This writing prompt from Lisa Romeo. I've been away from writing for several weeks while we traveled. I always think I'm going to do a lot of writing on the road, but it never works out that way. My writer friends tell me it's important to take a break and refill the well, so I'm going to pretend that I did that. But now that I'm home, seems a writing prompt is a good way to get back into the swing of things. 10 minutes.
Without question, the longest two hours of my life. Longer than the time I was stuck on the tarmac in Cleveland during a snow storm. Longer even than any two hours of labor. It was the time I chaperoned the middle school dance.
Just to prove how bad this dance was, the principal decided to cancel all dances from that point forward, so it wasn't just me who that it was bad. It was bad.
I'm no prude and with four kids and two step kids, I've done more than my fair share of chaperoning. How bad could it be? thought I. Two hours in a middle school gym — a little sweaty, a little loud, a little boring, but I could take it. I was a veteran.
My little sixth grade twins had no idea what the whole dance thing was about. Like all the other sixth graders, the formed a circle around the periphery of the gymnasium, mostly running around and playing tag.
The seventh graders formed another ring, inside the circle of sixth graders, but not at the center. Here the girls primped, gossiped, giggled and pointed. Totally expected behavior. The boys stood in awkward clumps, hands shoved deep in their pockets, standing on tiptoe to see the real action that was going on in the very center of the room.
The eighth graders closed ranks in tight knots that formed the nucleus of the three-ringed cell. They were the only ones "dancing", if you could call it that. A single girl stood, bent over at the waist, buttocks high in the air. She was surrounded by a group of between six and 10 boys, who took turns bumping and grinding into her from behind, simulating (quite graphically) a variety of sex acts.
Again, I'm not a prude, but I was seriously shocked. These were 12 and 13 year old kids. I know that jitter bug was considered obscene in its day; my mother wasn't allowed to even listen to Elvis the Pelvis because of his lewd hip movements; and belly dancing, often considered an art, clearly has sexual overtones. But this was overtones, undertones and overt, in-your-face sex. And it was gross. I could understand what the boys liked about it, but I kept wanting to ask the girls "What are you thinking?"
The principal instructed chaperones to physically walk through the circles to break it up. At one point, he turned the lights up to full power to discourage the behavior. I spent two hours as a vice cop before the whistle blew signaling that it was time to go home. I never knew the shrill sound of a whistle could bring such relief. I grabbed my twins and headed home for a much-needed long, hot shower.
Time: Oy, that was such an awful night. Wonder how I could use this in fiction. That dance was six years ago. Have shows like Dancing with the Stars changed school dance behavior? Would I have been as bothered if it had been a high school dance?
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label middle school. Show all posts
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Day #25 — Who Would Like to Go First
Prompt: Who Would Like to Go First
Tapping the edge of the yardstick on the floor between her splayed feet, Mrs. Cumberman looked around the room, slowly sliding her eyes up one row of desks and down the next. Tricia could feel the beady black eyes scorch the part in her hair as Mrs. Cumberman passed by her downturned head.
"Who would like to go first?" the teacher asked, taking a deep breath and holding it while she waited for a volunteer to come forward. "No one? David Anderson? How about you?"
"No, ma'am," David said.
"No, ma'am what?" Mrs. Cumberman tapped hard on the last word.
"No, ma'am, I would not like to go first. I had the flu till yesterday and just go the assignment from my brother last night, so my project is not ready."
"I see. How many days did you miss?"
"Six school days."
"Then you have until Monday to complete your project. You will go first on Monday. Patricia Bailey. I have just volunteered you to go first, since the rest of the class seems to have suddenly contracted stage fright and Mr. Anderson is just back from sick leave."
Tricia stared at her desk. Every hair on her arms was standing on end, like the time when she rubbed it against her birthday balloon. Her feet were itchy inside her shoes and socks, and she couldn't bring herself to look up as she grabbed her poster board and headed to the front of the room.
"Class, Miss Bailey will be your teacher for the next five minutes. What topic will you be enlightening us about today, Miss Bailey?"
