Writers' Workshop: My 80th Birthday?

One way to improve your writing is by writing, so in my English Language Arts classes, we wrote. Back in April of '04, I had my classes do a quick write using a prompt from The Writer's Block: 786 Ideas to Jump-Start Your Imagination. The prompt was, What if someone gave me a _____ for my ____birthday.

I wrote along with my students and composed:



My 80th Birthday

I was 80 years old. What was my daughter thinking when she gave me a new volleyball?

I guess I should backup to the beginning. It started when Joanna brought Abby to visit me in the hospital: the convalescent hospital. I’m not sick mind you. I’m just old and my body is failing. I’m too much work to have in one of my kid’s houses, and I don’t mind. It’s part of getting old.

But anyway, my 80th birthday came. It was kind of a milestone since both my dad and granddad never made 70 years. All the kids came, and the grand kids. I got some presents: socks, a clock radio with huge numbers, a head set for my TV, so I can turn it up real loud, and a volleyball. A volleyball! What’s an 80-year-old going to do with a volleyball in a convalescent hospital?



“Mr. Evans? Are you awake?”

It was the nurse.

“Mr. Evans, it’s time for your meds. Wake up!”

“Oh Lorraine, I’m awake,” I protested. “I’m was just resting my eyes a bit. Not sleeping. Just resting my tired eyes.”

“Okay Mr. Evans. Whatever you say.”

“Lorraine, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure Mr. E. Shoot. What’s your question?”

“I can’t figure out why my 56-year-old daughter would give me a volleyball for my birthday. I’m way too old to play.”



“You mean this volleyball?” said Nurse Lorraine as she poured out some water to go with the pills.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Well, it’s not even quite new, you know. And it’s got writing on it.”

“What? Writing? What’s it say? Man, these 80-year-old eyes are getting tired. I didn’t know there was writing. What’s it say?”

“Game ball 11/07/33. To Danielle McGowan – MVP.”

“Danielle? Well, that’s my great grand daughter. She’s only 10.”



“Well there’s a card here too, Mr. E. with a volleyball on it. Maybe it goes with the ball?”

“What does it say, Lorraine? I couldn’t read it. I just looked at it and smiled when Joanna and Abby gave me the ball. My eyes are getting bad, you know.”

It says, “Dear Great-grandpa, I couldn’t come to your birthday party today, because I’m in an All-Star volleyball game. I’m only 10, and I’m the youngest on the team. We’re in the finals this weekend. Last weekend I was voted MVP of the game. I wanted you to have the ball since you got this family playing volleyball back when you were young. When you see the ball, think of me, and know that me, mom, and grandma all love you and appreciate all you’ve given us, including a love for volleyball. All my love, Danielle.”

“Well, Mr. E. I guess that explains it.”



I thought to myself, Well, I guess it does, but I couldn’t say anything ‘cause tears were running down my cheeks, and I was softly sobbing.

It started out as a very disappointing gift, but once I understood, I learned that I was still loved and appreciated, even if I was 80 and falling apart.

Writers' Workshop: Gepeto is Found!

Another piece of writing from my junior high teaching days (May '04) as I practiced the craft of writing alongside my students:



Gepeto is Found

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Here kitty, kitty, kitty." Anne's anguished cry beamed out into the falling darkness like a fog horn trying to warn ships in a dense fog. She was trying to bring her cat Gepeto back inside. Gepeto was lost.



Gepeto was a black cat, kind of skinny, with a smallish head. Gepeto was an inside cat and Anne was worried. It all started when her son Joseph had left the door open too long this morning as he was leaving for school. Gepeto was in a playful mood and was running around the house. The door was open, and out he ran.

Gepeto was a well-loved cat. Anne had gotten Gepeto four years ago when a friend had moved away. Gepeto was going to the pound until Anne stepped in with an offer of asylum. Gepeto got a new home and a new love: Anne.



Anne was a cat lover. She had had five cats of her own when she had left Maine to move to California. The Gepeto Project was one of her ways of showing gratitude for those people in Maine who had adopted her cats. Anne was worried for Gepeto. And rightfully so.

Three days passed before they found the body.



Joseph was raking leaves in the back yard when he discovered Gepeto's stiff body under a bush. It looked like a car had hit Gepeto; not enough to kill him outright, but enough to end his new life in Anne's home.

