Student Writing

I found myself in class the other day, smiling inwardly about how excited the kids were. It’s something I’ve been routinely struck with throughout the year, often surprised. I keep expecting the kids to be more frustrated and resistant. This is middle school. Where’s the boredom and eye rolls?

But the kids aren’t bored. And I’m not either. History class is raucous. Spelling is a constant tug of war. We’re reading Kon Tiki, and the kids are hungry for more. I’m not saying it’s easy or beautiful, or that it’s always this way. It’s tiresome for me at times, because I can’t say 2-3 sentences without somebody interrupting me. Class is a wrestling match, the kids constantly offering a correction, a question, a joke. I’m probably the most disruptive joker of all.

Even abstruse math lessons are, if not easy, extremely engaging. The kids who struggle don’t struggle quietly. They’re pissed at me for offering something so confusing, or for not being personally and immediately available to re-explain it one more time. “Joe! Joe-oh!” they’re moaning at me while I’m obviously helping someone else. They’re vying for my attention. They’re seeking help. They’re checking answers with each other. It’s loud.

If you think I’m complaining, I’m not. I like learning on this level, not the prim discourse of a classroom. I want kids who know how to bite, who are a little aggressive with learning, who doubt teachers and are looking for underlying truths. Any student of history who swallows the teacher’s story is, in my opinion, not a remarkably good student of history. People are lying, sometimes from mal-intent but more often from a desire to keep things civil by presenting learning and material as if it’s a concise packet with a start and a finish. If we can just get through modules six through eight, we’ll be complete.

I don’t believe in this. I think learning is something you have to doubt and question and rip from the crocodile’s mouth. It’s not that the crocodile doesn’t have something meaningful to say. It’s that information is always a misrepresentation of a larger and often unspoken, or even undiscovered, truth.

But this is me talking. The essential point is that when I find myself immersed in moments where the kids are lit up, and we’re agreeing and disagreeing, vying for attention and discourse – this is the very thing that tells me we’re learning.

The kids still think that some of them are smart and some of them are less smart, or that I’m smart, or that there’s this thing called “smart.” I know a lot of adults who think this too. It’s a shame, because our culture feeds this myth and it’s destructive to all of us. It’s one of our biggest challenges to real learning and growth, as well as compassion and change. We need more folks that break the rules and help us forget this restrictive dynamic, because it’s sapping the life out of our classrooms and children (and ourselves) at an astonishing rate. We’re well fed, but far too many of us are bored and unfulfilled.

Each person is a dynamic and living organism of change and growth. Learning is the physical structure of our bodies. When you light those bodies up, they feast on truth and untruth alike, and produce quality. Even when they’re wrong.

In contrast, when we dull those senses, often through quiet classrooms and other restrictive measures, we’re all too often raising children (and adults) who believe the teachers and grades they’re receiving. They’re smart, or not smart, or this fabricated number of smart. It’s all wrong, counterproductive, and it’s destroying the fabric of joyful life.

So, back to class. The other day we were doing some creative writing. It’s nothing all that impressive or magic. I’m not suggesting we’re producing important writing at a local or national level. What’s impressive to me is the engagement. The kids loved this activity. It lit them up. Look at the smiles and metaphors. Look at the crisp descriptions, even if the subject matter is occasionally predictable.

Consider the way they took the time to craft the story in their own light – instead of writing a paragraph or two that accomplished the task so they could drop it and move on. That engagement, that dynamic hunger for expression – that’s what lights me up. It’s what gets me excited. But it’s also what keeps me calm, smiling inward. I’m being playful with my language here, a little aggressive in my own right, but like any sane student of life I know that there are plenty of ways to be engaged, hungry, and calm.

One final note – these kids are different ages. It’s not appropriate to compare and contrast their writing, just like it’s not appropriate to question the quality of a four-year-old’s drawing. What we’re looking for isn’t mastery from an external point of view, but the internal engagement with one’s own ability to speak, craft a story, and enjoy it. That final part is key.

