Anytime we make simple, generalized statements about how something “is,” and ignore the variables that prove otherwise, we take away knowledge and the freedom to question the assumptions.
The sky is not blue. There’s always so much more going on. And even the blue is an illusion. So the really worry is, why do we pretend it’s only blue?
I’ve been horrible with keeping up my blog, primarily because I don’t have time to think and write as I want to.
Then I had a realization–I’ve already written a lot: why not mine from my books?
My New Year’s resolution (since they’re easier to make in November than in January) is to post a line from my books every day, beginning with Book 1 The Forest at the Edge of the World. I can do that much, right?
However, this very first line I chose from Book 1 may prove to be prophetic . . .
Students raising their hands during class? I used to think that was a good thing . . . for the first week of teaching. Since then I’ve discovered that what they say will be as relevant as dandruff shampoo is to Medusa.
We may be in the middle of comparing propaganda during WWII to modern day examples, or breaking down Katharine’s speech at the end of “Taming of the Shrew” when the hand shoots into the air as if some amazing insight has just hit a teenager.
“Mrs. Mercer! I just saw the Coke truck go by the window. That means it’s refilling the machines and I REALLY need a Mt. Dew to make it through the rest of the day. Can I PLEASE go get a Mt. Dew?”
The kid just finished chugging his Dunkin coffee. The last thing he needs is more caffeine. And if he falls asleep in class without his Mt. Dew, is that really such a bad thing?
Occasionally a student will have something interesting to share. Otherwise . . .
“Can I get my phone? I REALLY need to text my mom. It’s SUPER important! Like, I need to talk to her RIGHT NOW! She’s bringing me Subway for lunch and I want to change my order before she leaves.”
The hope is that their minds are on the topics, but . . .
“Mrs. Mercer, did you know that Joey and me got into a fight back in 5th grade?”
I grit my teeth at Joey and me. “And what does that have to do with identifying archetypes in this novel?”
“Nothing. Just thought you should know. I won the fight, by the way.”
That screeching noise you hear? My trains of thought, derailing a dozen times a day.
Even the sharper kids—ones who usually have something great to write or say—may surprise me with A Random Comment That Initiates Cringing (ARCTIC; these comments leave me cold).
“Mrs. Mercer! What you were saying reminds me—I need to run to the office for something.”
I heave a long, heavy sigh. “And how did my describing Odysseus’s consultation with Circe remind you that you need to run to the office? And for what?”
“I just remembered that I need to talk to guidance about my classes next semester.”
There is no one in guidance who is remotely like the witch Circe. “The next semester which doesn’t start for another two months?”
“Yeah. Can I go right now?”
Perhaps I’m Circe the witch they’re trying to get away from.
Train derailment, crash, explosion . . . I grip my whiteboard marker, the only thing that brings me back to focus as I glare at the student who looks at me oblivious that they’ve just tossed my entire buildup–now a fireball–into a gorge. Through my mind passes the desire to send the student past Scylla, the next monster we’re going to read about.
At that moment I pull out an oldy but a goody–so old they’ve never heard of it. “And what does your need to go to guidance have to do with the cost of tea in China?”
The entire class stares at me, dumbfounded.
See? I can do it to. Albuquerque. Snorkel.
While they, in confusion, try to figure out what I just said, I continue on with the discussion . . . and for my sanity ignore every hand that goes up for the next five minutes.
[“Lit,” by the way, is the trendy way to say “cool,” or “neato, daddio.” Just typing that last one is totally not “lit”.]
These lines are what I hope none of my students will ever say about my class:
These lines are also why I often read out loud to them, because even though they’re 10th graders, a few kids had never finished a novel until they took my class.
I worry that books and thinking are becoming as old-fashioned as typewriters and rotary phones. We rarely hear about either much anymore, and when we do it’s, “Hey, remember when we used to think about problems and read all we could before we made judgments? Or am I just remembering a time that never really existed? And am I using the word ‘lit’ correctly?”
Get Book 1, The Forest at the Edge of the World right here. It’s totally lit. (Maybe?)