Oh, The Humiliation!

Sometimes, an embarrassing or painful moment can be the richest source material for writers. This excerpt from Cody's memoir proves how true this is. The voice in this piece is exceptional; if you know Cody, you feel like you are listening to him tell it! OH, and by the way, the English class scene did not take place in English class, and I am not the teacher . . .


I poked my neck in the room and my English teacher shot a stern look back at me. That was quite the awkward moment. I walked in with my head hung low.

“You’re late.” The cold, harsh voice was one that always made me very nervous.

“I-I know” I stammered. “I slept through my alarm and I ran to try to get here in time.”

“I don’t need to hear your excuses. If you ran you would have been here on time. Have a seat.” I sat down and slowly sunk into my chair lower and lower. He spoke up again, “Today we will be learning grammar, and common mistakes that are made while trying to use it properly.”

He passed out worksheets to everybody and when he came to me he paused. He bent down and got closer to me. “You have a D- in my class Mr. Hutkin. Small things like being late are unacceptable.” I nodded.

As much as I would like to explain why I was late, apparently he didn’t want to hear my excuses. I didn’t like him. He was my least favorite teacher. So many words mixed in my head of what I wanted to reply. I filtered them and came out with; “Yes sir.” I somehow made it until the end of the day.

Later that night after I had finished my homework, I decided I needed to take my shower. It was about 9:00. I emptied my pockets and put the contents on my bed: a crumpled piece of paper, at least 7 pencils, and my phone. I pulled my pants down. But it’s okay, I had boxers on. I sat on my bed so I could get the pants off of my ankles when I felt a surging pain rush up to the right side of my butt. My legs sprung up and I saw blood all over them. I felt like I had mooned a javelin thrower. I turned around to see a pencil sticking straight out. Half of it was inside of my body. My mom walked past my door and did a double take. Who could blame her? She saw a thirteen year old boy, blood dripping down legs, in underwear, pants at ankles, and pencil in butt. She said something that blew my mind.

“Maybe if your room wasn’t so messy, that wouldn’t have happened.” I was expecting something like. “Are you okay?” or maybe, “Let me help you out.” Instead I get a comment on the style of my room.

Looking back I must admit it is humorous. Of course while it was happening it wasn’t. That same pencil is actually still on my nightstand. The nickname “princess” wore off after about a month. At night some people check for bugs, I check for pencils. I must say, that was one big splinter.

Horror (or at least Hyperbole!)

Do you remember those early trips to the dentist as a child, when you were never sure if you were going to make it out alive? Andrew captures these moments well in his humorous memoir. I love how he builds in elements of the horror genre to write about the dentist. It's a perfect extended hyperbole. (P. S. Sorry I can't figure out how to make blogger indent the paragraphs. Weird, huh?)

Imagine being forced into a small colorless room where a man approaches you with a long needle, a large pair of pliers, and you have nowhere to run or hide. This is my story.
It all began on a beautiful sunny day as my Mom drove me through our little town that I knew so well. It was grocery day, the day my brother and I loaded into our SUV with its hot, sticky, leather seats. The sun scorched our car and us like toast in an oven as we headed towards Wegman’s grocery store to stock up on food for the upcoming week. This day seemed strangely different from the rest of the times we had gone grocery shopping; I could just feel something was wrong. It wasn’t until our car pulled up to the large white building with a giant ceramic tooth out front that I realized I was at none other than a child- killing dentist’s office!

I stared at my Mom with my big round blue eyes and begged her not to make me enter that wretched building, but it was no use. After several minutes, which seemed like hours of lecturing from her about how nice the dentist was, I was physically dragged and forced into the all white dungeon. I made my way into a cold room that contained what looked like to me like torture tools hanging on the cold, lifeless walls. I was then directed to a bed-like chair by a pretty woman with an evil smile on her face and breath that smelled like baloney and putrid cheese. She told me to lie down on the stiff, cot-like chair that felt as if I was lying on a rock. I had no doubt she too was in on the plot to kill me, along with my Mom and the dentist. Then a large light beamed down at me from just above my head. My frail, squinting eyes made me feel as if I was a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Just when I was sure things couldn’t get any worse, I heard footsteps moving towards me. I saw a tall figure in a white coat approach me holding a needle the size of my arm, and as skinny and sharp as a point on a barbed wire fence. Then he leaned over and stuck the long pointy needle deep inside of my mouth as excruciating pain shot all around my jaw and face. Then all of a sudden, the pain stopped and my mouth felt numb. Just when I thought the guy wasn’t going to actually slaughter me, he took a weird looking pair of pliers and jammed them into my mouth. I could taste hand sanitizer on his powerful, small fingers. Next I heard a pop as I gazed at the tooth that shot out of my mouth along with the dentist’s cold strong hands and a pair of blood soaked metal pliers from my numb and all together petrified mouth. I stared the tooth down for a moment, just to let it know that it was the reason for all the ruckus and pain today. It did not care; it just stared back up at me with its white lifeless eye. Then the colorless tall white figure finally spoke, and said, “All right, you’re good to go.”

