A Native Returns 5

A NATIVE RETURNS #5

I am stopping in the middle of reading compositions to write this week’s column. Sometimes a teacher doesn’t need much encouragement to find justification for what he is doing, and he grabs at anything for reassurance. Other times positive results bounce up and wave a flag in front of him.

After spending time and words and illustrations to bring out the idea that a writer should narrate an experience in such a way that the reader can relive it and share it, one of these flag-waving papers just reared up and shouted, “Here I am!”

I picked up a student’s paper, routinely made suggestions about strengthening the opening, and then before I realized it, I had read the next two pages without thinking about corrections.

This student transported me back about thirty-five or forty years to relive almost forgotten experiences of running down a beach, kicking up my heals in the surf, feeling the seaweed curl around my ankles, and reveling in the power of the waves making their way to shore.

True, the punctuation of that paper could stand improvement, and some of the construction needed help, but these easily-remedied mechanical problems were far overshadowed by apt expressions that communicated the exhilarated feeling of a free spirit in complete abandonment.

Riding high with a pleasant feeling of accomplishment, I resumed reading student compositions, contentedly secure in the knowledge that, come what may, I had had at least one break-through. I discovered, however, that the rest of the class was also grabbing the ball and running with it.

No two papers used a similar approach; they were all experimenting with ways to get an idea across and letting their imaginations run. One young writer was less than successful with an attempt at stream-of-consciousness (an extremely difficult style), but he very effectively presented a flashback in his narrative. What is more important is that he tried something different and unusual.

Some students wrote to keep the reader in suspense, and there were a variety of ways in which they accomplished their purpose. Some were philosophical, and some were emotional about death, hunting, social problems, and personal experiences. They may be leading me sown the primrose path, but I do not get the impression of students writing only because they have to.

Monday morning will undoubtedly bring me back down to earth; it always does, but in the meantime it has been a nice weekend. Monday morning some student will ask, ”If we did so well, how come these grades?”

I’m sure I’ll have an answer, but I, too, am in a vulnerable position. My students have a composition of mine to criticize every week.