"The bmermer," Tricia mumbled.
"Speak up, Miss Bailey. The students in the back of your classroom cannot hear you. In fact, the students in the front rows cannot even hear you. Ricky Balsam, can you hear Miss Bailey?"
Ricky cupped his hand behind his ear. "Eh? Did you say something, teach?" he said, and the class giggled. Tricia glared at him from under her lowered eyelids.
"The BEAVER," she shouted so loudly that the sound ricocheted off the back wall and bounced back so loudly into her own ears that she had to cover them with her hands.
Time: 10 minutes
They say that public speaking ranks in the top three things that people fear the most. I think most people remember feeling terrified at the idea of making a fool of themselves in front of classmates, especially if they had a teacher who they perceived as mean. If I were to spend time rewriting this scene, I would concentrate on how Tricia was feeling.
Tapping the edge of the yardstick on the floor between her splayed feet, Mrs. Cumberman looked around the room, slowly sliding her eyes up one row of desks and down the next. Tricia could feel the beady black eyes scorch the part in her hair as Mrs. Cumberman passed by her downturned head.
"Who would like to go first?" the teacher asked, taking a deep breath and holding it while she waited for a volunteer to come forward. "No one? David Anderson? How about you?"
"No, ma'am," David said.
"No, ma'am what?" Mrs. Cumberman tapped hard on the last word.
"No, ma'am, I would not like to go first. I had the flu till yesterday and just go the assignment from my brother last night, so my project is not ready."
"I see. How many days did you miss?"
"Six school days."
"Then you have until Monday to complete your project. You will go first on Monday. Patricia Bailey. I have just volunteered you to go first, since the rest of the class seems to have suddenly contracted stage fright and Mr. Anderson is just back from sick leave."
Tricia stared at her desk. Every hair on her arms was standing on end, like the time when she rubbed it against her birthday balloon. Her feet were itchy inside her shoes and socks, and she couldn't bring herself to look up as she grabbed her poster board and headed to the front of the room.
"Class, Miss Bailey will be your teacher for the next five minutes. What topic will you be enlightening us about today, Miss Bailey?"
"The bmermer," Tricia mumbled.
"Speak up, Miss Bailey. The students in the back of your classroom cannot hear you. In fact, the students in the front rows cannot even hear you. Ricky Balsam, can you hear Miss Bailey?"
Ricky cupped his hand behind his ear. "Eh? Did you say something, teach?" he said, and the class giggled. Tricia glared at him from under her lowered eyelids.
"The BEAVER," she shouted so loudly that the sound ricocheted off the back wall and bounced back so loudly into her own ears that she had to cover them with her hands.
Time: 10 minutes
They say that public speaking ranks in the top three things that people fear the most. I think most people remember feeling terrified at the idea of making a fool of themselves in front of classmates, especially if they had a teacher who they perceived as mean. If I were to spend time rewriting this scene, I would concentrate on how Tricia was feeling.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Day #23.5 — It finally happened
So if you've been paying attention — and not many people have — I broke my streak. After 22 straight days of SFDs, I missed yesterday. But, to quote my son, it's not my fault. Really. I spent the entire day at the hospital figuring things out for my mother in law who was having some issues after surgery. Now, don't you feel bad that you thought less of me? I woulda if I coulda. Really.
So, here's what I've decided. I'm granting myself a Mulligan, a do-over. I'm turning a blind eye and extended my "day" from yesterday to include this 10-minute free-write and I'm going to date it as if I had written it yesterday on 1/29 (aren't the publishing options offered by blogger great?). Then, I will do another 10 minute free write based on a different prompt and date it today, 1/30. Brilliant, right? I'll be all caught up and only you will be the wiser. If only all my problems were this easy to solve. So, here we go with one of the final prompts from Lisa Romeo.
Prompt: Report Card
My mom is going to kill me. She is flat out going to kill me. I'm doomed. A C- in math. Math. I've never gotten less than an A on anything, and now a C- in math. How is it going to look when the son of a professor of Applied Mathematics at MIT is practically failing math. She is going to kill me.