“That’s it? but I thought you were going to kill me!” I said.

“Yeah, that’s what all the kids think, but I’m really not that bad of a guy. I just happen to have the job most hated by children,” said the dentist.

“You know what, you are a good guy and dentist, that wasn’t that bad. I will tell the rest of the kids at school too”, I said.

“Thanks kid, have a good one, and I’ll see you at your next checkup” said the dentist with a smile.

“All right. Bye and thank you,” I exclaimed. And as I left the office and drove home I felt bad that I had said all those crummy things about the dentist. He ended up being okay after all.

This experience made my dentist visits a lot less scary and even slightly enjoyable at times. This routine visit to the dentist also taught me not to judge a book by its cover. In my particular case, the so-called killer dentist ended up being a really cool, nice guy. After the entire dentist experience, I look back upon it today and realize it wasn’t all that bad. When the day was done at the dentist’s office, I ended up with a free toothbrush and milkshakes for the rest of the week to help sooth my sore mouth. Not a bad trade.

On the Lighter Side

So as everyone knows by now, we've been working on humorous memoirs in class. In this memoir, Emily does an amazing job of capturing the mind of a three-year-old version of herself while maintaining the voice of an advanced (and maybe even a bit cynical?) writer. I love how she strings the idea of the baby as "an evil alien" throughout the memoir. This extended hyperbole takes the piece to a whole new level! (Perhaps if you have read The Pearl, you will even recognize the line that she borrows from Steinbeck to inspire the whole story!)


