Ode To Students

I have the kind of job where I often get the chance to think, "Wow. I'm really interested in what this student wrote."

Where I sometimes get to think, "Wow. I'm really proud of what this student has ended up writing."

And then there are those very rare moments when I get to think, "Wow. I wish I had written what this student wrote."

Sometimes, I am lucky enough to read a piece of student writing that leaves me with a true sense of wonder. How can someone so young say something so simply, so beautifully? Usually it is in moments when they are writing unselfconsciously, as in an email written late at night, or in the writing journals I have them keep. It was in one such journal that I came across this sentence:

English is the study of poorly defined questions.

I find myself...lingeringly troubled by this statement. Not because I think this student was knocking his English class, but because of those two descriptors: "poorly defined." As if to ask a question without a rigid shape, and without an easy answer, is something not quite to be trusted. As if by making a question blurry, it loses some of its potency; loses some of its importance.

Here's what I have to say about poorly defined questions (which, I warn you, is probably going to be a little obtuse):

They ask you not to calculate, but to explore. Not to find some right answer--the what--but the WHY. Why do things fall apart? Why do things hold together?

I understand why these questions are troubling. Poorly defined questions are steps into a dark tunnel, not knowing what you'll find there; they are expeditions that could lead you anywhere, or everywhere, or nowhere. They can make you feel like you're throwing yourself off a cliff with no means to claw your way back up. But they are also about making connections between different ideas, different threads, different moments in a piece of literature, and using them to find a larger possible truth. Why do things fall apart in Lord of the Flies? There are many reasons, and they all lead back to the question of whether we, as humans, are inherently good. Whether compassion and empathy can withstand the blunt force of the need to survive and to control. Are there clear answers to these questions? Are there easy answers? No. But might they lead us to conclusions that matter? I think so.

For me, poorly defined English aren't about answers. They are about the means by which you seek those answers--intellectually and otherwise--and what you might discover along the way. I love asking these questions in my classes because I learn about my students through the answers they give. I can ask a room of students, "What is the American Dream?" and they can answer in one of so many different ways, all of which can be both right and wrong. All of which will give me some insight into what interests my students, and what drives them, and what matters to them, which ends up being what matters to all of us.

What do I love about poorly defined questions? That essentially they are all asking about the same thing: about what it is to be alive in the world. And those questions will always result in different answers, and the same answers.

Things I'd Like To Give My Students

I just wrapped up my last day of teaching for the time being, which coincided with the seniors' last day of classes. I had many of them in my creative writing class, and I wanted to leave them with something to think about as they start to imagine the shape of the rest of their lives. I was daunted by the task of saying something that wouldn't sound trite or hollow.

So I told them what I wish someone could have told me:

As you get older, you'll find that it's easy to get lost. Lost in love, lost in work, lost in life's dramas and complications. It's easy to lose your sense of who you are and who you want to be. Which is why it's important to make yourself stop: stop and reflect on what matters to you, on the things you never want to let yourself forget. Writing is a beautiful way to do that. So today I want you to write your future self a letter. Tell yourself what matters to you now, and what you want to make sure you never lose sight of. 

It was a really nice class, and a really nice moment. They all put different "open me" dates on their envelopes, and it was interesting to see what dates they picked. The first week of college. The last week of college. Their 25th birthday. I found myself fervently hoping that they hold onto their letters, and that whoever they turn out being is an even better version of themselves than they can currently imagine.

One of my favorite things about teaching has been talking to kids about books. It's given me the chance to reflect on what books helped change my world when I was their age. The books that made me fall in love with reading all over again and that made my last year of high school more memorable. These are the books I'd like to give my students:

 




 

Book Spine Friday

I currently find myself teaching 8th, 11th and 12th graders, which is proving an interesting challenge and, sometimes, a genuine pleasure. Amidst the chaos of trying to squeeze thought out of 8th graders and singing Dickinson poems to the tune of Amazing Grace, I always look forward to my creative writing class. I'm on a mission to find ways to make my classes both inspirational and useful (suggestions gratefully accepted). To that end, I had my students make book spine poems today. They could only use the books I'd brought in and borrowed from the library, and it was interesting to see what kinds of things they came up with. I can't claim to have dreamed up this idea, but I loved it so much I made one of my own.

Happy Friday!