Staging Inspiration

Saturday night I ventured out to watch several of my journalism students and a few past English students in a school performance of Treasure Island. The cast did an excellent job I must say. It always amazes me to see them outside of my classroom showcasing their talents (other than English, of course).


My godchild sat amazed at their running around the auditorium, and the interaction with the audience kept his attention. There was even a part for audience participation on stage.

Of course, that led to me being drug on stage to wipe the deck of the ship as a sailor. My students definitely wanted pay back for all those stories I make them write.

I’d say I was a good sport, though I’ve been coming up with creative ways to get them back this week. (Cleaning my classroom, maybe?)

It never fails though. When I begin to feel as if I’m not making a difference anymore, and I’m not sure if I should continue teaching, my students surprise me and show me that maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that promise I made to myself after the school shooting to make a connection with my students so that they are comfortable to ask for help, may be working out after all.

I do have a particular fondness for that group of students. They were my first group of students after the school shooting, and they were just what I needed to be inspired to teach again. And though most have moved on to the next grade, they still continue to drop in, stay awhile, and divulge the secret drama of their lives.

So I suppose I’m not really going to seek revenge for having to get on stage completely unaware of what do while up there. I may even thank them for the inspiration with cupcakes. Maybe. With my cooking ability that may not be thanks.

A Good Story

My usually active son has discovered  the escape that a book offers. Recently, he was sitting on a chair with his nose buried in a Diary of the Wimpy Kid book while his sister ran around outside. Being a conscientious parent, I urged him to go outside and play on such a nice day. He told me he wanted to read his book instead. I was caught in such a strong moment of Déjà vu that I had to stare at him a moment. He’d become me, and I’d become my mother.

I discovered books in the sixth grade and submerged myself to the exclusion of all other activities. My mother would constantly tell me to go outside. I’d simply read faster, trying to finish before I’d have to put it down. When she insisted I go outside, I carried my book outside and sat on the front porch, reading. When she needed to punish me, she took away my book or wouldn’t bring me to the library. Even today, a good story is an addiction for me. If a book grabs my attention, I will stay up all night until I know how it all turns out for the characters. I need to know as badly as I need to breathe.

So, I swore I’d never punish my children by taking away books, but now I find myself in the predicament of finding an alternative. Any form of exercise that wears them out and causes them to go to bed on time is encouraged.

My daughter can read several books a night and not have enough. I distract her by making up stories. Right now Cara the pirate has an exciting adventure each night in the bath tub as she finds new ways to get away from her sworn enemy catscratch. Andrew’s not so easy to distract, though I do catch him listening in from the next room, hanging onto every word, though he’d never admit it.

So since I can’t go back on my promise to myself, I’m looking for ideas for distractions. I’ve decided that it’s the best way to go. While I’m waiting for this fantastic adventure-filled distraction to plop into my conscious, I’ll just watch him read his books with a smile. It’s nice to know he shares my fascination with a good story.