1) Gunakan petikan dari Star Online 'Acting our age' sebagai data. Nyatakan rumus/peraturan/formula yang boleh digunakan untuk menentukan (i) kata nama, (ii) kata kerja, dan (iii) kata preposisi dalam data ini.
2) Semak golongan kata yang diberikan oleh Merriam-Webster untuk setiap (i) kata nama, (ii) kata kerja, dan (iii) kata preposisi yang anda kenal pasti di http://www.merriam-webster.com/. Adakah ia sama dengan apa yang diperlihatkan oleh ujian kita? Berikan justifikasi kepada perbezaan atau persamaan penggolongan kata melalui ujian dan melalui penetapan kamus.
3)Gunakan petikan dari BERNAMA 'Renjer Hutan - Wira Hutan Yang Tidak Didendang' sebagai data bandingan. Perlihatkan perbezaan dan persamaan rumus/peraturan/formula yang boleh digunakan untuk menentukan (i) kata nama, (ii) kata kerja, dan (iii) kata preposisi dalam kedua-dua data dari BERNAMA & Star Online ini.
[NOTA: Tidak perlu dihantar, tapi perlu bersiap sedia untuk kelas Khamis, 29 Julai 2010. Manalah tahu DRY terpanggil nombor-nombor kesukaannya.^__^ Selain dari itu, jika anda siapkan kerja ini, anda boleh gunakan hasilnya untuk berbincang dengan DRY. Ini juga ialah persediaan untuk peperiksaan akhir.]
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Petikan dari Star Online, Isnin, 26 Julai 2010
Monday July 26, 2010
Acting our age
But Then Again by MARY SCHNEIDER
Just what exactly is age-appropriate behaviour?
MOST of the time, I act my age. Or at least, I think I do. You see, I’m not really sure how a 51-year-old should behave all the time. But then, does anyone?
Growing up, my parents were responsible for determining the sort of behaviour that was acceptable for me at any given age.
“Don’t slouch! Don’t eat with your mouth full! Keep your elbows off the table! Say please and thank you! Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to!”
The list went on and on.
Whenever I wanted to do something that wasn’t age-appropriate, my parents would set me straight.
“You’re not old enough to watch the late night movie,” they would say. “You’re not old enough to stay over at a friend’s house. You’re not old enough to wear nail polish.”
This instilled in me a strong desire to attain as quickly as possible that magical age that would allow me to do anything I wanted to do. As a result, whenever anyone asked me my age, I wouldn’t be content with just telling them I was six or seven or eight. No, I was six and a half, or seven and three quarters, or almost nine. Nobody was ever a round number.
“When will I be old enough to watch scary movies?” I would ask my mother. “When will I be old enough to bake a cake without burning the house down? When will I be old enough to boil water without scalding myself and destroying my skin, resulting in a disfigurement that I will have to carry for the rest of my life, forcing me to be a childless recluse and denying me the pleasure of telling my own children that they are too young to attempt anything bordering on fun?”
Being too young sucked.
Then, somewhere along the way, the adults began singing a different song.
“Don’t be so childish!” my mother would sometimes say. “You’re too old to sleep with the light on.”
“But there’s a giant bogey man beneath my bed, just waiting to grab my ankles and pull me into his lair if I walk too close,” I would explain. “If you switch the light off, I won’t be able to leap from the bed without getting hurt whenever I want to go to the bathroom.”
“That’s another thing,” my mother would say. “You’re too old to be leaping on and off beds.”
Such conversations usually reduced me to tears.
“You’re too old to cry.” I would be told. “Big girls don’t cry!”
Being called a big girl was a compliment, but I never understood why it was wrong to cry after a certain age. But then, I never saw my mother crying. So maybe it was true, after all.
Even after I left home, my parents monitored me from a distance. Although they refrained from telling me what I ought and ought not to be doing, they had a way with words that left me in no doubt as to their opinions.
“Don’t you think you’re leaving it too late to have children?” they asked when I hit 30 without producing a grandchild. “Don’t you think your hair colour is a little too young for you? Don’t you think you’re too old to be wearing short skirts?”
Even when I visited my parents with my son for the first time, my parents couldn’t resist a few age-related comments.
“Isn’t he a bit too old to still be breastfeeding?” they would ask. “Isn’t he a bit too young to learn to read and count?”
Then, as if by osmosis, I began morphing into the parent I swore I would never be. It became all too easy to deny my children certain activities because of their age. I tried to convince myself that these truly were activities that demanded the maturity and dexterity of an older child, but it still bothered me somewhat.
Last week, my 20-year-old son, who is home from university for five weeks, accompanied me and one of my friends on a jungle hike. At one stage, I was lagging behind and lost sight of my co-hikers as they rounded a bend in the trail ahead. I quickened my pace to catch up with them.
As I rounded the bend, my friend jumped out from behind a tree with a loud shriek, scaring the bejesus out of me. When I recovered, we both whooped loudly with laughter, and then I declared my intent to exact my revenge at the next opportunity.
“You guys are really juvenile,” said my son. “Aren’t you a bit too old for that sort of behaviour?”
I had come full circle.
sumber: http://thestar.com.my/columnists/story.asp?file=/2010/7/26/columnists/butthenagain/6715909&sec=butthenagain
tarikh capaian: 27 Julai 2010
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