Alien Baby

The morning was dark and damp, with grave clouds looming over the sun, threatening to engulf it. I woke up in my small pink bedroom and glared at the ballerinas that danced over my head and on my ceiling. Silently, I slipped out of bed and peered down the hallway. No one stirred and my mind raced with excitement because I could secretly watch Barney and Friends. I crept down the stairs on my small feet, eyeing the small baskets that were piled high with mountains of green and pink colored hay and half eaten chocolate rabbits.
“Hi Emmy,” came my dad’s voice, startling me from the side.
“Today, we are going to the hospital to meet your new baby sister.” He said those words with an edge of enthusiasm, and I wasn’t sure why. Slowly, I nodded my head, still slightly puzzled.
“Well, let’s get ready to go, your brother is already up.” My brother, Julian, stumbled out from my parent’s room looking half awake but already very alert.
I dressed in my favorite blue flowered dress because I knew this could very well be my last day with happiness. Julian and I were both reluctant as we dragged our bodies into the small car and into our booster seats.
When the engine was rumbling and the heat started to warm our cold toes and hands, I whispered, “We must stay strong; this thing is evil. It will destroy us.” In response, Julian nodded his head and stuck his thumb back in his mouth. I sat there for some time biting on my old pacifier that should have been taken away years ago, and thought about how much I hated this new alien I would soon meet. Before I could have more unpleasant thoughts, my heavy eyelids won over and I drifted into a deep sleep filled with evil alien babies and more of my worst nightmares.
When I finally woke up, we were at an enormous, cold, stone building. We were led into a room that smelled like old people and crackers as I fought to catch up with my dad and brother. Finally I saw my mom and smiled the big grin that always made me get my way. Maybe, I thought, if I really fought she could throw away the alien baby and we could all be happy.
I was pulled out of my imagination when my dad announced, “Meet your new sister, Evelyn Frances.” My mother smiled, although I could see how exhausted she was, and stroked what appeared to be my baby doll. I just stood in the doorway with disapproval, my three year old hand on my hip. My mother beckoned me and my brother to come closer so we walked over to see the alien. I reached out to touch its obviously inhuman hands, and the thing cringed away when I did. I was suddenly very perplexed. I examined its little bald head and tiny features that seemed so fragile a single touch could shatter its miniature bones. Cleverly, I reached out and stroked its pudgy face, and instantly regretted it when my hand was covered in wet, sticky drool.
“Does it have a little brain?” I asked unsure of the answer myself. My mother laughed lightly.
“Of course it does, it’s just like you only smaller. “ Now I was mad. This thing was not like me and definitely not part of our family.
I opened my mouth to protest, but then Julian asked, “Can I hold her?” I was utterly confused. We had had an agreement and now he wanted to hold this creature?
“Yes, but you have to be very careful.” My mother cautiously handed it to Julian. My dad came from behind me and stroked my back.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Was everyone crazy? Now it had become all too clear to me that I would have to take her down myself.
A few days later my mother came home with the thing. I was very upset because she hadn’t just disposed of the thing. The alien had on little blue socks and a matching hat. It looked so pleasant in my mother’s arms that I knew one day it would be the end of us all. My mother set the alien in the middle of more toys than I could count when I learned to count. I plopped down next to it and examined every move, every gurgle, and every burp. I looked at the toys in longing to play one or at least touch them. I waited to see if this new creature was at least polite. The selfish thing did not offer me any of its many toys so, unsatisfied, I walked away. I was hurt, confused, but most of all, vengeful.
I woke up, frazzled and tired, because the alien had cried the whole night, allowing me no sleep at all. Before I tiptoed down the stairs, I grabbed my McDonald’s spy kit I had gotten yesterday. I took out the binoculars and scoped out the living room for the alien. Just as I had suspected, it was peacefully rocking back and forth in its little cradle. I sang low and whispery, “Rock a bye baby in the tree tops, when the wind blows the cradle will rock, and down will come baby cradle and all.” Surreptitiously, I snuck over to its cradle and leaned in so I could get a good grip on it. I clumsily picked it up, and started to escape when I heard my mother gasp.
“Em, what are you doing? If you wanted to hold the baby that bad, you could’ve just asked.” She came over and swooped it from my arms. I stood there for a while and stared at her, dumbfounded. I slowly walked away and ran up to my room where I could make plans for the next attack.
This next plan would be so devious and evil, the alien would have to leave. I went into my small kitchen and found just what I needed to set the trap. Slowly and carefully, I set the animal crackers in a trail from the alien’s cradle to the laundry room. I sat in the laundry room and waited for the small creature to follow the track. I peeked out the door and saw it picking up each animal cracker, try to chew it, then give up and throw it back onto the floor. However, it was following my trail. I was within grabbing distance of the creature when it started to babble.
“Gargggg goo blubbbleee.” My mother would hear it and come rushing. I had to act quickly. I grabbed the alien and pulled it into my lair. I didn’t know what to do next because I hadn’t got this far in my plan. Just when I was about to try to build a human catapult out of towels and toilet paper, it shoved something in my mouth. At my shocked expression, it started to clap its hands and laugh ecstatically. I pulled the object from my mouth, realizing that the alien had shoved an animal cracker in my mouth, obviously trying to choke me. Now, I earned a new respect for the creature. The sun peaked out from behind the ashen clouds, hinting a new beginning. Maybe one day we could be partners in crime. Maybe, just maybe, I could grow to like my new sister.

A Twist of Mystery

This excerpt from Katie's work is descriptive and mysterious, almost like a dream. The language is poetic. I almost feel as if, broken into lines, this could be a poem. I think Steinbeck would be proud of this word choice and Tolkien would celebrate it's mystery. The first line of this passage fascinates me too, for it could go so many different ways . . .

The black world began four days ago. The day was beautiful, warm but with a slight breeze from the south keeping the humidity in check. I was wandering in the forest that surrounds my house separating it from the rest of the town. I started down a slope that brought me to a ledge that attached itself to the side of the cliff. The ledge was my viewing point of the whole world. It seemed to sit up on top of every thing.I gazed out at the wilderness around me smiling out of sheer joy. I glanced back up at the mountainside looking for where my house should be and was.

I got a strange surge of comfort as I was alone, independent, and full of life. I didn’t need to be with others to feel alive, I just needed myself. Suddenly, as I stood out on the edge, the rain started to pour out of the sky like bombs. The water draped over everything it touched, making it a new world. It felt as if the rain was taking pieces off of me with each splat to my body. Even through the pain, I felt joy seep through my body, mimicking the rain.