The kids were given this prompt:

Ryan and Chris were friends at school. At least, they were mostly friends. In class and at lunch, they often sat together and liked the same jokes. They were both kind of clever and enjoyed reading novels where a boy got lost and had to survive on his own. But sometimes, especially when playing outside, they could get competitive and that often ended in anger and hurt feelings.

One day, while Ryan and Chris were talking about who had the best running shoes, one of the girls asked loudly in front of everyone else, “You guys are always talking about sports. Which one of you is faster?” and laughed.

“I am,” Ryan and Chris said at the same time. Then they looked at each other with surprise.

Ryan could feel the heat rising in him. “You’re not faster,” he said to Chris, matter-of-factly. Ryan was the louder of the two, the more flamboyant and sure-minded. He quickly and loudly declared to everyone present that he was the fastest, not just between he and Chris, but everyone in the class. “He might be right,” said at least a few.

But Chris wasn’t sure. He didn’t like arguing in front of people. He kept his head down and looked away. But inside he burned. He knew that in a race he could outrun Ryan most days. At least, he thought he could. He wasn’t sure.

Everyone’s eyes and ears were on Ryan, who began to brag and announce his obvious victory, and on Chris, who hung his head but clung tightly to his belief that he would win. The race was set for after school.

When Chris showed up, he couldn’t believe it. Ryan was already waving his arms confidently, and a small crowd had formed around him. Chris felt so small. But he also knew he could win. He kept his chin locked tight and his head down. Pretty soon the start and finish line was set. Ryan and Chris both got ready.

“Hey wait!” shouted a voice in the back. It was Emily. Emily was small and spritely, and everyone knew she loved to play soccer. “I want in on this,” she said. Ryan and Chris looked at each other, then at Emily, who strode up to the line in sleek-looking sneakers. “There’s no way you can win,” said Ryan. “Then I guess you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Emily snorted. Chris just kept his eye towards the finish.

There was a murmur in the crowd as one of their friends counted off, “On your marks, get set, go!” and the three were off.

Instructions

Finish the story from each perspective Ryan, Chris, and Emily. All should be written in first person. The details of the ending will not change – whoever wins will remain winner. But each ending should describe the race (and perhaps what happens afterward) in a different voice and perspective – that of Ryan, Chris, and Emily. You may write them in any order. Remember to use figurative language and descriptive language in your story.

Student Writing

Ryan

“One, two, three, go!” I started running, taking deep breaths. My golden hair flowed around my face. I saw Emily ahead of me and put on more speed. I knew I could win. I had often beaten Chris when we raced and there was no way Emily could win.

I passed Emily and crested the hill. There was the finish line. I turned around and looked down the hill and saw Emily and Chris running up the hill. I made sure no one was looking and took a plastic water bottle and poured it on the ground. “That should slow them down,” I thought, and started to run again.

The sun was setting , casting yellow light on the mountains in front of me. I heard a stream from behind. I turned around to see Chris face first in the mud. I laughed to myself. He looked like a squirrel that was flattened to the road.

The finish line was twenty feet away. I knew victory was mine. I slowed my step and walked over the finish line.

Emily

I knew it was going to be tough beating Chris and Ryan, but I hoped I could do it. “One, two, three, go!” someone called and we were off. The sun beat down and Chris caught up to me. We slowly made it up the hill. At the top of the hill there was a mud puddle and I swerved around it.

Behind me I heard a splash and turned around. Chris lay face first in the mud. I turned around and jogged back to him. He slowly lifted himself out of the sticky mud. I grabbed his hand and helped him up, then wiped the mud on my shorts.

He took a step and winced. “I think I twisted my ankle,” he said, slowly limping to the finish line with his arm around my neck. I looked down at my feet making sure not to trip on anything.

“I wonder how that mud got there?” I said, keeping pace with Chris. “It hasn’t rained in weeks.”

