I had a very interesting week in early November, and I’m happy that I had so many other stories on my writing plate at the time that I’ve waited until now to tell you about it.
My excellent adventure actually started last summer when June Dunbar, who is the Youth Services Coordinator at the Vigo County Public Library, asked me if I’d be interested in speaking to Vigo County schoolchildren about writing. You see, besides handling her job at the library, and filling the tall order of keeping an eye on her husband, Jim, June is on the steering committee of PALS, otherwise known as Partners Advancing Literacy.
PALS formed nearly four years ago, and in its own words, its goal is to “celebrate literacy and lower the relationship, skill and resource barriers that inhibit high levels of literacy.” In my mind, that simply means that these good folks want to make it easier to help local kids learn how to read and write better, and perhaps enjoy it more, too. How could I say no?
So, despite some serious doubts as to whether I was qualified to tackle the job, I said, “OK.” I mean, it’s wasn’t like I hadn’t been in front of students before, and I have done a fair share of writing. Besides, speaking to a few small groups of kids couldn’t be that tough.
By early fall, the plan had changed a little. Instead of speaking at 16 elementary schools, would I be interested in going to the six middle schools in the county and meeting with sixth-graders? By then, June had handed the difficult task of dealing with my temperament to Gail Artis, the Vigo County School Corp.’s curriculum coordinator. Gail told me that some of the groups I’d be speaking to would be more than 250 students.
It was at that point that my arm pits began to moisten and my feet began to chill. How was I going to keep that many sixth-graders entertained for an hour at a time when the topic was writing? I began to have difficulty swallowing food, and I formed images of myself standing before the kids in darkened gymnasiums, my face bathed in sweat as I tried to tap-dance myself through the remaining 51 minutes of an already failed presentation. Some of the kids would be telling their teachers that they’d rather go back to class and work on their algebra, even scrape spilled Jell-O off the cafeteria floor…
I should have known that my imagination, which works well for me as a writer, was out of control as I anticipated my Titanic-like maiden voyage toward public speaking disaster. In reality, I actually ran out of time at each school and the kids were fantastic. They laughed at my stale jokes without cue-card prompts, asked a ton of questions, hurled no vegetables my way, and applauded when I was finished. They were well-mannered and interested and fun. And then, to top it all off, I began, a few weeks later, to receive their letters.
It may sound like a job worse than a root canal to read through a ream of letters from sixth-graders, but I absolutely loved it. Every few days, a manila envelope of them would arrive in the mail, and I would try to read them straight through, grinning and nodding my head the whole time. God bless their teachers for sending them to me.
I’m going to forgive many of the kids for mangling my name — credit card companies and banks and department stores staffed by adults do that all the time — so instead, I put together a highlight reel of the best of the best. In turn, I was Mr. Lungsford, Mr. Lunforb, Mr. Lingford, Mr. Lunsfurd, Mr. Linsford, Mr. Lunslord, Mr. Lingsford, Mr. Lumsford, Mr. Lundsford, Mr. Lunaford, and, my favorite, Mr. Lunglard. I loved it.
The best things in the letters, however, were not misspelled names. I soon discovered that these kids have brains, and they have hopes and dreams, too. As you can imagine, I don’t have the space here to tell you about all of them.
For instance, Mikaela told me that she already had won two writing contests, but she wants to learn all she can to get better. Cole said he loved to read because he got “to explore a different world.” Matthew said he’s never liked reading or writing, but he’s going to try to do both now. Mallory said she loves to read because it’s “so much better than TV and has so much more detail.”
Kaitlyn wrote a nice thank-you note and said I had “refreshed [their] minds.” Katila shared her dream of being a photographer with me; she says she can express her feelings better through pictures. Robbie was very upfront with me; he said that some of his classmates were bored by my little talk, but if I hadn’t come, he would have been “devastated.”
Brandon said my “speech really spoke” to him; James and Laci both said they were happy that I came because they missed math class; Izzy said she has to be in the mood to write; and Jamie-Lynn says she doesn’t like to write too much because it hurts her hand. Desirae said she learned that “reality can be sad, funny, and happy.”
Hadley wanted to give me a cat; Chasidy said that some of my ideas were now “tattooed to [her] brain;” Jazmine said that I reminded her that “a little criticism is good and it helps create better writing.” Uzziah wants me to write a kids’ book; Brieana says I “rock,” and Noah told me he aspires to be an English teacher some day. Caitlynn said I was “breathtaking,” and I just want her to know that she has a great future in a career in sales.
