cruel and unusual

this story is my experience of an event. although i am all through it, it's not really about me. i just don't know how to tell it without being in the middle of it. and i am very grateful to have been in the middle of it.

i am a control freak. the thing about being a control freak is that wanting to be in control is not always the same thing as being in control. for instance, i expect all my students to attend class every day and while they're there i expect them to listen to everything i say and then have brilliant things to say right back. good questions. fascinating insights. i expect my students to do every assignment i give them and to ask me questions when they don't understand something. all of this happens with a higher percentage now than it did at the beginning of the year, but the percentage is by no means high.

this is the last week of school and during the last week of school many teachers i work with don't expect much of the kids. they give finals and show movies. they are exhausted. the kids have shut their brains off. it's not unusual. this sort of thing doesn't happen in my classroom. this is not because i'm fancy or high-minded. it is because i am a control freak. the thought of being in a room full of kids who are doing nothing terrifies me and i don't like movies.

when i started working at my current school, i came up with a way to teach right up to the last day and keep the kids from realizing it. we have a literary salon the last day. i tell them the first day of the last marking period that they're going to write historical fiction. i say i expect 20 pages and let them know they have six weeks. the project, from draft to final product, is the entire marking period grade. and i tell them that on the last day we celebrate their work by sharing it with a discerning community of like-minded folks. then i explain "discerning". they are horrified. i told you before this teaching gig is all about me. i am the most selfish person you know. i love this sort of drama. they are too scared to complain right then, but for days after, the kids from my past classes come in grinning, telling stories of the petrified freshmen howling over their assignment. they are sure i can't be serious, but they will not say this to me. the kids from past classes always reassure the little ninth graders. one girl says she told a group of them, "no matter what, just do what she says and trust her. you'll get everything done." i am grateful for this good press and love hearing kids from three years ago talk about their own projects and their own fancy event. because they always do get it done. every year. they don't always get 20 pages, but they get 12 or 15, and that's a pretty impressive narrative sample for a kid with an academic label.

the salon was today. we printed invitations on parchment, rolled them up like tiny scrolls and hand delivered them. 40 went to teachers, administrators, guidance folks and even two of the security guards. many teachers teach during this time so we always overinvite. any student volunteering to read gets to invite two other students and several former students stopped by to request invitations as well. we invited 60 people and hoped for 25. we also decided who we didn't want. the list, called "the uninvited" was taped to the door. this decision was made by the greeters/door guardians who were adamant that the world should know some people are not capable of recognizing beauty and had to be kept away from it. invitations were collected at the door and those without were turned away. the kids loved being able to say no. they loved telling people they were a part of something fancy that most people couldn't have. this is the one day of the year i encourage separatist, elitist thinking.

we spent the first hour of class setting up. we exchanged our desks for round tables and draped them in white cloths. i brought in three dozen roses and showed a group of kids how to cut them and arrange them in vases on the tables. they tore a few roses apart so they could scatter petals at the base of all the vases. one child folded black and gold napkins into each other and another followed her with black knives and forks. two boys assembled plastic champagne glasses and set them around the tables while other students removed "school" remnants- things taped to the walls, on the board. one child carefully stowed the four massive piles of books and paper on my desk in a classroom locker. but the craziest part was the food.

i told them it would be fancy. at first, a few of them wanted pizza and soda and i explained they could serve whatever they wanted at the literary salons they set up. again with the selfishness. we spent a few days amassing the feast. several teachers chipped in and in the end we had just what we needed. two kids assembled trays with a variety of swanky cookies while another arranged cheeses on parchment paper. we discussed each kind and what it was good with. brie on a cracker with fresh peach slices on top, smoked gouda on a cracker just plain or for the more adventurous, with a little nutella smeared on. jarlsburg with raspberries or nutella or both. they thought i was out of my mind. those things do not go together. "try it", i said, smearing some nutella on a slice of jarlsburg. they did. they are easy converts with food. i knew they would like the strange mixes, but secretly i was just glad they trusted me enough to try them. the thing they expected least was sorbet. mango and coconut. i showed them how to put wafer thin slices of fresh lime (these, too, fascinated them) on the edge of a bowl, drop in a scoop of sorbet, then sprinkle raspberries on top. let me tell you, kids did not know what to do with sorbet with lime and raspberries. we had grapes and strawberries, mostly because they are good and recognizable, but also because the strawberries are great with nutella. how have high school kids never had fruit dipped in chocolate? they wore food service gloves, prepared everything and served everything and suggested things to people with empty plates.

there were two boys wandering around the room with bottles of sparkling cider, pouring them elegantly into glasses, lifting the glasses by the bowls instead of the stems, which they must have seen in a movie. another two set up the microphone and amp. they all asked what to do. i gave out jobs and they went. they were all on their own, working. i should remind you here about how i am a control freak, how i micromanage everything. except this one day every year when i say something once and do not even ask if the listener understands. i just move on to the next thing. we bring everything in and let the kids know what is expected. they take over. they work together.

and then the really big part happens. i go up to the "podium", which is really a file cabinet turned sideways. i pick up the microphone and quiet the crowd. we have seating for 45 and there are people standing. it is a big room, a room with more teachers in one place than any kid has ever seen before. i say very little, mention that the kids will be reading excerpts. i have no stage presence at this event. it is not about me and i am almost not there. i introduce the first reader. he reads three pages of a powerful story that has another 13 pages. a few years ago he barely knew english. while he reads i feel like i am going to explode. i am not going to be able to find words to tell these kids how proud i am of them. this must be a little of what it feels like to be a parent and i am fortunate to have that feeling amplified by twenty five children. there are nine readers. the little girl who wrote the poem i mentioned a few entries ago reads about a family during the dust bowl. she names the characters after her little brother and sister.

the children who read are not perfect. they have given me headaches in the past and i have yelled at them, snarled at them. they have fallen asleep in class, hit people, thrown pens, books, paper. they have refused to do assignments, thrown tantrums. to see them taking themselves seriously as authors is almost frightening. they slip into it so easily. it might really be who they are.