by Dave Jarecki
Some 8-year-old boys drool. In the 4 years in which I’ve worked with third graders, at least one boy has drooled in the middle of at least one class. Sometimes it’s from frustration, but mostly it’s a result of over-excitement coupled with a blood sugar spike.
This year’s drooler is Ben. He’s now drooled three times in two sessions, which means he has six more sessions to break the all-time drool-per-session record of seven. Ben’s in-class snack of choice is a juice box. His teeth are coming in at jagged angles, leaving plenty of gaps through which saliva can escape. And writing excites the hell out of him.
I say the record is his.
What really excites him about writing is having the chance to write what he wants to write, as opposed to what the teacher “tells him” to write, as he puts it. That’s the beauty of not being a “real teacher,” as I explain to the kids in our first session, and this not being a “class,” but a “workshop.” I’m not here to tell them what they have to write. The best I can do is to guide them along the path of discovering the words inside them.
“Do you mean you don’t care about spelling?”
“Don’t let spelling stop your writing.”
“What about if I put a period in the wrong place?”
“We worry about grammar later.”
“Cool!”
I never wanted to teach with my English degree, but the idea of workshops always appealed to me. In 2004, I went through a spring and summer intensive with Write Around Portland, a nonprofit that provides free writing workshops to under-served populations such as homeless kids, adults living with AIDS, and women in prison. I adopted the organization’s core belief: Everyone is a writer.
A few months later, I started a weekly workshop at a local Volunteers of America halfway house, working primarily with middle-aged men who were trying to stay off the streets and out of prison. Later I worked with teens who were fighting the same thing. Early in 2006, I started working with public school kids — kindergarten through senior high.
I figured working in schools would be easier. In the beginning, it was much more challenging. It didn’t have to do with the students. Mostly it was my own uncertainty around what I should be giving them, what I should be leaving behind, and how best to help them grow as writers.
What I’ve discovered over time is that the thing kids want and value most in a workshop setting is the opportunity to roam on the page. They want the freedom to express themselves in ways that get beyond grammar and punctuation. They want to make a mess with words. And from their messes, they want to fashion stories and poems.
Most elementary- and middle-school kids want to write fantasy. Call it the Potter-ization of the juvenile mind. This particular group of third graders wants to write poetry, which they explained on our first day.
If the best thing I can give them is the space to write, then the best thing they can give me is a guidepost from where to plan. Toward the end of our first session, once the topic turned to poetry, I asked a simple question:
“Does poetry have to rhyme?”
Ben said no. Rosa, a pixy whose sleepy eyes hide behind a wall of blond bangs, disagreed.
“How the heck do you write a poem that doesn’t rhyme?”
I asked the kids how much poetry they’ve read. They didn’t know what I meant.
“Do your teachers bring poetry in for you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
They shrugged.
Rosa repeated her question.
I stood up and rewrote her question on the chalkboard — some classrooms actually still have them.
“The answer’s in the question,” I said. Rosa rolled her eyes. Everyone else scrunched their faces. Ben cocked his head in a quick fit. Rosa blew up at her bangs.
I started erasing words. “How the heck … doesn’t rhyme … do … that.”
The kids read back what was left.
“You write a poem.”
Ben started to shake.
“And we can write what we want!”
Then came the drool.
The next week I brought in a piece about a bubblegum princess. I borrowed the idea from a poem in Peter Sears’ Gonna Bake Me a Rainbow Poem, a fantastic little book on teaching poetry to young writers. My poem was full of slant and internal rhyme, but no obvious end rhymes. When I asked if it rhymed, the resounding answer was, “Sort of.”
From there we moved into a pre-writing exercise. The kids wrote lists of characters, objects and actions. We talked through the lists as a group. Then it was time to write our poems.
The next 15 minutes was a mix of pencils scratching on paper, giggles and bathroom breaks. Ben slurped his juice box. Rosa sat under the table and wrote her poem on the floor.
When it was time to read, Ben wanted to go first. I could see the drool forming behind his teeth:
BLT Boy & Candygum
purchase pink pickpockets
for pork pachyderms of paradise
who are cruel drinking
and please the fleas
who ride ferrets
for freaky fools
fooling with humvees.
Rosa was next. She made a point of saying hers rhymed. She also pointed out that I was her inspiration:
Frankenstein Teacher
The teacher is funny.
When he smiles he looks at bunnies.
He’s thinking of pulling a sleigh.