Kristina says she wants to be a chef, but says she’s a “fellow writer,” as well. Sering-Joo [I sure hope I got the name correct], who already knows what a simile is, said, “I hope your new book sells like turkeys on Thanksgiving.” Lane said that, like me, he was a “country boy”; Grace said I “looked like I knew what I was doing;” and Daniel, bless his heart, said that “we [students] should think about our teachers having to grade all of our paragraphs.” Jennifer tells me she writes for a newspaper and loves animals.
Kianna wrote: “I find it quite fascinating when I get indulged in a good book,” and Colton said he was interested in “writing some stories myself.” Capricious says I should come to her school again “just for fun,” and Megan, who wrote a very nice long letter, said, “The thing that you said that stayed with me is ‘don’t write to make others happy; write to make you happy.’” I hope I take my own advice, Megan.
I could go on for a long time and tell you what all of my new friends had to say, but I can’t. I will say that my time in those schools showed me just how incomplete my education is, that I know I have much yet to learn, and that sometimes the very best teachers and writers are about 12 years old.
Before she closed her letter, Cecilia said, “I bet you’re still reading letters, so I won’t bother you anymore.”
Cecilia, it was no bother at all.
Mike Lunsford can be reached at hickory913@aol.com or by mail c/o the Tribune-Star, P.O. Box 149, Terre Haute, IN 47808. Mike will be signing his second book, “Sidelines,” at the Pizza Hut Wabash Valley Classic this week. Visit his Web site at www.mikelunsford.com.
Mike Lunsford
Related Photos
Discussion
The Off Season: Mr. Lunglard’s incomplete education
- Mike Lunsford
-
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: We’ve created a honey of a problem
The Dutch clover is making its appearance in my yard this week. A cooler-than-usual spring has slowed its arrival by a few days, but it is here for now, bringing the honeybees and bumblebees with it.
-
A walk in the woods
I went for a walk in the woods one day last week after work. It was a warm and green afternoon, and a fresh blue breeze blew in from the west like a new spring friend.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: ‘Dowsers’ provide hope more than science
My grandfather was a man of God. Many times I saw him, his right hand held high in the air at his Wednesday night “prayer meeting,” praising the Lord before weeping at the altar on his knees. And yet, he was a “dowser,” a “diviner,” a “witcher” who, as a favor, would grab a forked sassafras stick and find water for some poor unfortunate whose well had gone dry.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: As of today, it’s unofficially spring
Despite the calendar telling us not to rush things, I think it is all right to go ahead and say spring is here. The Ides of March has passed, Easter is coming soon, and I have already been out in my yard with a rake, getting my boots muddy. It looks like spring to me.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Twain’s Sawyer helps us yearn for ‘wilderness of childhood’
My cousin, Roger, stopped in one day last summer for a glass of tea and a little conversation. Rog has lived an hour’s drive away for years and now, and besides summer reunions, I don’t see him nearly often enough. He’s a good man who has raised a good family, and he owns a healthy sense of appreciation for not only the life he has now, but also the lives we had years ago as kids.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Cheerful green of wheat fights winter blahs
There is a light drizzle of freezing rain tapping at the door of my cabin today. It is little more than a week before the words I am writing are due to appear on your breakfast table or work desk with your morning coffee and scrambled eggs. But I write when I can, and today, despite a full schedule of televised football games, and the stacks of ungraded papers in my briefcase, and a good book lying open on my nightstand, I am clacking away on a keyboard to the whir of a heater and the steady drip of my gutters.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: On the simple joys of watching it snow ...
It began to snow about 20 minutes ago, as I write this, light, wind-driven flakes that fall silently into my woods as I watch from a window.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: On this day above all, ‘Peace on earth, good will to men’
More than a year after his wife’s death, the great American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, wrote in his diary on Christmas Day.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Remembering a Lefty Frizzell-kind of Christmas ...
My brother and sister and I sat around a Thanksgiving dinner table a month ago, shifting in our seats just enough to make our yet-to-be digested turkey sit a little more easily, and, as we often do when we get together, we reminisced about our childhoods for a while.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: The wonders of wading in ‘The Iridescence of a Shallow Stream’
I have no idea how many times I have written a story that begins with the wistful phrase, “When I was a boy. ...”
