I was grounded so much I did a lot of reading. An early favorite was Treasure Island. I read so much I read a novel like Cannery Row in a week. Along with the reading I did a lot of daydreaming, putting myself into the current novel’s story. Early on I started a journal in a three ring notebook. Along with the reading, and daydreaming I added writing.
Our family was on the low end of the financial scale, but us kids didn’t really know it. I did know most of my classmates dressed a lot different than me. I wore the same pair of jeans and same flannel shirt to school all week. Weekend was laundry and Monday was same jeans, maybe s different shirt. The really smart kits wore nice clothes and something different nearly every day. The teachers kept putting me in the front row of advanced placement classes. I felt so self-conscious there I hated it. If I tried to sit in the back, the moved me to the front again or called on me more than I felt they should. I found a great solotion. I “dumbed down.” It was easy and worked most of the time. I’d purpously score a C on tests snd world give what I knew was a wrong answer in class. Yea! No more, or at least fewer advanced placement and I could sit in the back.
Mrs. Rose was my sixth grade teacher. As an aside, she had a tall stool next to her desk. One class she was sitting on her stool, tried to cross her legs and lost her balance. She fell off the stool. Okay, back to the story. It was halfway through the year and I was doing pretty good at being dumber. Then Mrs. Rose gave us a new assignment. She said we were going to do a unit on writing. Yea!
She gave us a week to write the opening of a short story. We’d be graded on grammar and spelling, and also on creativity, pacing, drama, etc. We began examining the works of other authors, many of whom I’d already read, like Steinbeck.
At home, I worked on my story. I’w wasn’t right. I crumbled and tossed the page into the corner of my room. I was obsessed. I loved it. Finally time was up. I wasn’t 100% satisfied but did something new. I didn’t just fold the sheets up and shove them in my backpack. I made sure the pages were clean and smooth and I had copied my story in ink. I put it in a new folder and teated it very carefully.
I turned it in and anxiously waited for a grade and feedback. When that day came, Mrs. Rice walked the rows or us students and passed back our assignments. I got mine and was devastated. There was a staple in the corner and drawn in red ink and filling the page, a big “F.”
Mrs. Rice leaned close and whispered. “See me after class.”
I was so confused and disappointed. I thought my work was at least a B or C-, not F.
After school, Mrs. Rice told me I had plagerized what turned in. She asked me how I expected a student doing barely C work to suddenly hand something in of this quality, She grabbed my paper and shook it in my face. She said she’d find where I stole this from and dismissed me. I ran home and upstairs to my room. I’m not a cryer, but need to wipe my eyes. I sat on the edge of my bed and stared. I stared at the pile of crumpled papers in the corner. After a sniff and an arm wipe across mu nose, I ran downstairs and found a big clear plastic garbage bag. I ran back upstairs and fille the bag with my crumpled revisions. The next day, for English class I traded seats and sat in the front row. The bell rang and Mrs. Rose cane out of her office, and into the class. I stood up. I walked to her desk and dumped the bag. “You can start your hunt here,” I said. I left her room and walked home.
I skipped school for the next couple days. I hid out in the treehouse down in the woods. When I finally went back to class I was scared to go to English, but my day had told me, many times, being scared is a reason, not a great solution. I sat down in the back. Mrs. Rose was sitting on her stool. Before the bell rang, she ducked into her office, came out holding a paper and walked to me.
“I can do revisions too,” she said and walked to her bulleton board. She pinned up the paper, turned to the class and waited for silence. “I’ve submitted Mr. Blumer’s writing assignment to the district,” she said. They may publish it in an anthology of student work. Nice job, Mr. Blumer.”
After class I finally got the nerve to check the board. Mrs. Rice had used her red pen to add another red line to the “F.” She made it a flat-topped “A.”
If you are curious, I didn’t get published but years later came across my “opening to a short story,” and finished it. I’s not great for an adult but not bad for sixth grade.
