September 12, 2005
Today was a Monday, in every sense of the word. I think it began with a spastic and less-than productive Sunday evening, spent watching the television and waiting for my partner-in-crime to come over. While I’d rather forget about today and just move on, I can’t. The most amazing thing happened in school.
First let me say I woke up hating the idea of school. Hating the idea of being a teacher. I dragged myself out of bed, resenting the 186-day-a-year job that is so intense I am sometimes afraid to get up in the morning. I got to school not really having a plan — or rather, having a rough plan I’d used on one Literature class and in complete fear that it wouldn’t work for the other three. But, come 8 a.m., I had a room full of 9th graders, and I put it into action.
My students are poets. They don’t know they are, but man, they are poets. They are also actors; for the most part, they love being the center of attention. Their assignment over the weekend was to write a vignette about their name or about someone they know. Ask any of my students, and they’ll tell you a vignette is a “short, descriptive literary sketch.” They’d better say that, because they’ve got a quiz on Wednesday.
Since most of my kids love reading their work aloud and getting to be the center of attention, I offered them the opportunity to read some of their original work today and also to share their homework with the class. During first period, everyone shared, everyone was respectful, everyone wanted to read each other’s work. I was psyched.
And then the amazing thing happened: During my third-period class, my students brought each other to tears.
The poetry of their lines, the seriousness and emotion they brought to their writing, the way they wanted to connect with each other — One of my girls was walking around the room with a box of Kleenex to give to people. There was dead silence as they listened to each other’s writing. Absolute, utter respect and fascination as they heard each other read their words while choking back tears. In however long I’ve worked with students, I’ve never had a moment like this.
My students write about the people they love. My students blame themselves when these people die or move away or abandon them. They write about last moments with loved ones. They write about seeing tragedy. They write about the lies adults tell them.
They write about their names, their connection to the past, the resentment they feel because the person who named them then chose to leave them. They write about their friends, their pets. They write about their families. They write about their dreams. I get to hear all of this; I get to sit in class and listen to my students. It is the only thing I want to do.
I don’t think they know how beautiful they are — both my students and their words. Today, this Monday, I am in awe.