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Little man who came to dinner changes feel of household
My 7-year-old nephew, Carson, came to visit us last week. That in itself isn’t earth-shattering news, for he often drops by with one of his parents or the other, the last time dressed as a ghoul for Halloween. But for a couple like Joanie and me, whose youngest child is now nearly two decades past Carson’s age, having a little guy like him in the house, even for a few hours, takes a bit of adjusting.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Reflections: a bit of red glass and our daily thanksgivings
I sat in the half-light of my old desk lamp a few nights ago, a chilly wind blowing in from the northwest that made me appreciative of my long-sleeved shirt and purring heater.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Growing up — and ‘old’ — with many mouths to feed
At our family reunion last summer, I asked my brother if I could borrow a pair of photo albums he had put together. Over the past couple of years, I have committed quite a few of our family’s old yellowing snapshots to newly cropped and digitalized lives, and I wanted to do the same with some of the pictures John has collected for himself.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Violets in October – a pleasant surprise
I guess I don’t pay much attention to the weather forecasts these days because it surprised me a bit when our furnace kicked on a few nights ago.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: A library is a good thing — even a little, homegrown one
I grew up with libraries, and I can’t imagine there ever being a time when I won’t want to wander one exploring it like some bookworm-Balboa, finding an author or title that I never really knew existed before. Creating those “Eureka” moments seems to be a dying interest now that so many of us download and digest books electronically without ever really considering that there just might be some hidden gem we’d have liked even more had we simply stumbled upon it on a shelf by accident. I think those moments of discovery are not unlike kicking up lost treasure a mile from where X marks the spot.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: The ‘soothsayer’ who came to dinner
I’ve had a good time opening my mail these past few weeks. Sure, I still received the usual junk about lower credit card rates and satellite television packages, but the genuine letters made me smile; most were about a story I wrote in late August.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: The agony of de‘feet’ has this writer on his heels
I don’t know if I can electrocute myself by using a computer and soaking my feet in a pan of warm water at the same time, but I am contemplating taking the risk. My feet, particularly the right foot, have staged a 10-digit rebellion over the past few months. After a half-century of commendable service, my pods are screaming to be taken in for repairs, a big inconvenience for a guy who works on his feet all day and whose “sole” form of serious exercise is putting one foot in front of another walking the local roadways.
-
Mike Lunsford: Summer’s hidden beauty worth the wait
The great naturalist John Burroughs once said that nature teaches more than she preaches. I can’t recall a summer where that rings true more than this one, for that old sun of ours truly taught us a thing or two these past three months.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: It’s time to redefine the concept of ‘assisted living’
Although it has been nearly two months now, I can’t forget the few afternoon hours I spent on a hot June day this summer at a local “assisted living” facility in town. I had been asked to speak to a group of men there about Father’s Day, but for most part, the wonderful old guys who came to listen certainly made my day more memorable than I did theirs.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Observations on smooth stones and blue-green water…
It was raining when I began to write this. Although no one could rightfully call what we got this afternoon a “downpour,” it was nice to have my windows open to hear the steady drops of a passing shower tapping on my dry-as-dust deck and hard-as-concrete yard.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: This summer has us recalling the heat of ’36
It was “only” 99 degrees one afternoon last week when I decided to work on a backyard deck. With a jack and a drill and a little more sweat than I wanted to invest in the project, I went about the business of leveling its sags and dips a bit. The sun pounded down on my head and shoulders like a thug’s blackjack, but as I packed my tools and drank a glass of cool water under a big maple tree a few hours later, I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I’ve been these past few dusty and drought-stricken weeks. I have worked under this summer’s heat lamp for only a few hours at a time, but God help the roofers and utility linesmen and firemen, and so many others, who are out in it day after long hot day.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: We had no better friend than Andy Taylor
The world is a sadder place now that Andy Griffith has died, but at least we still have Andy Taylor.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Wading deeper into the subject of Blue Herons
