Writing about Writing

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I love to write.  What I love even more as a teacher is “teaching” others to love to write.  Even though my curriculum does not provide much time for creative writing, I build as much into the semester as possible.  The biggest thing I do with my Honors class is a Multi-Genre project that spans the semester and allows students to choose their own topic and genres and work through their own writing process.  At the end of each semester, the projects are due.  While I evaluate their work, I also use them to evaluate my effectiveness as a teacher of writing.  Did I instill at least a part of my passion for the written word into at least some of my students?  Today was judgment day for this batch of freshmen, and I was thrilled with what I discovered.

One of my favorite students (yes I have favorites) turned in an impressive project titled “My Life.”  Not only did he volunteer to share an excerpt first, he shared with evident pride in the effort he’d put forth.  Earlier in the semester, I learned that this student’s father had committed suicide when he was in middle school.  During class, another student told me that he had written a poem about his dad and included it in the project.  After class, a colleague of mine who is a friend of the student’s family stopped by and asked to read his work.  He shared with me that this was the first time since 6^th grade when the incident occurred that he has ever talked -or written- about what happened with his dad.  He has refused counseling, avoided conversations with relatives, and left his mom wondering how to help him cope.   Last night, at the end of his ninth grade year, he asked her to read his poem. 

In the four years that I have used this project in class, no piece of writing has said more to me than the poem written by this young man and it had nothing to do with the words on the page.  All semester long, I plead with the students to write about something they are passionate about.  I vow not to read their daybook entries, and I stay true to my word.  I beg them to put their emotions down on paper and promise they’ll feel better if they do.  I believe that this student trusted me enough to give it a shot, and I believe that it worked.  I pray that he will continue to use writing as an outlet and have the courage to share when he feels that it’s necessary. 

Writing is something we don’t have to outgrow.  As I’ve hovered under my covered the past three weeks and written down words for no one but myself about the reality of Nanny’s fall and the changes my family is experiencing, I’ve been reminded of the cathartic power of writing.  I am more determined now than ever to introduce this passion to each impressionable student that comes my way.