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May 6, 2007

The Off Season: Repeating fourth grade again …

By Mike Lunceford

TERRE HAUTE — It’s awfully tough to be a teacher right now. I don’t just mean in these difficult times as unexplainable horrors become commonplace in the daily news. I mean right now: early May, when the dandelion cotton, caught up in southern breezes, floats across our yards, and every classroom-confined kid and teacher wears basset hound faces as they stare out the windows at the sunshine.

I skipped kindergarten myself — I don’t think it was invented yet — and started in first grade at age 5. That means I’ve been walking into classrooms of one kind or another for more than 45 years. You’d think that I’d be tired of it by now, but I’m not. I guess I have red ink running in my veins.







I fashion myself to be some sort of a writer, too, and apparently Susie Runyon thinks so as well, because for the second time in the past three years I was invited into her classroom at Montezuma Elementary last month to talk about two of my favorite things: writing and reading. I enjoy these visits; instead of facing the sullen indifference of many of my high-schoolers, it’s refreshing to see so many hands in the air at once.

As I waited for my audience to come in from the organized chaos otherwise known in schools as lunch period, I wandered around Susie’s room and snooped a little. I inspected the artwork on the walls, the clutter of the kids’ low-riding desks, the bits and pieces of the attic-like space they live in for most of their day. Many of them had scribbled questions for me on little clipboards, apparently expecting terrible lulls in the conversation, and at the top of their lists seemed to be questions concerning my age.

I beat them to the punch; “How old do you think I am?” I asked as they had barely settled their bottoms in their chairs. Hands shot up as if I had asked who wanted to leave for summer vacation a month early.

Several responses were pretty close, but Elizabeth Everts — a member of Karen Hughett’s class who had joined the party, too — said, “Well, you look like you’re about the same age as my dad, so I’d say you’re 60.” I decided right then that it would be better if I just answered their questions.

I quickly discovered that this crew has been brainwashed in a most positive way. These kids love to read and tell stories and write books. They’re excited about their educations, about their imaginations and dreams. Their enthusiasm rubbed off on me, comforted me like the new school year smell of paste and crayons and fat, pink erasers.

Well over an hour later — which included an autograph session that I have to admit flattered me beyond insufferableness — I headed back to my own classroom recharged, ready and willing to report for duty. But the real gold arrived a few days later. Susie’s class had written letters to me; they are treasure in No. 2 pencil.

Piers Brennand, who made a point of telling me that he reads BIG books and has poor handwriting (like me), has written three tomes himself. He also included a rendering of a mace-swinging, six-armed warrior. How did he know I had similar artistic leanings when I was in fourth grade?

Megan Smith, a budding philosopher if I’ve ever known one, included a great acrostic poem using my name; Hunter Falls wanted me to know that his favorite bugs are spiders, and he’s also writing a book about his dog, Skittles. I was very impressed with Kallie Helton’s book, “Tiger Jumping,” which she had paperclipped to her letter. Kallie said that I had taught her that even good writers “have trouble writing what they think,” and her eloquent poem included this line about those struggles: “You have to tame it one word at a time,” she wrote. That’s great writing, Kallie.

Amber Shaw and Kishi Rash both seemed to be in a hurry; they promised to write more to me later. Megan Moore told me she aspires to be a vet, and Ashlyn Scott, who asked me what I thought of “the flow of her letter,” wisely quoted writer Lucy Caulkins: “A good reader is a good writer, and a good writer is a good reader.” By the way Ashlyn, your letter flowed like a country brook.

Cody Bousman, my “pal,” wanted to know what book I’m currently reading. Well, Cody, I’m reading one about the great pirate Henry Morgan, and another about traveling across Australia — two is better than one you know. Michael Patton, referring to a story I wrote last month, wanted to know just how I got my brother’s watch apart. He also informed me that he has read 424 books and that the sun has 28 times the gravity of earth. Matthew Babyak must be on the same page with Michael — he thinks the planets are “cool.”

Brogan Thomas tells me that he is penning a rather deep-sounding piece called “When Good Gets Sick of Evil”; my friend Whitney Branson tells me she wants to be a dolphin trainer and an artist; and Tanner Gilbert, well Tanner told me quite a bit in a four-page letter. He wanted to know what the best piece of writing I had ever done was. I haven’t written it yet, Tanner.

The last letter I opened came from Jeannie Phillips. Jeannie promised me that she will always follow my writing tips, “because that’s how I am going to get a job.” I gave Jeannie a writer’s notebook to fill because I believe her, or rather, I believe in her. I just get the impression from Jeannie that she can do whatever she wants to do with her life.

As I was leaving Susie’s classroom, I noticed a poster near her door. It read, “We have not inherited the earth from our fathers; we are building it for our children.”

It seems to me that this group has already started construction for itself.

Mike Lunsford can be reached at hickory913@aol.com, or through regular mail c/o the Tribune-Star, PO Box 149, Terre Haute, IN 47808.

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