I take a deep breath. I’m about to give my introductory lesson on the craft of writing to my 5th period class of rambunctious tenth graders. It is my responsibility to guide these 15 year-olds to a point where they can easily and successfully write expository essays (writing to explain). The second genre of writing I’m charged to teach them is to write persuasively. It is imperative that they get their points across.

You may agree that it is not easy to write well. Likewise, it is not easy to teach writing to teen-agers. Even though many excellent and creative teachers have worked with them before they landed in my classroom, I’m feeling pressured. I’m the last in line before they take the WA State Assessment of Student Learning. I must get them to the starting gate AND all the way to the finish line.

It is understood that these (mostly reluctant) students will need lots of writing practice to hone their skills; not just for the state test, but for communicating well as they move on to college and/or directly into the R.W. (Real World). Did I mention how much pressure I feel? It’s still early in the school year, but the state test is looming in the not-to-distant future.

Writing is a skill, but it is also an art form and a way to work through to your inner self. My goal is to have them focus on their ideas and then work to support them with solid details and examples. I tell myself that if they will organize their essays and make appropriate word choices, they will be well on their way to success.

But that’s not all. Knowing how to be skillful with sentence structures, using an appropriate tone or voice, and sticking to the standard conventions of writing–punctuation, grammar, and spelling–will be necessary to round out the task.

It is interesting to note that when I was teaching, my students did not have access to computers for the state test. How many of us write longhand anymore? We can rely on spell-check and we can easily delete and move text around using a computer. These students had to write legibly, in a booklet, using a pencil that the school provided.

Most of the kids have just eaten lunch before fifth period, and some of them are feeling a little drowsy. Getting their attention, coercing them to focus on my English curriculum, is never easy even on a good day. Hey! That must be why we teachers make the big bucks. Ha!

I finish up my introductory writing lesson with: “In a nutshell, you must decide on a topic, know your audience, as well as your purpose, and write in the appropriate form. These are the basics, ladies and gentlemen, so tattoo these into your minds: TOPIC, AUDIENCE, PURPOSE and FORM (TAPF).”  

I look around to see Jennifer fiddling with something under her desk, her eyes staring down at her hands. She is texting, damn it! Kevin’s head is bobbing. He’s obviously keeping time to the music coming from headphones hidden under the hood of his sweatshirt. Brittney’s head is on her desk. It’s only a matter of time before the drool starts. IS ANYBODY PAYING ATTENTION?

I switch off the overhead projector I used to show them examples of good and not-so-good writing, along with my carefully chosen and highlighted bullet points. The previous night, I spent two hours at home after work putting the finishing touches on this carefully crafted lesson. I swear it hasn’t been a boring lesson; I delivered it with humor (stand-up comedian style) and a grace unparalleled. I provided them with opportunities to participate in order to keep them engaged (awake).

I walk over to my desk. I plop into my chair. I sigh. Other than that, however, I am calm and quiet.

I’m thinking about a time when a student told me he found it surprising that when he knew I was the most frustrated or upset, I became completely quiet. You see, I am often rather boisterous and I laugh a lot—loudly, as I banter with my students. I love teaching and have been told often that I am rather good at it. I have a box full of letters and cards from former students, who have praised me for helping them to succeed, even excel. (Their words). Professing their love, they sign off, saying they want to stay in touch. Now that’s the real paycheck.

Now I hear the familiar sounds of notebooks being stuffed into backpacks and the zippers closing them. Some kids are already up and moving toward the door. The bell won’t ring for another minute. Ordinarily I rail against this behavior—them getting ready to leave sooner than need be, and I hate it when they amass at the door before the bell rings. It’s as if they are a pack of dogs waiting for the bowl of food to hit the floor.  I am again struck with the realization that they can’t wait to get out of here!

As the bells sounds, two girls, one with pink hair and a nose ring, both with timid looks, advance to my desk. “Are you okay, Mrs. F.?”

It is a good question, and I don’t hesitate to smile and say, “Sure, I’m fine. Just a little frustrated that I can’t get everyone to pay attention.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” April says. “They are all just a bunch of bastards.”

Snippet of my Years of Teaching