Like a relative who has worn out his welcome, the hot, parched weather of this young summer has already overstayed its visit with us, so my wife and I have found ourselves walking our road later in the evenings to keep our feet cool and our backs dry.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Thanking two dads whose gifts have never stopped coming…
It is nearly a week until Father’s Day, but I have had my dad, and my father-in-law — a second dad to me — on my mind today. I wrote about both men just a few weeks ago, but I have set my mind to write about them again anyway. I don’t want this story to be sad; they both loved to laugh and wouldn’t want that. No, I just wanted to tell them hello, and to thank them again for what they still do for me.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Raising a flag for my father, veteran or not
My daughter, Ellen, and I stood at my parents’ graves on Mother’s Day a few weeks back and talked about how it couldn’t possibly have been so long since we lost them. My dad, for instance, has been gone for 16 years, and that is nearly unimaginable
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Time to become one of the boys of summer again …
Besides writing for a living, I teach school, and I’m not ashamed to tell people that I still love my classroom. I’ve been a teacher for 33 years, all of them in the same school district, and virtually all of them in the same building. But I also have to tell you that if the next few weeks don’t slide by pretty quickly, I may just let loose of the last thread of sanity from which I have been dangling for a while now. There are a lot of teachers out there who feel the same way.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: It’s time for us to get the real lowdown on dirt…
I have had my hands in the soil as of late. Two Fridays ago, I planted a viburnum bush, three chrysanthemums and a yellow poplar, not because it happened to be Earth Day, but because it was sunny and warm, and I had the whole afternoon to myself. The dirt I scraped out of and back into the shallow holes I dug near a backyard picket fence smelled good, and when dampened with a few sprinkles of water, it soon found its way into the deep wrinkles of my knuckles and under my fingernails. For the most part, I have nothing but good things to say about dirt.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: Make big money: Raise worms at home for fun and profit…
When I think about all of the crazy things my brother and sister and I did just to make a few dollars when we were kids, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for teens this summer as they try to find jobs in what is supposed to be a very tight market. Money, to say the least, was a rare commodity when we were growing up, but you have to at least give us credit for trying.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: ‘When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d…’
Had white lace curtains been hanging in the west window of my cabin, I would have had a perfect Wyeth painting to watch last Thursday. A gentle breeze was wafting through my screens, and the sunlight of a warm late March day was fractured by the window sill as it poured onto my legs and feet. I could catch the scent of lilacs as it was carried in by that wind, and it and the subtle melody of the chimes that hang just outside made me as lazy as an old cat.
-
MIKE LUNSFORD: A report from the country as a new season brings sense of renewal
Regardless of what the calendar may yet say, spring has happened. It couldn’t have come too soon, and it wasn’t just last week and its windy 70s that have convinced me. I have been keeping a journal of sorts in my head for a fortnight now, stashing away reports of birds and buds and sounds in the crammed cabinets of my mind, all in a file marked, “The New Season.”
- More Mike Lunsford Headlines
-
James Gandolfini Dies at Age 51
Raw: Heat, Spurs Back on Court Ahead of Game 7
Fmr. TWA Flight 800 Investigators Want New Probe
Time Lapse: Rebuilding Bridge Post-collapse
Hunt for Ex-Teamster Boss Hoffa's Remains Ends
Police at Patriots Tight End's Home for 2nd Day
Raw: Baby White Rhino Debuts at Australian Zoo
Ohio Woman Accuses 3 of Holding Her Captive
Raw: Volcano Erupts Near Mexico City
Dolce and Gabbana Convicted of Tax Evasion
In Berlin, Obama Channels Cold War Activism
Paris, Prince Depositions Used in Jackson Trial
Ex-NFL Star Chad Johnson Out of Jail
Family Tweets Say Kim Kardashian Gives Birth
Raw: Massive Protests Fill Brazilian Streets
Fans Cheer Dramatic Heat Comeback
Fed Suggests Bond Purchases Could Slow
Obama Renews Call for Nuclear Reductions
Obama Welcomes WNBA Champions to White House
Steven Tyler, Joe Perry on Award, Tour, 'Idol'
Paula Deen Admits to Using N Word
Rihanna Hits Fan With Microphone
Men's Wearhouse Founder Fired
Miss Utah Explains Rambling Response
Exclusive: Locklear & Seymour Lock Lips
Miami Heat Wins in Overtime
Raw: Arizona Wildfire Scorches 8 Square Miles
Fists, chairs fly in restaurant brawl
Journalist Michael Hastings Dies in Fiery Hollywood Crash
Hairy Leg Stockings Aim to Deflect Male Attention
Inside Kim Kardashian's Premature Labor
Three Charged for Enslaving Mother and Daughter
Raw: Huge Fire Near Yosemite National Park
Spurs' Popovich has no problem with Spurs' intensity
RAW: NSA Director Says 50 Plots Foiled
Paige Butcher Scorches on Hawaii Beach
Video: worst way to load cargo onto a plane
Never-before-seen footage of '08 Times Square bomber
