Artists steal from nature, from everyday life, and from other artists. Writers use inspiration from other writers and from daily conversations. Teachers teach.
I am at a point where I am asking: can I pocket the quips and stories from my day to day life as a middle school English teacher?
I would love to tell you that I am the type of teacher that strikes awe and inspiration in my students and has a small notebook in my pocket that I have time to scrawl in mid-lesson. No. That is not the case here. Instead, I often remember writable moments later on, when I can’t sleep, in the grocery store, or while running. I have an urge to write the story that surrounds the piece of inspiration, adding in unknown details and spinning the truths.
It’s not that I want to take ideas from my students, but that I have to write down the golden nuggets of stories that my students offer to me, more than they offer me gold star level classwork. It’s the card given to me before a holiday from a student who believed she was moving during the break, and then returned after the New Year. It’s the student who speaks and acts with a conviction of a soldier, yet doesn’t get anything done. It’s the time when a student serves me an unforgettable look then sprints down the fire tower door to run away. It’s when a student mentions that they want to find a job at twelve years old. It’s the group of girls that is inseparable and makes me miss my hometown friends; however, they have starkly different lives.
After penning down countless notes for future story ideas and 37 pages of a dual narrative based on my own perspective and what I perceive to be the perspective of a former student, I realize I should weigh my options and step back to see if this is right. Can I do this?
I encourage my students to write and live creative, productive lives every day. But when they don’t take advantage of their stories, hilarious dialogue, and actions, can I?
My kids say and do things that are iconic for a new protagonist.
My students are heroes. They all face challenges and are growing to learn who they are. My students provide realistic realities that can be modified to protect their identities and stories.
My students take care of their siblings. My students laugh wildly. My students make up games, contests, and unlucky numbers. Every day with my students is an adventure. But they are the good gals/guys. Just like when I teach protagonist and antagonist, I tell my students: “You all are the protagonists. Please make your story important, compelling, and marvelous.”
Telling my students to write makes me want to write, and I write about what is in front of me — quirky my students.
Sometimes working in a public school is better than watching TV or scrolling through the internet. I have notes on my phone that say the most random quips from my days at school.
For example:
“I’m a grown man, you’re the fish stick.”
“I didn’t know what to do, my little brother pooped on the couch and I was the only person home.”
“The second thing on my bucket list is to skydive and feed birds at the same time.”
“Do you watch the captions on TV because you can’t read? Wait.”
“I saw a dart bird,” she proclaimed. “You mean a hummingbird?” “Well, it didn’t hum,” admitted with a huff.
If you don’t think these are solid gold, then you do not read enough young adult novels.
My students teach me about myself.
There is nothing better than 32 pairs of eyes on you all day long, to show you your real reflection. My students and I lead very different lives, and seeing their childhoods make me think of my own. While I was going out to dinner with my two parents and my older brother after a tennis match, some of my students make their own Ramen and go to bed without talking to anyone at home. I was in charge of laundry while my mom had surgery, some of my students miss school because their uniforms are dirty or they have to go to the laundromat during the day.
My students point out my bad and ugly. They call out my Apple Watch, my mole, my zits, and how tired I look when I don’t have eyeliner on. They point out that my shirt is inside out. They point out all my typos and when I contradict myself.
My students point out my unique and enviable qualities too. They talk about how I am skinny even though I eat all the time. They giggle at my Ohio dialect and when I say pop instead of soda. They ask me about books and let me go on and on about my favorite writers, making me realize why I actually love the writing. They make me do silly things like sing, dance, and quote movies that they don’t even know. They also point out the reason I am there and my classic facial expressions that can change the mood of the entire classroom.
The Verdict
Even after deep consideration for your opinion, I have to say in advanced that, I don’t have the choice.
The honest answer is that I don’t have the choice of whether or not to write about it. I do, however, have the choice of what to do with my writing, my therapeutic “if I don’t write this story down now, I am going to go bonkers” musings, stories, and maybe someday, novels. Right about now, the only thing that matters is that I keep writing, so I can keep going.