“It was Ryan,” Chris said matter-of-factly. I nodded. I had never liked Ryan. He was too loud and arrogant.

“Why did you help me?” Chris asked, looking at his feet.

“I don’t know,” I said.

It was already too late. We could see Ryan talking with his friends, dancing back and forth over the finish line. “I won, I won, I won!” Ryan said, jumping up and down in our faces.

“I wonder how that puddle got there,” I said, “I’ll have to ask Mrs. Peters about it.”

A. S. age 12

Ryan

I exploded off the starting line. I was by far the fastest and I saw no one. Everyone was left in my dust. Then I noticed someone in my peripheral vision. It was Emily! I pumped my arms and legs as hard as I could, but she pulled ahead. Chris appeared and slowly but surely overtook me as well. When they crossed the finish line, I didn’t know who won and I didn’t care. I had lost.

Chris

When I heard “go,” my legs were solid brick. Ryan was already two or three meters ahead. Even Emily was in front of me. Losing but determined, I put my head down and ran. All I could see was my feet churning in the dirt. But then I saw another pair of feet. I looked up, expecting to see Emily. Instead, it was Ryan. Our eyes met and his once confident expression now looked scared as I passed him. I caught up with Emily and we were stride for stride as we crossed the finish line.

A. D. age 13

Emily

I felt my feet leap away from the finish line before I registered the sound. I loved to run, kicking a soccer ball on the sidewalk. I had played since I was four, which made it eight years. I was confident I could make myself proud.

I noticed Ryan’s green shoes beating on the cracked pavement ahead of me. He must have a quick start, I thought. Chris was slightly behind me but I couldn’t hear his ragged breathing like I heard Ryan’s, so I thought he must have some stamina.

I felt like I was flying in the tiny pauses between when my feet slapped the ground. I saw the purple chalk line looming closer by the second. I gained on Ryan when he swerved around a trash can. I couldn’t tell who was going to win, even when we were mere feet from the decisive line. Putting one foot in front of the other, I ran over the purple barrier.

Ryan

When Jessica shouted, “Go!” I was crouched before the starting line ready to spring into the race. I pushed off with my front foot and leaned into a sprint. Emily loped behind me. I knew I could beat her any day. I leaped over a crack in the pavement and checked my lead. Chris was running on the other side of Emily. He seemed barely out of breath, but I knew I was faster than him.

My arms pumped harder and harder as my lungs hammered oxygen in and out at faster rates. I saw a trash can overflowing with banana peels and damp cans looming in front of me, my own personal devil sent straight from hell to ruin this race for me. I could at least say I was cheated out of not winning because of the stupid trash can. Chris couldn’t win, Emily would probably beat him, so that mortification would be solved.

I reminded myself that I could still win the race, it wasn’t over yet, and pumped my legs harder.

Chris

I braced myself with the toe of my Nikes just touching the chalk line. I saw that I came out last when we started: Ryan, Emily, and then myself. I felt the fire clawing in my stomach telling me to run faster. My feet slapped the ground hard. It stung a little.

I watched my shoes and the ground just ahead of me, not glancing around because that would slow me down. My shoes touched a couple cracks and I couldn’t help thinking, “my poor mother.” I pushed myself harder, feeling the humid air fill my lungs and power my body to go faster.

As I neared the finish line I saw Emily in my peripheral vision crest over the barrier into the crowd of students waiting behind the line. I was surprised to feel no anger that she won. Instead, I felt a sense of sympathy for Ryan. I was sure he hated not winning. When I touched the other side I turned to look at Ryan. I found myself grinning and when I met his eyes he smiled back and rolled his eyes. “I guess Emily’s faster than both of us.”