A Thinker

I guess the title of this post applies just as much to the poet as it does to the poem. Usually, I caution students to shy away from abstract language in their poems, but in this case, I think it's the rhythm and juxtaposition of the words, even abstract ones, that begs the reader to think deeply about war. The repetition of the word "never" especially interests me. It also feels like war could even be a metaphor for internal conflicts, the "battles" we all face that no one sees. Way to go, Max!

War

Inevitably yet unnecessarily occurring,
During the darkest moments of humanity.
Penetrating the holes of men’s soul.
Twisting, perverting, corrupting the mind,
Devoid of all thoughts, emotions, and ideals
Dissipating into a holy mist.
Leaving only a shell lustful for another to fill it
If only to fill the awful void.
Devastatingly ripping apart the mind,
Shred by hateful shred,
Only adding depth to the void’s control.
All of the will power of the mind,
All of the passion of the heart,
Seem enough to resist
Only until one has fallen.
Unfurling the heart,
Turning a man on which he once loved.
Giving in to the passions of lust and strife
Ever corrupting a man as he falls,
Falling deeper and deeper into the darkness of the void.
Deeper and deeper the corruption goes
When the mind final feels its presence,
One’s will to resist is only a faint wisp of smoke.
No man a stranger, no man immune,
The pull works on all through its corrosive ways.
No man’s soul is without holes,
Unreachable by the dark corruptive force.
It calls to every man in a way all the same,
Promising to give a man his wildest dreams.
A man will only resist for so long,
Until the price is too much.
A man can never entirely resist the darkness’s pull.
Never is a man allowed to resist
The power of the darkness’s evil
Never does a man have the power to resist,
Or the hope to resist,
They always fall, every time.
The darkness can always pull on men,
But the darkness has no pull on never,
For never, never is
Never ebbs and flows, pulling away from man.
Many a man dreams of never,
Maybe even spends a lifetime searching for never,
But will never find it.
Peace is only accepted never
Never is not today, but only war.

Metaphors and Musings

Now we fast-forward from poems about the autumn and arrive at a poem about the winter by Kaitlin. This poem, like Pete's poem below, is inspired by the Art on the Move painting Winter Street Scene found in the right-hand column of this blog. Though it takes a more traditional approach to the painting, the metaphor of the title and the precise, intricate word choice makes this poem stirring in a different, quiet way. I'm partial to the alliteration "warming the wintery wonder" in the last stanza. Doesn't that perfectly capture the melting of snow?

White Butterflies

Unknowing people sleep,
Behind windows shut tight,
The silent world outside,
Freshly transformed overnight.
The street sides are iced,
With a frosty quilt.

Colorful vibrant houses,
So sneakily disguised
By winter’s frozen mask.
Once clear blue skies,
Are now veiled behind,
A curtain of grey clouds.

A flurry of snow flakes,
Pours from the skies,
Dancing, fluttering,
Delicate white butterflies,
Feathering the earth,
Kissing the ground.

Sleepers awake,
To this fairyland of sparkle,
Their warm breath fogging the windows.
Slipper worn feet patter the floor,
Scuffing the cold hard wood.

As noon creeps closer,
The sun peeps out,
Warming the wintery wonder.
The frosty earth is hugged by its warmth.
Its radiant rays make the white world glimmer,
But dancing, fluttering, pouring from the skies,
Melting white butterflies.

It is autumn in the Northeast, perhaps one of the most inspiring seasons for artists and poets alike. The following two poems both describe the descent of a leaf, but in strikingly different terms. The first examines the unique facets of the first leaf to fall, whereas the second poem looks at how each dying leaf ends up stikingly similar to others in its fate.

Feel free to post comments with praise and/or suggestions.



Leader

The fire-enriched leaf sits on the green tree,
Leader of the bunch, he is the one that is proud.
He finally signals other leaves it’s their time to turn their colors.
Proud and strong like a purebred horse,
He fights hard for all of his nation, head high,
He is the first one out of all the leaves to say "Adieu."
He tumbles and turns as if in a nightmare,
But not a soul seems to help since they cannot hear
The millions of cries of dying leaves,
Falling forever more
Season after season
Again and again
He will come again
Our leader.

Julianne


The Same

The leaf lets go of the tree.
It has ripened into colors.
It spins,
It flutters in the air,
Floats for only a moment.
Its color is a variety of gold and ambers,
Splashed with spots of orange.
It shines like the morning sun,
Bright against the green grass.
It has a free spirit.
The leaf touches the ground.
Another leaf lies beside it.
It is brittle,
Withered.
It looks like the others.

Elizabeth