The thing is, I hate math. I always have. Ever since I got that plastic placemat with the times tables on it and my mom started quizzing me at breakfast every morning, I have hated math. I like words. I like books. I like to read, but I really, really hate math.
I guess I could be good at it if I tried. I mean, if genetics plays a part in the equation, then a math professor and an economist should have produced a son who could do math if he tries, right? But what if I can't do it? What if I tried everything, and did all the homework, and studied before the tests and quizzes and then I still flunked. Then my parents wouldn't just kill me. They'd hate me.
Maybe my mom will forget that it's report card day. Maybe I can say I forgot it, or lost it. Maybe I can say that they are mailing report cards home now and that it got lost in the mail. That sounds perfectly reasonable, since half of my bar mitzvah invitations never made it the the right mailboxes. I think I'll go with that one. At least it will buy me some times. If I could put my mom off track for four more days, then it's fall break, so that gives me another week, but then it's parent-teacher conferences that Wednesday. Hmm, four days, plus seven days, plus three more days — that gives me a full two weeks before I really have to worry.
Time: 11 minutes
I wonder why I always find it so much easier to write from the point of view of a boy than a girl when I write for children. That's so curious to me. Perhaps it's because I have three sons and only one daughter, or maybe because I'm so different from my daughter. Still, you would think I would be tapping into my own sensory memories from childhood.
So, here's what I've decided. I'm granting myself a Mulligan, a do-over. I'm turning a blind eye and extended my "day" from yesterday to include this 10-minute free-write and I'm going to date it as if I had written it yesterday on 1/29 (aren't the publishing options offered by blogger great?). Then, I will do another 10 minute free write based on a different prompt and date it today, 1/30. Brilliant, right? I'll be all caught up and only you will be the wiser. If only all my problems were this easy to solve. So, here we go with one of the final prompts from Lisa Romeo.
Prompt: Report Card
My mom is going to kill me. She is flat out going to kill me. I'm doomed. A C- in math. Math. I've never gotten less than an A on anything, and now a C- in math. How is it going to look when the son of a professor of Applied Mathematics at MIT is practically failing math. She is going to kill me.
The thing is, I hate math. I always have. Ever since I got that plastic placemat with the times tables on it and my mom started quizzing me at breakfast every morning, I have hated math. I like words. I like books. I like to read, but I really, really hate math.
I guess I could be good at it if I tried. I mean, if genetics plays a part in the equation, then a math professor and an economist should have produced a son who could do math if he tries, right? But what if I can't do it? What if I tried everything, and did all the homework, and studied before the tests and quizzes and then I still flunked. Then my parents wouldn't just kill me. They'd hate me.
Maybe my mom will forget that it's report card day. Maybe I can say I forgot it, or lost it. Maybe I can say that they are mailing report cards home now and that it got lost in the mail. That sounds perfectly reasonable, since half of my bar mitzvah invitations never made it the the right mailboxes. I think I'll go with that one. At least it will buy me some times. If I could put my mom off track for four more days, then it's fall break, so that gives me another week, but then it's parent-teacher conferences that Wednesday. Hmm, four days, plus seven days, plus three more days — that gives me a full two weeks before I really have to worry.
Time: 11 minutes
I wonder why I always find it so much easier to write from the point of view of a boy than a girl when I write for children. That's so curious to me. Perhaps it's because I have three sons and only one daughter, or maybe because I'm so different from my daughter. Still, you would think I would be tapping into my own sensory memories from childhood.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Substitutions Permitted — Day 3
Today's prompt from Lisa Romeo is "Substitutions Permitted". I've been working hard on a new Website today (so exciting!), and almost let the day slip by without my 10 minutes of free writing. Even I can keep up a new practice for more than two days, however, so I'm taking a break from designing my site and setting the timer now for 10 minutes.