P. B. age 13

Emily

“One, two, three, go!” I heard as I took off on the quarter mile race to the finish. I watched as Chris and Ryan streaked out in front of me. I had known when I entered the race I wouldn’t win. I was just racing for the fun of it. Suddenly I saw Chris put on an extra spurt of speed. He whizzed past Ryan and won the race. “I just let you win,” I heard Ryan say.

Ryan

“Go!” I heard as I sprinted toward the finish line. I was in the lead. I couldn’t wait to tell Chris, “Told you I was faster.” I was fifty feet from the finish. I was going to win. Suddenly Chris whizzed by. He had won. “I just let you win,” I said bitterly.

Chris

“One, two, three, go!” I heard as I took off. I ran at a fast pace but didn’t sprint, saving my energy for the end. I was in second place but was hot on Ryan’s heals. As we neared the finish line I put on the speed I had been holding back. I passed Ryan and crossed the finish line. “I just let you win,” Ryan said angrily.

F. A. age 11

Emily

“Ready, set, go!” I was confident I could win. I could outrun any boy at my old school. So what was the difference? I started out slow. I would sneak up on the boys at the end. I glanced ahead of me, expecting to see the boys in front, but no one was up there. I looked up again and next thing I knew I was flying through the air head first.

I hit the ground with a thud. The cement was hard. I just lay there for a second too shocked to move. My whole body ached. I saw Ryan whiz past, his feet thumping on the ground like a horse. Chris was right on his tail, but when he saw me on the ground he stopped in his tracks.

Breathing heavily, he asked if I needed a hand. I took his hand and scrambled to my feet with a groan. Just then I heard shouts and hollers coming from the finish line. I glanced toward the joyful noises, wincing, then looked at Chris. Our hands were still clasped. His face was dark with shame. He turned and walked in the opposite direction without saying a word.

Ryan

I saw Emily lying flat on the ground like a squished skunk on the road. “Ha!” I murmured to myself, “I knew she’d lose.” I ran past, sticking my tongue out. I turned my head just enough to see Chris come to a stop beside her. “Wimp,” I thought, “stopping to help a girl…” I gritted my teeth and sprinted the last few feet to the finish line.

Chris

I was gaining on Ryan, but I wanted to stay behind him so I could catch him by surprise. I had my eyes on Ryan when I saw him stick his tongue out. At first I thought it was at me, but then I saw Emily lying flat on the ground. I slowed my pace to a jog, then a complete stop when I saw she wasn’t moving.

I didn’t want to lose the race. I could imagine the embarrassment. But I also couldn’t leave Emily lying there like Ryan did. I bent down, asking if she was okay. She glared up at me like a sad puppy dog.

I helped Emily up, and at that moment I could hear the applause. I knew Ryan won the race. I couldn’t bear confronting everyone, so I just walked away like a lost child.

O. L. age 12

Ryan

“Go!” yells Steve, and we all jump. I run past Chris, Emily still on my tail. I leap forward and take the lead. I feel like a horse galloping along. Then Chris runs in front of me. I can see the finish. Oh no, I think, Chris is going to win. But then Chris falls onto his knee. Yes! I look back and see Emily stop and help Chris up. I start to feel bad, but before I know it I’m running past the finish line. I win.

Chris

“Go!” yells Steve. Ryan, Emily, and I start running. I am briefly in first but then Ryan runs past me. Dang, I think. I see the finish but I know I can still win. I give it my all and whiz past Ryan. Before I know what’s going on, I am on the ground.

Red blood sprouts out of my knee. I see Ryan run past. Shoot! But then kind-hearted Emily stops to help me up. Although Ryan wins, Emily and I still feel like we had fun.

Emily

“Go!” yelled Steve. Ryan, Chris, and I run forward. Personally, I am just racing for fun. I feel my heel digging into the ground. Chris is in the lead, but then Ryan leaps ahead. Ryan is in the lead most of the time but then Chris rushes forward. Suddenly Chris falls. I know I could win, but I stop to help Chris. Ryan won but I feel better as I carry Chris past the finish.

J. T. age 14