And that the sky is really gray.
Because he does this every day.
On their way out, I thanked them for being in class. They thanked me back. A number of parents stopped in and thanked me for having the class. That’s the best thing anyone could give me.
Dave Jarecki writes poetry, prose and strategic communications from his home office in Portland, Ore. Read and listen to his work, as well as the work of guest writers, at DaveJarecki.com.
I like Ben’s and Rosa’s poems a lot. That must be extremely rewarding work, Dave.
I loved reading this, Dave, and especially liked that light-bulb moment when you erased the words. Those kids are lucky to have you!
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I agree with above–they’re fortunate to have you as a teacher. I love that Rosa wrote her poem under the table on the floor.Sub Rosa.
That’s incredible. Both Ben’s and Rosa’s pieces are so cute.
Thanks for sharing.
very cool.
there was a *tough guy* skater in our 1st grade class last year who discovered that he was pretty good with poems. he started carrying around a notebook, writing poems about bugs and rotten pumpkins and boy stuff. he was really proud of it, something that was just his in a sad, rough life. he’s moved away, but I hope he still has that notebook.
you are doing a good, good thing.
I love this piece, Dave. I want to be in your workshop. Can I write a poem and say it’s for you?
Thanks everyone for commenting – Dana, please do write a poem and say it’s for me. I’d love it.
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Dave, your class sounds like a lot of fun! (“pork pachyderms of paradise” made me smile). I think Dana’s onto something…we need to have a workshop like this for grown-ups too
Wonderful Dave! This was great GOOD NEWS to be posting here, and well in tune with my sense of what RWP is also about.
I am so pleased for you and your students both! The point of poetry is neither art nor craft; it is expression. Craft may come, but it is not first. I trust a world in which expression lives. Well done, and thank you for sharing with us.
OK Dave, and pardon please, but I liked Dana’s idea so much I couldn’t resist. It’s just a silly little thing, and not. My thanks.
For my teacher, Dave
That’s great, Neil. We should all write a poem for Dave.
I will write a poem for Dave, but still don’t agree with Neil. We trust different worlds.
Dana Guthrie Martin replied:
October 20th, 2009 at 9:45 pm
I trust no world.
I will write a poem for Dave
Neil – thank you for the poem. I posted on your site but wanted to post here also. Keep ridin’ high.
If I may share one other thing with everyone – if you teach workshops and are ever stuck looking for ideas, Peter Sears’ “Gonna Bake Me a Rainbow Poem” from Scholastic may be the best $2.00 you could possibly spend (that’s what I got it for at Powell’s). It’s full of great prompt ideas and actual student poems.
Dana Guthrie Martin replied:
October 20th, 2009 at 9:47 pm
I would love to have Peter write a piece for our Children and Poetry series. Do you think he would consider it, Dave?
Dave replied:
October 24th, 2009 at 2:37 pm
Dana, I’ll ask Peter when I see him next, then I’ll send an email out between the three of us. I’ll let you know shortly.
Hey, I was Ben! But it was my parents who encouraged me to write poetry – we were never fortunate enough to have good poetry teaching in public school. (And the bad news is, I still drool when I get excited.)
Thanks for a truly uplifting essay.
Dave replied:
October 25th, 2009 at 8:37 am
Thanks Dave – there are many Bens out there, and I’m glad to know you were one of them (or “are” one of them).
Your workshop sounds terrific, Dave! thanks for this.
I thank you too, Dave…this gave me hope! (plus inspiration to help with my granddaughter write poetry.)
I posted my poem for Dave on my wire. Probably not for kids – not ones that drink from juice boxes in public at any rate
I have so much admiration for people who work with young children!
Dave replied:
October 25th, 2009 at 9:16 pm
I loved your poem. “Love”, actually – in the present tense.
This is great! I have it on my to do list to see if the library will let me have kind of an open, one night a week, place where kids can just come and write and chat about writing
I feel inspired to follow-through and to get the book you mentioned.
Dave replied:
October 25th, 2009 at 8:39 am
That’s wonderful, Jessie – your library idea will be a real treat.
That seems like the most amazing job ever. I’m going to school in the spring to be an English teacher because I want to change how most young adults view literature.
Their poetry is so beautiful!
This makes me so much more inspired to go to school.
That must be an amazing experience. (:
Dave replied:
October 25th, 2009 at 8:38 am
Best of luck with your school, Jeanette.
Good luck, Jeanette