said Maddie.
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I'll bet he's glad to have that game behind him.
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The Dodger's new first baseman had done well. For Rookie.
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It was a good sign watch out world series, Maddie shouted,
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here we come. This was going to be a season
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to remember. He just knew it. The next book is
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about watermelon. We will start with Watermelon Madness, which was
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published by swittt To Publishing and has a copyright year
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of twenty eight teen. By tag Reed Najar NeuRA is
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a little girl who loves to eat watermelon. Sheats watermelon
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in the morning, she eats watermelon in the afternoon. Sheats
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watermelon in the evening. One day, Nura sat down to
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eat with her family. Mama scooped mylakaya with chicken and
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rice onto Nura's plate, but Nura turned up her nose.
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I don't like mochia, I don't like chicken. I only
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want watermelon. Chicken is good for you, NeuRA, Baba insisted,
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and malakaya is yummy. NeuRA roared watermelon, watermelon, I only
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want watermelon. Mama was angry and said firmly, first you
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eat your malakaya, then you you can have watermelon. That evening,
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Nura snuck into the kitchen and saw big watermelon sitting
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on the table. She stood there for a moment and thought, yum,
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that is a very big watermelon. I want to eat
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it all by myself. Nura took the watermelon and rode
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under her bed so that she could eat it. After
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everyone had gone to sleep, she fell asleep thinking about
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the big watermelon under her bed. In the middle of
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the night, Nora felt her bed shaking. She opened her
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eyes and saw the watermelon growing bigger and bigger, and
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bigger and bigger. It got so big that her bed
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almost touched the ceiling. Nura slid down the watermelon. Oe O,
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I'm so happy. I'm so happy. This whole watermelon is
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aw for Mena walked through, walked around the watermelon and
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found a door on its side. She opened the door
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and went inside the watermelon. She walked down a long
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hallway until she reached a bright, pink room. Inside were
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a table and chair made out of watermelon seeds. Nurra
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sat at the table. I'm so happy, I'm so happy,
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this whole watermelon is all for me. Nora ate her
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first piece of watermelon. Yum, this watermelon is so delicious.
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I want more, and another piece of watermelon appeared right
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in front of her. Nura kept eating and eating and eating,
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and she kept eating, and she kept saying, I want more,
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I want more, I want more. The moment she finished
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a piece of watermelon, another one would appear in its place. Suddenly,
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Nurra stopped eating. She felt herself getting bigger and bigger
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as the watermelon got smaller and smaller. Nera grabbed her
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belly and cried ow owl owl my tummy, heurts. I
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don't want anymore. I don't want anymore. Nara opened her
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eyes and fell Mama sitting next to her and patting her.
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What's Rawmara, what's the matter. There was a giant watermelon
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under my bed, and I ate so much of it
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I felt like it swallowed me. Mama took the watermelon
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out from under Neura's bed. Who put this watermelon under
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your bed? Nera? Nera felt embarrassed? I did, I'm sorry, Mama.
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I wanted to eat the whole watermelon all by myself,
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but I started getting bigger and bigger as the watermelon
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got smaller and smaller. Mama smiled, Go back to sleep now, Nura.
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We'll talk about the magic watermelon tomorrow. Nura turned over
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in her bed and fell asleep right away. The next
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morning of breakfast. At breakfast, Nera ate her fried egg
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and the tar with olive oil, and drank all of
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her milk. Today we will be reading from a book
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about fishing. We will start with the book Fishing Day,
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which was published by Hypering Books and has a copyright
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year of two thousand and three by Andrea Davis Pickney.
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When Saturday comes Mama and I wake long before the
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sun so we can catch the fish right when they wake. Mama,
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you up, I call, But before Mama even answers, I
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smell Homani cooking in the kitchen. Mama leans in the
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doorway of my bedroom. I've been up, she says. Make
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sure we got us a hot breakfast. I pull on
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my overalls and buckle them fast before the coat has
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a chance to reach my bones. In the kitchen, Mama says,
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eat good now, Reenie. We've got a long fishing day ahead.
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Mama and me, we sure love fishing. We've got a
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special fishing place along the north bank of a wide
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money stream folks around here called jim Crow River. Mama
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bates each of our hooks with a kernel of corn
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from her sick, then cast the rest into the water.
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We watch the corn pellet's float just below the water's surface.
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We wait for the carp to come along and nibble
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the tiny jewels of foods. Today, the carp aren't taking
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up our bait, not even a nibble. I say, patience, Reenie,
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Mama says softly. Fish can be finicky at the start. Suddenly,
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a little stone skips across the water, Lee's crunch up
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behind us. It's mister Billy Troup and his boy Pigeon.
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Pigeon's not his real true name. His real name is Peter.
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I call him Pigeon because when he and his daddy
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come to fish, pigeons doing everything but sitting still. He's
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always flitting somewhere, just like an old jumpy bird. Mister
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Troops got his bucket of bait and two fishing rods.
