Childhood Comparisons

Every so often, I have my 9th graders construct metaphors that compare themselves to something else. Then they take that metaphor and have others complete it and include a rationale or reason why the metaphor works. See my post about villains from a few years ago, where I explain the the process in more detail. Despite the protests when I first introduce the short project, they end up enjoying the creativity, as well as the insights they gain about themselves from others' responses.

This year I had my two honors classes come up with ideas for me to write about. Some of the runners-up included superheroes, foreign countries, and bread. They ended up choosing picture book protagonists. (It beat out bread by one vote.)

-          If Mr. Anson were a picture book protagonist, he would be Skippyjon Jones (from the Skippyjon Jones series by Judy Schachner) because he is very descriptivito and imaginativito with his words and storitos. (Ember Lee)

-          If Mr. Anson were a picture book protagonist, he would be Harold (from Harold and the Purple Crayon (by Crockett Johnson) because he sometimes gets lost in his own reality. (Jen Fong)

-          If Mr. Anson were a picture book protagonist, he would be Max (from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak) because​ he knows imagination can take you to some amazing places.​ (Rillene Nielsen)

-          If Mr. Anson were a picture book protagonist, he would be Ferdinand (from The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf) because he is so chill and he knows who he is and what he wants to be. (Alesha LeMmon and Abby Packard)

-          If I were a picture book protagonist, I would be the Very Hungry Caterpillar (from The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle) because I am always grazing, and if something gets me out of sorts, I hunker down and wait until a new opportunity presents itself.

Many other ideas were submitted, and it was difficult to narrow them down to the ones I shared; the others remain preserved in a spreadsheet...somewhere. Thanks to all who participated. I still learned something from your answers (about myself and about y'all). For those who didn't help, who would you compare me to? Who would you compare yourself to?

Driving through Life

The other day I was discussing metaphors for life with my students and assigned them to write a poem using either a metaphor or a simile for life, or an aspect of life. This was the overly cheesy didactic mess that spilled out of my pen:

“Driving through Life”

Wasn’t Driver’s Ed enough?

I read the instruction manual…

once.

Okay, so I perused

the pictures,

maybe skimmed the text

an hour before I scribbled

the written portion of the test

at that cramped DMV building

reeking of overused coffee filters,

unwashed government employees,

and Fritos.

Scraping by

the driving test

makes me

an expert doesn’t it?

Scraping the side view mirror

Doesn’t count too harshly

against my record.

I still passed, so now

I don’t need to remember

all the rules

or follow them,

really.

Who parallel parks any more,

or uses

their blinkers? They’re old-

fashioned.

That’s what insurance is for.

That pesky highway patrol

and those commercials about texting

and distractions

and drowsiness

cramp my style and don’t

allow me to drive

the way I want.

Can’t I just make it up

as I drive through life?

As long as I stay

between the lines,

don’t wreck,

or kill

anybody,

I’m good—

No one reads

The Book,

any more,

really,

and I won’t either…

until

I find myself

in trouble or

in traffic court or

breathing shallowly

in a ditch,

wishing I had remembered

10 and 2.

Villainous Comparisons

For part of a unit on identity, I have my 9th graders write a plethora of short writing assignments about themselves; hence some of the recent pieces I have shared recently. For this, which I call "Views of You," each student comes up with a metaphor and follows this pattern:

If (insert your name) were a (insert a metaphor/topic), he/she would be a/an (insert the completed metaphor) because (explain the metaphor).

Example:    If Helga were a car, she’d be a red Porsche because she’s sleek and gorgeous.

They then go survey a few dozen people, decide which are their four favorite and write them up neatly. The next step is for each student to use the same metaphor about herself. This exercise, although initially appearing to the students to be arbitrary and unrelated, causes a majority of them to earnestly think about how others view them (via the data they gather) and how they view themselves using a seemingly simple metaphor.

This year I had my 2nd period assign me a topic. Here is what I came up with:

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Jafar from Aladdin because he has an extensive vocabulary, along with the ability to scheme and hatch evil plots. (Travis Peterson)

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Sykes from Oliver and Company because he's crafty, has skills, and makes sure things go his way...or else. (Kris Holley)

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Ursula from The Little Mermaid because he’s larger than life, a little round, and offers a great deal. (Mark Davis)

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Scar from The Lion King because just like Scar came up with an evil plan to take over the kingdom, Mr. Anson tends to come up with his own evil plans to get students to become better writers. Oh, and Mr. Anson doesn't do cute, so he would not like the cute, cuddly lion cub, nor all the fun singing he does. (Katrina Davenport)

If I were a Disney villain, I would be Hades from Hercules because I am literary, somewhat subtly witty, and tolerant of morons even though they bug the crap out of me and ruin the best of days.

