UPDATE: WRITING WORKSHOP -

There’s a lot going on at once. Thankfully, there are two teachers in the room - one of the best things to come from Title I grant money is that I now enjoy regular backup from a retired English teacher, working as an aide. We conference at random with whoever seems to have a need.

Because of events beyond my control, an essay writing contest offered by our school’s community business partner, a local bank, pops up on the radar just before spring break. Now we’re back, and with only a few days before the deadline. The principal “suggested” that my students participate. Yes, we’ll do that. But we’re also writing letters to the Supreme Court about the Exxon Valdez damages hearing.

I introduced the kids to the I say… / They say… format for the contest, “Why I am Proud to Be an Alaskan.” And I suggested that they might begin with something like “Many people believe that Alaska is…… but I know that….” I suggested a few different options. We brainstormed the up-sides and the down-sides of living in Alaska - and they were off and writing.

Like I said, there is a lot going on. Some kids are writing in notebooks, and some are at computers. It’s pretty businesslike, and I’m reading some of the contest essays, and a few of them almost bring me to tears (no kidding) they’re so heartfelt. I say how moved I am, and somebody comments that they didn’t know I was so sensitive. Sometimes I surprise even myself. But I let the kids know when their writing affects me. These little meetings are powerful.

When they were done with the contest draft, a few kids asked if they should finish typing their letters. “Sure, you bet.”

I was walking by one youngster at a computer, and I noticed her scrolling through a long, almost two-paged letter to the Court, and down near the bottom where it says, “Respectfully,” she wrote “I think Exxon should pay punitive damages.” And then, while I’m watching, she deleted “I think.” So it just says, “Exxon should pay punitive damages.”

Why’d you delete that? I asked.

It sounded better this way, she said.

I was blown away that she figured that out on her own. You’re right, I told her. Your opinion has more punch without the “I think.”

She smiled. I moved on, smiling also. She was really thinking this through, making her argument stronger. I’ve never seen elementary students pay that kind of attention to their writing.

Sometimes our best teaching amounts to telling students, “That’s right! Way to go!” because we can’t anticipate how their genius might emerge at any moment. And, of course, we have to give them opportunities to soar. I don’t know how to package this.