Photo CC by Tom Jutte
Teachers always have all the answers and know precisely what to say and how to explain everything. Teachers are the doctors of the education world. They can assess what might be holding a student back, prescribe exactly what it will take to help the student get on track, and ease the pain that is sometimes associated with academia. Okay, so maybe that’s not all true. But it sure feels like it!
Last week when it was my turn to share what I tend to write about when I get to write about whatever I want, I felt like it was the first time I had ever stumped a teacher. And, not to mention, a room full of soon-to-be teachers. I could have picked something else safer to share. One time in my writer’s notebook I wrote a poem, so I could have taken the safe route and said ‘yeah, I tend to write poetry.’ But Clayton went before me and said that he writes about fish (a specific kind that I do not recall) and everybody loved it! So I decided, not only will my answer be truthful, but probably still safe. As long as it’s safe, it’s okay. I went with it. And when I told everybody that I have entries in my writer’s notebook of fairy tales and sometimes my anxieties, I felt like I was E.T. and I had just landed. There was silence for a while. Then a little bit of scrambling from a few on what to say. Then (thank God) we moved on to the next person, the clear and total uncomfortableness of it all slowly fading away. But it continued to bother me. Did I seriously stump Dr. Ellington? And like 12 education majors? I’m sure if they had read my writer’s notebook, it would have been a little easier to give me advice on where to go next. So, in the name of brave writing, here is one of my fairy tales. They tend end weird, as I mentioned in class.
Once upon a time there was a young, yellow dandelion who grew quickly. One morning, her short, beautiful, golden locks blew marvelously in the wind, and the next they had transformed into white, static strands which easily fell out of her aging head. So quickly had the beautiful flower turned into a weed. Soon, the royal gardener came fumbling around. He plucked the aging dandelion and threw her into a wheelbarrow full of other dandelions where she died. Moral of the story: life passes quickly. Watch out for gardeners.
Now that I reread it, I’m not so sure that anyone still would have been able to give my pointers or advice. But I do feel a little bit better about being brave in my writing, so I suppose there’s still that!