Belated Ramble in Two Parts and Mixed Metaphors

Part I

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, or any other kind of –ist for that matter, to see that I have neglected my blogging as of late. However, I need to articulate that I was writing, just not blogging. I started a few pieces. Then I put them down (literally and figuratively). I journaled. I dissertated. But I could not come up with anything I deemed blog-worthy.

Before I go on, though, I must confess that I am a little disappointed that I only had one entry for the poetry contest. Dave, you win! (Again!) Now back to our not-so-regularly-scheduled blog post.

As I worked on my seventh draft of my dissertation proposal, I had an epiphany. In the words of Smee from Hook, “Lightning ha[d] just struck my brain.” I encountered an amazing quote in my research book of all places. In her latest edition of Qualitative Research: A Guide to Design and Research, Sharan B. Merriam quotes Harry Wolcott: “Writing is not only a great way to discover what we are thinking, it is also a way to uncover lacunae in our thinking. Unfortunately, that means we must be prepared to catch ourselves red-handed when we seem not to be thinking at all. The fact should not escape us that when the writing is not going well, our still-nebulous thoughts are not yet ready to be expressed in words” (Writing Up Qualitative Research). That from a research book? Wow.

I didn’t need to feel too guilty (apart from breaking my promise to write 31 narratives, which I am still working on). 

Part II

And so I thought about my blog. And my writing. Then I looked down at the book again and noticed all my notes scrawled in the margins. Ping! (That’s the sound of the light bulb.) My ninth graders are annotating To Kill a Mockingbird right now (and digging deeper than they ever have before). As I revised, I was using the annotations I had made, just like I had been taught in Mr. Albert’s class. So I thought—hand on chin, pensive furrow in my brow—about the different skills that I had picked up over the years.

Mrs. Thompson taught me how to respond to questions with complete sentences in fourth grade. Mrs. Curry taught me how to effectively summarize (without embellishments) in fifth grade. Mr. Iwanski, even though he was a super creeper, pounded grammar and usage into me in sixth grade. That same year Mrs. Saiki taught me how to research, paraphrase, cite, and read as a writer. I started writing story to escape the realities of seventh grade. I wrote for audience in eighth grade, as it were in the Algebra Express. Mr. Albert, in tenth grade, instilled in me the importance of revision and the need to appeal to an audience. He also made sure that I knew how to back up my arguments and opinions with evidence and to never try to argue for something I didn’t believe in—at least when my grade was on the line. That same year I became a wannabe poet on the side. (Scattered evidence can be found on this site.) Mrs. Misselhorn helped me as a junior  to take something abstract and transform it into a concrete image, as well as to focus thesis statements. The advisors of the Lancer Lot gave me the confidence I needed to start publishing. And in twelfth grade I finally realized that I was a writer—not a very good one—but a writer nonetheless.

Various instructors throughout my college career helped me to shape my craft both academically and aesthetically. I sat through lecture and workshop and acquired piece by piece my writing tool belt. And just like Batman’s utility belt, there’s more there than you would ever think possible.  Nevertheless it’s still packed in there.

(I know I’m rambling now, but I needed to just spill a few thoughts and the way they came to me.)

Writing came to me slowly, as a process, one small fragment at a time.  And as I reflect on my skills, I realize that everything I learned back when I wondered if I was ever going to use it in my life…well…I still use them. These skills and shortcuts and secrets and styles—they are all a part of me. My own voice and style are a reflection of all the reading and writing I have ever done. Even the words I scribbled on the tiny Fisher Price desk with a chalkboard with yellow chalk that always squeaked and sent goose bumps racing over my body (They are visible now as I relive that memory.) helped lay a foundation, helped me to become the writing superhero I pretend to be. It’s up to me—jumping back to the Batman metaphor—to help them pack their utility belts, so they can use the tools whenever they need them. Okay, now that I think about it, I'm probably more like Inspector gadget than Batman, but the idea is the same.

Because I know hardly anyone will ever read this far, I’ll wrap up simply asserting that the writer I am today is because of the patchwork I stitched together from so many others. To the many, thank you. And as I try to instill similar skills in the nebulous minds of my students, I hope that some of them will also realize that I am just adding a piece to their puzzle. For some, it will just be a small patch of sky that blends in with the rest of their life’s panorama, but for others, I may be the red roofed villa in the hills that serves a s a focal point that gets the puzzle started within the boundaries of its frame. And yet for others, I may even be a straight-edged side, or even a corner foundation, from which the puzzle of their lives begin to take shape.

That’s enough of the metaphors, but I hope you know what I mean. Just take life, and writing, one piece at a time. And when the pieces don’t always fit, it may be time for a new puzzle. Either that or you just need to re-cut them to make them fit.

Can anybody tell me what this is supposed to be?