I had two formative experiences regarding writing and my education.
The first when I was 12/13 in 7th grade (USA). I had a teacher who
informed my mother during a parent/teacher conference that I would never
amount to anything and was probably headed for a future in prison (she made
a public example of me as a ne'er-do-well when she caught me writing girls'
phone numbers on my notebook cover).
Late in the school year she gave the class a writing assignment, to write a
short story is all I remember. Anyway, I did, I wrote a terrific story. I
recall the feeling of fun and freedom as I wrote tracking the story
unfolding in my head, combining my (then) fascination with 1930's horror
films and Edgar Allen Poe to receiving gold coins offered from the chest
cavity of an undead ghoul that turned out to be my father. "Whoa!," I
thought at the time, "Too cool!"
When handing back our stories the teacher stood beside my desk and, half
holding back my paper, said I'd written an excellent story and perhaps there
was something to me after all. Okay, score one for Frank.
The second teacher (10th grade, age 16) read poetry aloud to us
provoking and challenging us to respond. He read from Shakespeare, Frost,
Auden, Langston Hughes, Sylvia Plath, ee cummings, Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence
Ferlinghetti and many, many more. He encouraged us to write poems too so I
did.
We developed a friendship that extended beyond campus. I'd visit him in his
home and we'd talk about poetry and poetry currents at the time (the 60's)
as well as politics and philosophies of non-violence as we ate the cookies
his wife would bake. He even assisted me when I began an underground
newspaper on campus (because of an anti-war poem of mine published front
page in the official school newspaper, poetry had been banned from the
official publication, so I published my own which was a hot item on campus).
Kelly Bernard, my teacher, secretly provided mimeograph masters to me and
found another sympathetic teacher with a mimeo-machine at home to run off my
multi-page newspaper. My paper was full of poetry from my friends and me as
well as editorials on everything from the war in Viet Nam to school
policies.
I'm very fortunate to have had a teacher like Kelly. He made poetry
relevant. He made me relevant. God bless him.
:fp
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Frank Parker
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http://now.at/frankshome
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