مدرسة وردان الإعدادية الحديثة بنين

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
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إدارة المنتدى
مدرسة وردان الإعدادية الحديثة بنين

أهلا بكم في موقع مدرسة وردان الإعدادية الحديثة بنين

يعلن مكتب التربية الاجتماعية بالمدرسة  : ان الحفل السنوي هذا العام سيكون يوم الاحد الموافق 2013/4/21 بعد الحصة الثانية وينظم الحفل ويشرف عليه اسرة اللغة العربية بقيادة الاستاذ / ناصر عبدالعظيم والاستاذ / احمد سعد المناوي والاشراف العام الاستاذ / رأفت عبيدو " مدير المدرسة " وان الحفل موفر به كافة الامكانيات من فراشة وكراسي ممتازة وبهذه المناسبة يدعوا المكتب كافة اولياء الامور لحضور الحفل والذي سيتم خلاله تكريم اوائل الطلبة ونخبة من المعلمين المميزين 
أخبار المدرسة : تعلن ادارة المدرسة بالتعاون مع مجلس الاباء عن البدء بمشروع " مدرسة نظيفة " وقد اقامت المدرسة معسكر خدمة عامة في بداية تنفذ المشروع ثم مسابقة دوري النظافة بين الفصول
تعلن مدرسة وردان الاعدادية الحديثة عن افتتاح قسم جديد بالمنتدي للانشطة التربوية والاجتماعية وبهذه المناسبة ننوه انه قد تم انزال الفيديوهات الخاصة بالحفل السنوي وايضا الفديو الخاصة بفصل 1/7 الفائز بمسابقة اكمل فصل ورائده أ/ مدحت سلام الفائز بمسابقة الرائد المثالي على مستوي الادارة

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    العندليب

    رقم العضوية : 56
    الجنس : ذكر
    عدد المساهمات : 310
    نقاط : 672
    تاريخ الميلاد : 01/01/1995
    تاريخ التسجيل : 15/03/2010
    العمر : 23
    العمل/الترفيه : طالب
    المزاج : رايق

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    مُساهمة من طرف العندليب في الأحد مارس 21, 2010 12:22 am

    Happiness is the Best Gift


    Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.

    One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon

    to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.

    The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

    The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives

    and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in

    the military service, where they had been on vacation.

    And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could

    sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all

    the things he could see outside the window. The man in

    the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where

    his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and

    color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with

    a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while

    children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in

    arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old

    trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

    As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail,

    the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes

    and imagine the picturesque scene. One warm afternoon

    the man by the window described a parade passing by.

    Although the other man couldn't hear the band -

    he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by

    the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.

    One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water

    for their baths only to find the lifeless body of

    the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his

    sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants

    to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate,

    the other man asked if he could be moved next to

    the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

    Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take

    his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have

    the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn

    to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.

    The man asked the nurse what could have compelled

    his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful

    things outside this window. The nurse responded that

    the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

    Epilogue. . . There is tremendous happiness in making others happy,

    despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow,

    but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want

    to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy.



    "Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."


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    ~ BUTTERFLY ~


    It was 1953, it was spring, and it was a great time to be a kid!

    School would be out soon, and there were three long months of summer vacation to look forward to.

    Tom Mix and Roy Rogers were still making movies, and the local theater

    had decided not to raise it's prices. You could still get into

    the Saturday matinee for thirty five cents. And that included a Buck Rogers cliff hangar serial and a cartoon!

    A carnival was coming to town in July, and a circus in August. What more could a guy ask for?

    The boy and his friend had been thinking about all these things as

    they watched their kite soar gracefully above them in the sky over

    the large open field. The boy was ten and his friend was eleven,

    and although they were a grade apart in school, they were the best of buddies and did everything together.

    They came to this field often, to fly kites, or play cowboys

    and Indians, or just to explore. There were woods along one

    side of the clearing that were great for hiding and building forts in.

    And if you were playing the part of an Indian there was

    a stone fence that offered protection from the cowboys after a raid on their camp.

    It was in this very field that the carnivals set up their rides and

    the circuses put up their tents. And as much fun as it was to

    wander around those events while they were there, it was

    even more exciting to see them leave, and then race to the field to see what treasures may have been left behind.

    There was always something. A broken trinket, a length of

    thick rope, or maybe even change from some kids pocket

    when he had been turned upside down while riding "The Octopus"! A person never knew what they might discover.

    Yup, it was a really neat field.

    It was getting late, and the two friends decided it was time to go.
    The older boy gave one last hard tug on the kite's string,

    as he always did, trying to get it to dive and loop, and then they reeled in the line and started for home.

    The path out of the field went by an old apple tree, and for

    the past week or so they had been watching a large yellow

    caterpillar who had made his home on one of the branches.

