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MidReal Story
The Little Monster Notebook
Scenario:Escribe un cuento creativo donde el titulo sea un poco parecido a ¨Corrientes pedagogicas contemporaneas I¨ en el que en ese cuento interprete se toque temas importantes con un cuaderno viejo con pasta arrugada donde la portada es de color morado con negro y la contraportada es color blanco con rallones de color azul , un dibujo de un pequeño mostruo y un rompecabeza con colores a las orillas, los temas importantes que no pueden faltar son ¨pedagogia tradicional, escuela nueva, pedagogia liberadora, pedagogia marxista, pedagogia social y critica, pedagogia desde las inteligencias multiples, corriente constructivista, pedagogia conceptual,pedagogia afectiva, aprendizaje significativo, enseñanza para la comprension y enseñanza problemica¨ con estos temas tienen que relacionarse en el cuento no es necesario que aparezca el nombre de la pedagogia solo que sea algo relacionado a eso . Que parezca que alguien me contó esa historia ya sea un familiar, amigo, abuelo, mamá o quien sea
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Lucas
and adventurous. Lucas struggles with traditional teaching methods, feeling unchallenged and bored. He meets a new teacher who encourages freedom of thought and inquiry, inspiring him to question everything. Through this new approach, Lucas discovers the joy of learning and develops critical thinking skills. He forms a close bond with his classmates, working together to unravel puzzles and understand complex concepts.
Abuela Clara
and insightful. Abuela Clara shares the history behind one of Lucas's notebooks, recounting the stories of those who used it before. Her tales of past classrooms and teachers inspire Lucas to question the nature of learning. Her warm demeanor and loving nature encourage children to approach knowledge with wonder and curiosity, leaving a lasting impact on Lucas and his friends.
Grandchildren
and receptive. The grandchildren listen intently to Abuela Clara's tales of progressive classrooms and innovative teachers who empowered students through selfdiscovery. Her stories spark their interest in the art of learning, encouraging them to approach knowledge with creativity and critical thinking rather than rigid convention.
Once upon a time, there was a notebook.
The cover was purple and black, like the night sky with tiny stars peeking through.
On the back, it was white, crisp as new-fallen snow.
Across the top, in lazy blue lines, it read,
"What if...?"
At the bottom, just above the black edge, a small monster peeked out from behind a cloud, waving hello.
It was just a notebook, ordinary in every way.
But one day, it changed everything.
This is its story.
I used to think that learning was about sitting still and listening.
That it was quiet and calm, peaceful even.
I thought that learning happened when you were most bored, when you felt like going through the motions.
But then I met my new teacher.
She smiled as she introduced herself, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
"I’m glad you’re here," she said as she shook my hand.
"Learning is a journey we get to take together."
At first, I didn’t think much of her words.
I thought she was just saying what all teachers say.
But then we began our lesson.
And instead of standing at the board and writing notes for us to copy, she sat down at a table with a group of students and started a discussion about what they had read.
They talked about characters and plot, themes and setting.
They asked questions and answered them, debated ideas and shared thoughts.
The teacher didn’t lecture or guide the conversation much at all.
From my corner desk, I watched them lean forward, their voices rising and falling like waves.
Maria gestured excitedly about the protagonist’s choice in chapter three, while Juan countered with evidence from chapter one.
The teacher nodded thoughtfully, jotting notes in a worn purple notebook similar to mine.
Other students joined in, forming a circle of engaged faces.
I gripped my pencil tighter, a question building in my throat.
The discussion flowed naturally to the story’s deeper meaning and how it related to our lives.
I found myself unconsciously nodding along, agreeing with points made and considering others.
I hesitated at my desk, not wanting to interrupt but desperate to join.
The teacher caught my eye and gestured to an empty spot between Maria and Carlos.
My fingers traced the monster doodle on my notebook as I considered joining.
The other students were deep in debate about the story’s ending - Juan argued the character should have forgiven his friend, while Maria insisted some actions were unforgivable.
Their passionate exchange echoed points I had been too shy to share.
The teacher smiled encouragingly and patted the empty chair.
I took a deep breath and moved to the empty chair, feeling eyes on me.
"Do you think forgiveness is always possible?" the teacher asked, her gaze steady and inviting.
"I think," I began, my voice trembling slightly, "sometimes forgiving is more about freeing yourself than the other person."
Encouraged by María’s nod, I leaned forward in my chair and flipped through the pages of my notebook, searching for the passage that had sparked my thoughts.
My fingers brushed against the wrinkled paper, filled with my scribbled notes.
I found the section where the character’s anger had been like a cage he built himself, trapping him inside.
The teacher scribbled something in her purple notebook, nodding thoughtfully as I spoke.
Juan, who usually dominated discussions, actually paused to listen.
I glanced around and saw other students jotting down notes, some drawing connecting arrows between ideas.
The monster doodle on my notebook seemed to wink at me as I continued.
My voice grew stronger with each word.
"When he finally let go," I concluded, "he wasn’t freeing his friend; he was freeing himself from the burden of his anger."
María’s words hung in the air as I flipped through my notebook, finding a blank page next to the monster doodle.
The teacher looked up from her notes and asked us to write about a time when forgiveness led to something unexpected in our own lives.
I tapped my pencil against the desk, thinking about last summer’s fight with my best friend over a borrowed game.
Other students were already writing, their pencils scratching against paper.
Juan stared at his page, eraser shavings collecting on his desk.
I started writing slowly, describing how apologizing to my friend not only saved our friendship but led us to create a new game together that we still play.