Joeseph knew that Anne would be heart-broken at the news, but he knew what he had to do. He left Gepeto under the bush for now and walked slowly to the house to give Anne the bad news.

* * * * *

Since this is Sunday morning... I'll give a ray of hope that the story doesn't have... A line from a song: "Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal."



I see in my own writings echoes of the melodramatic bent of my youngest daughter. What goes around comes around. ;-)

Weekend Update:

One advantage of having a less-than-packed schedule is the freedom to take on new projects. I've got three new ones.



One of my new projects was not by choice. The teacher's curse is the unreasonable parent. Luckily, "my" parent's contention is not really with me, but with the school administration and district policy.

This means that I have a bit more paperwork and a few more meetings, but the brunt of this "new project" is being borne by my administrative superiors. Administrators/managers generally get paid more. This is why.



Another new project I've begun is creating online vocabulary flashcards for students who are behind, but want to catch up.

I noticed a willingness lately of some students to practice map puzzles at home for no academic credit. It was just fun.

I've also had a few students who have been asking me for blank flashcards lately as they are trying to master material using the strategies of stronger students.



Because of their interest in improving recall memory via flashcards, I searched out some good online systems, such as FlashcardDB.com.

Earlier in the year I got the school to purchase a vocabulary improvement program that consists in part of grade leveled vocabulary. If students can master this key vocabulary, they will be better positioned to comprehend grade level textbooks, literature, and other academic materials.



I've finished creating flashcards for all of the first grade vocabulary, and the first quarter of second grade. Rather than a traditional set of flashcards with a word on the front and a definition on the back, I'm creating short sentence flashcards that use the vocabulary.

At least at the lower elementary levels, most of the words are in the student's spoken vocabulary, they just need to learn to recognize them in text.



There are about 800 words per grade level. That's 200 words per quarter, or 100 sentences if I succeed in getting two words per sentence. (Sometimes I get three!)

So if I'm blogging less, it's because I'm "sentencing" elsewhere. (If you have a struggling reader, or just want a fun site for kiddos, you'll find my cards by searching the site for "VIP" -- Vocabulary Improvement Program. I've created a naming convention that will group my flashcards, ie "VIP Grade 2 Q1.")



I've spent today fine-tuning a third project: "Project Wellness." This self-chosen project involves creating goals, plans, and measurements for losing more fat and gaining more strength. Over the last two years I've lost 10% of my weight, now it's time for the second 10%.

Happy Saturday!

Writers' Workshop: Kaboom!

Nancy Atwell, an author who popularized an approach to teaching called Writers' Workshop, expected Language Arts teachers to model their own growth as writers by writing along with their students. Teaching at the junior high level for 10 years I did just that. A few days ago I found an old folder with some of my write-alongs.



One day, the students chose a prompt that required us to write a piece with an explosion. I give you my own effort called...

Kaboom!

The Crime Scene Investigators had never seen anything like this: there was blood, bone, and brains sprayed on all the walls, the ceiling, even the students' desks. The teacher, Mr. Sanve, was slumped over his desk: headless.

"What do you think, Marion?" asked Detective Ernandes.



"I don't know Brett. It's baffling," replied the detective as he scanned the bloody scene.

"Let's look at the teacher's desk. Maybe there will be some clues there."

They looked for signs of a bullet or a bomb but found none. They did deduce by the spatterings of blood on the clock that the crime had happened at 3:30.



"Hey look," said Detective Brett. "It looks like he was grading papers."

"Yeah. Someone just got an A+. And Snave wrote a comment... It says, 'Great job. This is the best quick write I've ever seen. It's so good it's making my head hurt.'"

Legacy: Smell ya later!

Peter, a fellow blogger did a nice post today called, "Of Legacy and Forests." It's worth a read.



Me, I want to write about smells. In this case, the smell of spring and of legacy; hence, "Smell ya later!"

Nelson, a Simpson's character, often says goodbye by saying, "Smell ya later!" That's just good Simpson humor. Today I want to consider a different kind of lingering smell: the smell of oranges.



I grew up and still live in Orange County, California. And guess what, we used to have lots of orange groves! There a still a few around, but they used to be everywhere.

Growing up in Anaheim, we had a grove behind our house until they tore it down to build a junior high. We had a tree in our backyard, until we tore it out when we put in a swimming pool. But even with all those trees, one thing I never remember is the smell of orange blossoms. How did I miss that?

