|Idealist, Taoist, Child.
(Pedagogy) Philosophy and Nonsense
Thoughts about writing, education, and experience Presented by Forrest D. Poston
The first goal of teaching is to strengthen, deepen and refine our intrinsic love of learning. All other goals and all methods must stem from that idea. Any that do not support that goal must at least be questioned and adjusted, if not eliminated. Otherwise, we are not teaching but training.
|I wish the universe speaking
were a little less like charades.
Four Meanings of Life
Godot and the Great Pumpkin
A Major is More Minor Than
The Poetry Process (A look at 4 versions of a poem.)
Thoughts About Picking a Major
Quick Points About Education
Quick Points About Writing
Reading Poetry and Cloud Watching
Using an Audience
What Makes a Story True?
What's the Subject of This Class? (Being revised.)
Writing and Einstein (The Difference Between Information and Meaning)
Writing and the Goldilocks Dilemma
Links to Other Sites
Never one for doing things the usual way, I once ran away to home. Of course, it made perfect sense to me at the time based on what I knew, or rather what I thought I knew from listening to the older kids in the neighborhood. According to them, school was a nasty place where only bad things happened, not a place where anyone would go or stay willingly. Okay, then I wouldn’t put up with it.
Some of my logic has always been quite direct, simple some might say. If something isn’t right, then you don’t tolerate it. Ah, but there’s that little problem of knowing your sources, knowing them, checking them, and making up your mind based on something more than gossip. Hey, I was six years old. What did I know about sources? I determined even before my first day of school that I would run away.
The first recess on the first day of first grade, I was ready to make my break. The architect had even worked in a secluded corner where the building hid part of the playground, so I had a spot to tell my best friend what I was doing and swear him to secrecy. Guess the secrecy part would be easier without telling someone, but I’m a storyteller. Where’s the drama if no one knows what’s happening?
The bell rang to end recess, and I was off, bookin’ down Brown St. for home. I doubt that I ran the entire trip, a bit over 1/2 mile, but that’s how I always see it. That stretch is one of my memories seen through the part of me that’s my Watcher Self, a bit that’s me but always seems to be looking on from outside. In this case, it’s a nice, high shot of this little kid running down the middle of a street that goes on and on. It’s a common shot in films these days, but this was back in the days of three channels and not a lot of fancy effects. Maybe I'm a storyteller because part of me sits out there seeing the story, or perhaps part of me watches the story because I'm a storyteller, and sometimes melodramatic.
I have no idea what I was expecting when I got home. I don’t think I was expecting a reward for standing up for what’s right. I don’t think I was thinking. Of course, it didn’t matter since my sworn friend had told everything as soon as he was asked, and I got home to find that my arrival was expected and quite anti-climactic. Without even time to catch my breath, I was being driven back to school. The story doesn't always go quite how the storyteller intends, which can be rather confusing, but the story also doesn't always pause when we want time to think. The drive back was much faster than the escape, and I had another issue coming, something else I couldn't control.
Walking back into that room wasn’t easy. I was fully expecting a full plate of ridicule and embarrassment, probably some laughter on the side. Mrs. Hobart welcomed me back and went on with the class. As far as I can remember, not a word was ever said, not a joke, nary a whisper or a giggle. All I do remember is that by the end of the day, I no longer felt that school was a wrong to be righted or avoided. I wasn’t an avid student, but I was having a pretty good time.
Did I have a revelation about not trusting gossip or taking time to gather facts and form careful, considered opinions? No. However, I like to think that it was a bit of a lesson learned, a direction to follow. On the other hand, some things haven’t changed, some ideals and tendencies. I still don’t believe in accepting what’s wrong or settling for “that’s just the way things are.” If I’d gone back and found school as bad as described, there’s no doubt I’d have soon been bookin’ down Brown St. again.
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Other Essays and Poetry
Something Somewhat Vaguely Like a Resume
The Cat With a Bucket List
Being Like Children
The Blessing and the Blues
Booking Down Brown Street
David and the Revelation
The Dawn, the Dark, and the Horse I Didn't Ride In On (an odd, meandering, semi-romantic story)
Ghost Dancer in the Twilight Zone
The Hair Connection and the Nature of Choices
The Mug, the Magic, and the Mistake
Sadie on the Bridge
Trumpet Player, USDA Approved
The Poetry Process
Writing by Current or Former Students
Ms. Write Meets Her Match in Jr. Ms. Write Now
by Heide Perry
I'll Just Have Cats
by Cara Hummel
Toys to Toys
by Allyson Bowlds
Scribbles and Bits
Links to Other Sites