Prompt: Substitutions Permitted
We made the sub cry today in math. It was awesome. And not awesome. But mostly awesome. It was the end of the day. We have math for two periods every day now. OMG, so boring. I guess a bunch of kids did really bad on the standardized tests last year, and now I'm stuck in math for 90 consecutive minutes. Shoot me now.
So, anyway, Jack was being his usual Jack self, hopping out of his seat every 35 seconds, interrupting every time the sub tried to say anything and generally just being Jack. I tried to ignore him — we all try to ignore him — but he's so tall now (the biggest kid in eighth grade), that it's totally impossible to ignore him. The sub kept telling him to sit down.
So, Jack sat down. But, 35 seconds later and he was up again. And, of course, we all laughed. The sub, Mr. Gorquey (GORKY!!!!), started to get really pissed off. "Sit down right now, young man. What is your name?"
"Jack," said Jack.
"Well, Jack, sit down and stay sat."
"Yes, sir," said Jack, giving Mr. Gorky a little salute and we all laughed again.
"What's so funny," yelled Gorky — and that's when it happened. Just when he said "so funny", this thing kind of fell out of his mouth. It was so gross! It had three teeth attached to it and he kind of spit it out, I guess by accident, when he was yelling at us. It clunked on his desk and Sophie yelled "Oh, sick," and AJ, quick as anything, reached out and grabbed the dentures or whatever they were right before Gorky could pick it up.
Then, AJ starts jumping from desk to desk and chair to chair, waving the teethy thing in the air while Gorky chases him around. And that's when the really bad thing happened. I'm sure it was an accident and all, just like he said, but Jack kind of was stretching those super long legs of his and Gorky wasn't looking or anything and he tripped over Jack's size 13 feet and … Splat! He fell right on his face.
Time: 11 minutes
My son told me that his math teacher is taking a "little break" because the eighth graders made him cry. My reaction as a mom was utter horror, but it also took me right back to middle school — that barely human time where school is really more like a holding tank for hormones than an institution of learning. That's where the prompt led me.
Prompt: Substitutions Permitted
We made the sub cry today in math. It was awesome. And not awesome. But mostly awesome. It was the end of the day. We have math for two periods every day now. OMG, so boring. I guess a bunch of kids did really bad on the standardized tests last year, and now I'm stuck in math for 90 consecutive minutes. Shoot me now.
So, anyway, Jack was being his usual Jack self, hopping out of his seat every 35 seconds, interrupting every time the sub tried to say anything and generally just being Jack. I tried to ignore him — we all try to ignore him — but he's so tall now (the biggest kid in eighth grade), that it's totally impossible to ignore him. The sub kept telling him to sit down.
So, Jack sat down. But, 35 seconds later and he was up again. And, of course, we all laughed. The sub, Mr. Gorquey (GORKY!!!!), started to get really pissed off. "Sit down right now, young man. What is your name?"
"Jack," said Jack.
"Well, Jack, sit down and stay sat."
"Yes, sir," said Jack, giving Mr. Gorky a little salute and we all laughed again.
"What's so funny," yelled Gorky — and that's when it happened. Just when he said "so funny", this thing kind of fell out of his mouth. It was so gross! It had three teeth attached to it and he kind of spit it out, I guess by accident, when he was yelling at us. It clunked on his desk and Sophie yelled "Oh, sick," and AJ, quick as anything, reached out and grabbed the dentures or whatever they were right before Gorky could pick it up.
Then, AJ starts jumping from desk to desk and chair to chair, waving the teethy thing in the air while Gorky chases him around. And that's when the really bad thing happened. I'm sure it was an accident and all, just like he said, but Jack kind of was stretching those super long legs of his and Gorky wasn't looking or anything and he tripped over Jack's size 13 feet and … Splat! He fell right on his face.
Time: 11 minutes
My son told me that his math teacher is taking a "little break" because the eighth graders made him cry. My reaction as a mom was utter horror, but it also took me right back to middle school — that barely human time where school is really more like a holding tank for hormones than an institution of learning. That's where the prompt led me.
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