Who’s the Parent, Here?

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I just read a student’s essay where she recalls being 8 years old, with her younger siblings, and stuck outside her locked house for over an hour in the middle of winter. All because her parents were at work. Oh, and the girl’s mother also told her she could “skip lunch” since she was a little chubby at the time. The essay is about a neighborhood woman who took it upon herself to help this young girl and her siblings by providing warmth and food. To me, the neighborhood woman is by far a better parent than either of her actual parents.

it takes a village

The House on the Highway (2017 early draft)

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transport1

Rain again.

Pre-school day.

The boy is sleepy

But becomes alert when reminded

Of school.

He’s dressed in minutes

His cowlick sprayed out

My shirt is stained

But I cover it with a sweater

That wasn’t tight last month.

 

Coffee.  The boy

Asks for a leftover doughnut.

We say goodbye

To a sleepy mama.

She Misses

Coffee but rubs

Her pregnant belly and Ooohs—

She mumbles something about having a lot to do.

 

Will the missus miss us?

 

We’re a mile away from her

And home when

The first red light stifles

Our progress

Toward timelessness.

I hate being late.

Rain hardens, stiffens,

Strengthens.

The sky sends pellets

And creates tension inside me

While each droplet is just doing its job.

Green light.  No movement.

The head of the driver in front of me is visible

In the side mirror.  He’s

Clearly looking at his phone.

I honk and say something

The missus wishes

I wouldn’t say when the boy is around.

Or ever.

Seconds pass.  The guy looks

Up and eases forward.

Waveless.

My tension heightens.

No recognition of fault.

No request for my forgiveness.

 

Another point-eight miles of green lights.

The next stop is my our turn.

The left-turning lane fills behind me

As the rest of the east- and west-bounders

Pound down the splashy path.

A long, loud transporter

Booms by on the right,

Bearing a modular home.

Look at that house, I say.

He of course looks for a stable structure

Off the road

Whoa, he says, in wonderment.

Is there people in there, daddy?

Not likely, I say.  But I can’t stop thinking about

Its future inhabitants.

 

Where are they at this moment?

Waiting at the lot?

A few cars behind?

Boxing up picture frames

And kitchen utensils in another area code?

Did they pick the color?

Is this their forever home?

<<EEEEEP!!!>>

Will this rain ever quit?

<<BLAAMMM—BLAAMMMM!!!!!!!>>

The impulse to turn around has never been stronger.

The missus misses us.

We miss her.  Work should wait some days.

Daddy?

Yes?

I’m glad you’re taking me to school today.

My son really says this just like that.

I stick a sleeve out my window

To wave my apologies to the cars behind me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Teachers: Discourage White Letters!

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Teachers: I was just reminded of something I recently learned from one of my college freshmen: Students have been (and will continue to do so) writing X amount of nonsense words at the end of an essay, then change the font color to white. This means the word count you see (grade?) will be larger than what they actually constructed.

Of course this is ridiculous, but then again, so is assigning a word-count minimum (in my opinion).

We need to stop the “easy-to-grade/penalize” mentality of counting words, correcting spelling, and writing in missing commas. Instead, work with young people to develop their thoughts in a clear and organized manner.

If you are reading this and you plan to use this in a future paper or assignment, please re-consider.  Your teacher may dock you for not meeting some arbitrary number he/she established, but you can continue in life knowing that not every one of your readers will concern himself/herself with how many words you can write.

When it comes to your words, quality will always outweigh quantity.

Here We Go Again…

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Each year, I ask my advanced juniors to write a short essay entitled “My Writing Experience”, the thesis of which is for them to list evidence that supports their current perspective of writing.  They tend to identify moments of encouragement and transition that have led them to feel confident.  

Often, however, something else is revealed.  This year, it happened in the FIRST paper I read.  

Inshort, this student clearly remembered a teacher who assigned sentence writing as a PUNISHMENT.  Regardless of the crime, how can anyone still think that this type of punishment will not adversely affect a student’s attitude toward writing? I have the occassional discipline problem in my HS English classes.  However, I do not make them memorize the period chart of elements because they’ve been bad.  I do not demean them by sending them to the board to explain the Pythagorean Theorem.  That seem a tad nonsensical. 

So STOP!  Find another way todiscipline them!  Sentence writing or copying a dictionary page is RIDICULOUS!!