I have been catching up on my daughters other blog, “Wake up and Write,” and it has reminded me of my weekly writing assignments in high school.
My last two years in high school were in a small girl’s school. I had 16 classmates, many of whom had been together for years. Due to WW II, I had already been to five other schools not including any preschools I had attended. I was a “newbee,” and I sat in the back row, and said little unless called upon. It was years before I was able to sit in a front row and add to the conversation.
My English teacher at this school resembled a crow: tall, thin, black hair, sharp nose and very dark eyes peering through her glasses. You might say I was terrified of her, for no particular reason. I have learned many years later to appreciate her as a teacher.
Her assignments were tough. She graded all the work we did, correcting grammar and spelling. I recall one assignment to give a speech on a subject. We were allowed to have 3×5 cards as reminders of our plan. I stood in front of the class, all 16 girls, and placed my eyes on the cards and didn’t look up once. Mrs P would not accept this report and told me I had to do it again, on another subject. I went complaining to my mom hoping for sympathy. I got none. Do it again… and she suggested subjects. (My mom was a teacher too. The teacher is always right!)
On the weekends, the assignment was a theme… our choice. I can’t say I loved to write those themes but I have saved many of them in my pile of trivia. I have a theme about my mom losing her glasses all the time. Another about sailing, and one about just plain writing a theme. Needless to say I did not do my homework on Friday night. I waited until Sunday, of course. One theme was written on Sunday afternoon where I described the process of simply thinking up an idea, and I wrote about the thought process, ending with… just that..writing it as the sun set out the window and I could have dinner and enjoy the evening with my homework done.
It is hard to believe, now, that I was shy. But I was. I rarely opened my mouth. I spent my college years in the back row as well. It wasn’t until several years of motherhood that I should move to the front if I wanted to understand what was going on. As a teacher, I worked hard to pay attention to the kids in the back row. The front row kids are there because they want to be. The back row wants to hide.
I recall a student named Brianna, who sat in the front and always knew the answers. She would wave a casual hand at me as if to say,” call on me when you have already heard the wrong answers from the rest of the class.” My work with her was to provide challenges where she didn’t know it all.
My slices are kind of like the old weekend assignment… what will I write about this weekend? Sometimes I wake up in the morning with an idea bursting in my head and I turn on the Mac and write. I have a back up pile of partial ideas, some from conversations among my kids or friends.