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Pigeon races off towards the river's edge, skipping another stone,
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messing up the waters. Calm Mama shakes her head. That
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boy suffering from want. She says, it's a shame too,
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because all of us, even the fish, suffer from flurry.
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The flurry he makes a shame, I say, Mama's told
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me that Pigeon in his steady have it harder than
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most folks. She says. They don't fish just for the
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love of it. They need to fish so they can eat.
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And all the time we've been fishing alongside Pigeon and
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his stady, we've never said a word to them, and
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they've never said a word to us, not a word.
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Today's no different. At first, the troops pretend they don't
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see us. But when I look in pigeon's direction, he
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hopes on with his eyes like he wishes he could
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speak to me. Watch the wateringie, Mama says, her face
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getting tight. Mister Troup puts a hand on pigeons back.
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Keep with this side of things, he says. That's when
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Mama tells me how the river got his nicknamed Jim Crow.
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Is the law of the land, She explains, the law
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that says black people have a place, white people have
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a place. And the two shits steer clear of each other.
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But Mama, I say, rivers are for everybody. Mama tries
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to help me understand. That's true in nature's eyes, Reenie,
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But folks who fish have their own ideas. We and
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white folks have kept our distance here for as long
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as memory serves. Mister Troop and pigeons set down their
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gear on the river bank, not far from Mama and me.
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Their voices pierce the dawn. Come away from the waters, son,
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Mister Troop calls, you'll spook the fish with all that commotion,
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with all that flitting. I say so, only Mama can hear.
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Mister Troop baits his hooks with nightcrawlers he and pigeon
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ever catch any fish with those crawlers. Someone needs to
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tell them that the crawlers are too scrawny this time
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of year, that carp like corn and bread ball's best.
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There's a chili bite to the air. Mister trooper has
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got his cat pulled down lower over his eyes. Pigeons
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singing bogle mo a ditty that I bet a whole
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doll makes the carp want to plug their ears. Mama
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tosses another handful of corn into the water, still not
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even a nip. I secure my pole between my elbow
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and my hipbone and reach into my pocket to pull
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out my gloves. Only got one glove. When my line
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jerks up then forward, I don't waste time with my
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second glove. I struggle with this line, then cut. It's
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some slight. Finally I reil in the line. Sure enough,
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I've hooked a nice big carp a keeper. Mama says
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she's beautiful, beautiful. After we've linked our first catch to
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the carry chain, Mama's line starts to dance. She's got
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a feisty one. Another keeper. We link her catch with mine,
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invade our hooks again. This time I toss the corn kernels,
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and I can see the carp coming to greet them.
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The news is out that we got corn, Mama says
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the carper, telling all their friends. She laughs, Pigeon and
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mister Trup having caught a thing. When mister Troup adjusts
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the grip on his poe his real brakes, he looks
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like he's trying hard to keep his eyes on fixing
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his poe, But I see him sneaking glances at Mom
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and me. They always get a catch, I hear pigeon wine.
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Hush up, boy, mister Troup says, I mind your own business.
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He stomps off to where he's parked on the other
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side of the hill. We just need some flyers from
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a truck. It's is all. Pigeon gets down, sets down
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his poe next to his daddy's, and starts sending little
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stones into the river again. But he's not skipping the
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stones now, he's flinging them. He blows into his cup
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hands to keep them warm. He sniffs hard, like he's
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trying to hold something. Then he's back to chucking stones,
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but this time he's chucking stones towards Mama and me.
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The first one he throws doesn't come close, but the
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second one nicks me on the knee. I let go
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of my rod and rub my leg hard. Mama, I will.
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Mama hugs me to her, helping me ease the steam
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that's charging up in me. That boy's hurting me, she says,
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her jaw firm, and he can't help but spread his
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herd around. Let's get home, Mama, I snap. Mama shakes
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her head. No. She gathers up her sack of corn
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and our rods. We go to a place further down
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the river. Mama's quiet. My line tugs for the second
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time that day. I've got another carp, a long one.
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It's yellow belly, listening under the morning sun. Pigeons looking
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and straight at us. Even from where we're fishing, I
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can see he's working hard not to cry, and there's
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shame on his face. He looks sorry for what he did.