    They had watched him slowly inch his way up and down

    the branch looking for any new leaves that might have

    sprouted. But there wasn't much new growth on

    the tree this early in the year, and so they had wondered how he would survive.

    They didn't see the caterpillar today. Instead they noticed

    a large, grey, lifeless looking cocoon, and they wondered

    if their yellow friend had died. But it was getting very late,

    and the boys friend said his stomach hurt, probably

    from hunger, so they didn't wonder about it too long, and continued their walk home.

    The next morning the boy and his friend walked to school

    together as usual. They arrived with a little time left before

    the first bell, so they took a few moments

    to wander around the playground and discuss their plans for that evening.

    The boy's friend wanted to go fishing at Mudd Creek,

    the water was getting high there and he thought perhaps the trout may have come back early this year.

    It was also just about time to start getting their bicycle-built-for-two back

    together. Neither friend had a great bike, but when the rear

    wheel was removed from one, and the front fork of the other

    attached, it made a super fast and fun vehicle!

    (and sticking playing cards in the spokes of

    the wheels made it sound just like the full dress Harley Davidson

    motorcycles they would see on the highway...well, almost...)

    But nothing definite was decided upon,



    and so, when the second bell rang they went their separate ways.

    Noon came, and when the boy entered the cafeteria it was

    buzzing with excitement. Someone in Mrs. Foster's class

    had gotten very sick and had to be taken to the hospital!

    The boy's friend was in Mrs. Foster's room, and so the boy

    looked around the busy lunch room trying to find him.

    But his friend wasn't there so the boy sat next to some of his other classmates.

    Everyone seemed to have a different version of what had happened,

    and there were a lot of rumors, but the one thing they all seemed

    to agree upon was the fact that it had been the boys friend who had gotten sick.

    Lunch period ended and soon the school day was over.

    The boy hurried home to see if his friend had returned from

    the hospital yet. He was sure his friend would have

    wonderful stories of being poked with long needles,

    being asked to say "ahhh" a hundred times, and other strange and unknown things.

    There were a lot of cars in his friends driveway as the boy walked

    past, but he didn't see anyone and so he continued to his home two

    houses away. His grandmother was in the kitchen baking when

    he walked in, and she asked him if he had heard about his friend.

    She said he had suffered an attack of acute appendicitis. His

    appendix had burst in school, and by the time they got him to

    the hospital it was too late. The poison had spread

    throughout his body and he had died a short while ago.

    His best friend was gone.

    There was no one to take him to the funeral, and so he decided to

    go to the field. He hadn't had much experience with death.

    He had seen dead squirrels and birds of course, but a person, that was different. He didn't understand.

    Why did things have to die?

    Where did they go?

    Why did his best friend have to leave him?

    He wanted to think about all these things and so he walked slowly

    down the road to the field, carrying the kite, it's tail dragging along behind him.

    As he passed the apple tree he noticed the dull, grey cocoon was

    broken open. There was nothing inside, it was just a

    cold empty shell now, and there was no trace of the caterpillar.

    There was a strong breeze, and the kite went up into the bright sky

    easily. The boy sat on a rock and watched as the colorful kite swayed

    in the wind and danced on it's tail. As he watched he thought about

    all the good times he and his friend had had. Times that they could never have again.

    Never again!

    That was the part he couldn't accept. That he would never see his chubby, funny friend again.

    The boy was very sad, but he didn't cry.

    There was less wind now and it was getting cool.

    It was time to go.

    He stood and began to wind the kite string onto it's holder.
    He hadn't wound more than a half dozen turns when a beautiful yellow

    Swallowtail butterfly landed on the line no more than two feet from his hand.

    The string went slack in his hands, and it seemed the butterfly was

    pulling on the line, trying to catch just one last gust of air under the

    kite. The kite responded by soaring another fifty feet up into the air and then started floating slowly back to earth.

    The line was taut in his hands again and the boy continued reeling it in.

    As he did, the Swallowtail let go his hold on the line and flew upwards,

    up past the kite and into the clear blue sky until it disappeared from the boy's sight.

    Now the boy understood.

    The caterpillar hadn't died. He had changed into something new

    and wonderful, leaving behind an empty shell which was no longer needed.

    The boy knew he would never see his friend again, not as he had been.

    But he knew his friend wasn't really gone. Instead, he too was off on a

    great new adventure, his spirit soaring among the clouds. And he knew

    that if he kept all the memories alive, the friendship and the good times, then his friend would never truly leave him.

    His spirit would always be there.


    Written by D. A. Tony Ciango for his friend...Jack G...1940-1953...



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      الوقت/التاريخ الآن هو الإثنين ديسمبر 17, 2018 3:14 pm