One of those special teaching moments

Under the influence of a teacher whose work I admire, I've been sharing some poems with my children.

They groan. They fling their heads down in misery on their desks when I pass out the day's poem. They ask if I intend to do this every day.

From their general air of excitement, I can tell I'm making a positive impression on them.

I wish.

Last Friday I shared a poem with them entitled "The Little Boy." At first I wasn't even going to go there. It's a long poem, about three pages. It's about a kid who goes to school and loves to color, but his teacher always stops him and shows him the "right" way to make his picture. She always draws a red flower with a green stem. So the kid learns to imitate her. Eventually, he goes to another school, and this teacher wants him to draw, too. However, this teacher just walks around the room and waits for the boy to decide what he wants to do. When he questions her, she says she wants him to pick any drawing and any color. So he draws a red flower with a green stem.

I loved that poem. I was so inspired; I shared it with my classes because I thought it would be great for them to see how much it matters to me that I develop who they are and what they think. I yearned for them to see that I don't want them all to grow up to be the same person, crammed into the same mold.

They were unimpressed.

This week I gave them an assignment: they were to pick one of their topics from their list of writing ideas and write me anything they wanted in any form they wanted as long as it was at least 10 lines long. The number of puzzled faces that stared blankly back at me might amaze you. Many kids asked if they could just write an essay. When questioned further, they said they didn't think they knew how to write anything else. So today I show them an example of a poem written about craisins--yes, those yummy pieces of dried cranberries. And again I tried to explain that I just wanted to see what they could do if the only constraints I gave them were that it must be from their writing list and must be at least 10 lines long. One girl appeared terrified.

"But I only know how to write an essay!" she exclaimed.

Her neighbor gaped at her, "I think this sounds way easier."

And then this group of girls who sit on the outer section of my two semi-circled group of desks suddenly seem to connect ideas.

"Oh, you're like the teacher from the poem!" one shouted.

I had no idea what she meant. I expressed my confusion with articulation. "Huh?"

"You know--the one with the red flower and the boy! We've always done essays, and you want us to make our own ideas!"

"Well . . .yeah. I do. I want to see what you can do if I just leave it open. Not that essays are bad . . .you definitely need to know how to do those. But they're not the most fun kind of writing you can do."

In that brief moment of connection between ideas, I felt that internal soaring that comes with feeling that something I attempted hit home with at least a few students . . . that for a miniscule second, they could see the overarching plan that unites my classroom activities. Well, maybe not the whole plan. Maybe more a piece of the mortar that holds it all together . . .but still, it was gratifying. Uplifting even.

I'm feeling pretty excited to see what they bring on Friday.