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Mama and I carefully string my fish into the carry
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chain with the others. Then I reach into our sack
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for a new corn kernel to bait my hook. As
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soon as I feel my hand curl around those nubby kernels,
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I know what I've got to do. I gather up
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the corn to sack and start towards pigeon, slighting Mama
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a single backward glance. She nods. When Pigeon sees me
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coming with our bag of corn, he looks scared and
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glad all at the same time. I can see that
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his hands are wraf from the code. My name's Rennie,
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I say, giving him the glove from my pocket. I'm Peter,
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Peter Troop. He turns his eyes towards the hill. There's
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no sign of his daddy. I pull out a fist
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full of corn from my sack. Here, I say, offering
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the colonels to Peter. They'll call up the corp, I
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tell him. He nods like he know he already knows,
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but he won't take the corn. I baite Peter's hook
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for him. Now, all you gotta do is wait and
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be still, I say, hoping he'll give his stone throwing
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a rest. I leave my small mound of corn on
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the grass next to Peter and go back to where
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Mama's still fishing. When I look sideline down the river,
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I can see that Peter's scattering the corn into the
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water in front of him. Then he sits with his rod,
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just as patient as can be. He's quiet, too quiet,
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and still. When mister Troop comes back, Peter's got a
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snap tug on his fishing line. Mister Troop is all giddy,
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he rushes to tell Peter real in the line. Mama
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gives a single nod the corn. You'll do it every time,
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she says to me, bring her uneasy now, I say,
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struggling to keep my eyes straight ahead on my own
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bit of water. When Peter brings in his line, he's
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got two fish, one on his hook, the other one
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biting the first fish's tail. Troop collaps Peter's shoulder. My boy,
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he says, I can see that Peter's proud. Soon Peter
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and his daddy pack up their tackle box and head
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for the truck. I can't see them drive away, but
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I hear the truck barreling off. I guess ladies luck
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smiled on them. Mama says she's smile double. I say,
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feeling a little google rise up in me. The next day,
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Mama and I are walking home from church when I
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stop when I spot the Troops trucking a truck crossing
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the north bend of the hill near jim Crow River.
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When the truck circles around, it's coming towards Mama and me.
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Mister Troops got his eyes fixed on the road. I
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look real hard to see Peter, but he's not in
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the cab next to his daddy. Next. Then the truck
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grunts ahead. I turned to watch it pass, and I
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see Peter sitting in the flatbed. He's looking right at
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me and waving with the glove I gave him, and
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I waved back. Now we will be reading about planting.
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We will start with the book We Planted a Tree,
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which was published by Golden Books, a division of Random
23:14
House Children Books, and has a copyright year of twenty
23:19
ten by Diane Muldraw. We planted a tree. We planted
23:28
a tree and it grew up. We planted a tree
23:32
and it grew up. While it reached for the sky
23:34
in the sun, the sunshine went into the leaves and
23:38
brought food to the tree, and the tree grew up.
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Fat little buds appeared on the branches. The sunshine went
23:45
into the buds, and soon they burst open. Everywhere. It
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was pink, and we were dizzy with springtime. The sun
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kept shining. The pink blossoms dropped off, but soon there
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were green leaves, green, green, shiny, leaves, which had food
24:00
for inside, for the tree, green green shin lees, which
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cooled us, which kept the earth cool. We planted a
24:08
true in a tree, and it grew up and gave
24:10
us a shady place. The trees leaves helped clean the air,
24:14
and we breathed better. And the tree fed us apples
24:19
and oranges and lemons and sat for our syrup. We
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planted a tree, and it grew up. The tree kept
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the soil from blowing away. Now rainwater could stay in
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the earth. The soil became healthier because the tree was there.
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So we planted. We planted butternut squash and beans, corn
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and onions and cabbage. In the healthy soil, the rich
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dark dirt, we could grow our own food, and we
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ate better. We planted a tree and it grew up,
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and it dropped acorns that feed the squirrels in the winter,
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and birds came, and other animals came to to live
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with the tree. We planted it tree, and that one
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tree made the world better. We planted a tree, and
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that one tree helped till the earth. We planted a tree,
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and it grew up, and so did and so did we.
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Today's book we will be reading it's about America. We
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will start with the book America, My Love, America, My Heart,
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which was published by Harper Collins Children's Books and has
25:39
a copyright year of twenty twenty one, written by Daria
25:46
People's Righty America, The Brave America of the bodes America,
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to have America, to hold America, My Country. Do you
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love me? Do you love me from the inside out?
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Do you love me from the outside end? Do you
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love the way I speak in English? Yes? Spanish no?
26:13
And in my Creole? Do you love my fuzza moptey,
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the way my fists clinch against my hips, the way
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my legs stretched strong? Do you love mystoria mouveage, from
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shore to shore, east to west, south to north, from
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then to now, from there to here, where my glory
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rises in the belly of my soul, where I swing
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my halo to and fro, Where I am loved, where
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I am ho. Do you love me when I raise
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my hand, my head, my voice, when I whisper, when
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I shout? Do you love me when I stand stand in,
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stand up, stand out? Do you love my Yes? Do
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you love my no? When I shrug my shoulders no,
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say Mopolconio. I don't know for you to love me?
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How long will it be? How long will it take?
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How long must I wait for you to love me?
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From sea to shining sea? America? Me Amore America Moque.
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Do you love my block? Do you love my brown?
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Do you love my throne? Do you love my crown?
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Do you love my brave? Do you love my boat?
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Am I to have? Am I to hope? America, Land
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of the Free, America tis of the America. I am
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you America, You are me. This concludes the Children's Story
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Hour for today. Please join us next time as we
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will read more stories, fables and fairy tales. Thank you
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for listening and please stay tuned for the Lexington Herald
28:14
Leader on Radio I