Lately I've been riding a bike around the neighborhood. I ride with enough intensity that soon I'm breathing hard.

As I've been sucking in all that air, I've occasionally noticed a wonderful fragrance. It took a couple of rides before I isolated the smell's origin: orange blossoms!

Spring in Orange County brings orange blossoms! The tract of homes in which I ride used to be an orange grove. How do I know? The legacy of orange trees gives it away.

As the developers sub-divided the groves and built houses, they tried to leave an orange tree in each yard. Some of these trees have survived to this day, and now they are a fragrant legacy to days by-gone.



Orange trees used to outnumber people in Orange County, but not anymore. The smell of orange blossoms in the spring used to fill the air, but not anymore.

But if you're out for a walk or a ride in March, you just might catch a fragrance on the breeze that is magical. It is a smell echoing the legacy of Southern California: orange blossoms.



The survivors of those historic groves beckon to the modern nose: "Smell ya later!" And I do.

Stress, a prayer, and a promise

Life can be stressful. Today was one of those days.



We had a meeting planned at school with some parents and their lawyer: not a promising prospect. As I prepared for work I paused and checked for “internal” messages. I basically threw up a prayer that sounded like, “God, got anything to help me today?”



I paused and a fragment of a verse came to mind: “No weapon forged against you…” That’s all I got, but it was all I needed. I went to BibleGateway.com, plugged in the snippet and found what I was looking for: Isaiah 54:17.

(During my 20s, 30s, and 40s I read the entire Bible on average of once a year. That’s why snippets of verses “live” in me. It’s not magical: it’s purposefully ingrained.)



Here’s the whole verse: “No weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and this is their vindication from me declares the LORD.”

Well, I immediately felt better. I felt more confident and assured as I went into a day that would hold… God knew what.



The anticipated stress did not actually materialize. The parents were no-shows and the meeting was postponed.

But anticipated stress is still stressful. One stress relieving strategy is to pause, check for messages, listen and see if God doesn’t have some message especially suited for you.




“Give us this day, our daily bread…” Sometimes it is bread for the soul that we need: He’s got that too.

A final thought. My favorite prayer in the Bible is the one “prayed” by Peter, who after walking on water began to sink. He said simply, “Help, Lord!” And Jesus put out his hand and helped him back into the boat.



So the next time you need help, take a page from Peter: “Help, Lord!” Someone may just give you a hand. (That was what I needed today: a little help. And I got it via some words of promise and comfort. Ahhhh…)

A Sunday morning rant!

A Sunday morning rant? (Yes.)

Are parents getting stupider, or is it just me? (No, it's not just me!)

As a school teacher I am amazed each year when I encounter parents who readily believe their child without even thinking to ask for the other side of the story.




Obviously they've never read Proverbs 18:17 -- "The first one to plead his cause seems right, until his neighbor comes and examines him."

Haven't these parents even heard the popular version of the proverb: "There are two sides to every story."?

This week I took an informal poll of 12 sixth graders. 10 of the 12 readily admit that they are "misleading" when dealing with their parents.

This "misleading" usually involves only telling part of the story. The other half of the story is missing! (Hello!)

My sixth graders seem to have more sense about themselves than some parents, especially than the parents who believe whatever their child tells them. That's not just naive, it's ridiculous!



Parents need to get all the facts. Then they may deny the facts, ignore the facts, or disbelieve the facts, but they're still the facts.

I like kids. I choose to work with them as an educator, but I have no delusions about their honesty and forth-rightness. Many of them will lie to save their skin. Many will readily throw truth under the bus if they think it will save their skin. Many will withhold incriminating information. Few are consistently and completely honest. (They mirror our society, unfortunately.)



So before you believe a kid, get the facts. Get both sides of the story. Do some cross-examination! (Don't be stupid!)

With each new school year I start off believing my students until certain ones teach me not to believe them. Some students are honest. Some are not. (Learn to tell the difference -- and check your facts. Get both sides of the story! Do your homework.)




As adults we need to be realistic about kids and help them learn honesty, responsibility, and character. It begins by modeling those behaviors for them. It continues as we take the time to get the whole story, especially the part that is not being told.

Kids want what is fair -- unless they are hiding something! They deserve fairness and justice, even if it means holding them accountable for their misdeeds and mis-truths.

If we consistently let kids lie to us, we teach them to become liars, and that's a bad idea.

C'mon people!



End of rant.