Deprived youth

I was speaking to a group of Newington High School students yesterday about writing.  In attempting to explain the importance of twisting stereotypes and giving the reader the unexpected, I used the example of Hannibal Lecter from The Silence of the Lambs. 

Lecter was an absolute villain and a genuine cannibal, I explained, but the audience couldn’t help but like him.  In the closing scene of the movie, Lecter is preparing to kill and eat Dr. Childress, the psychologist who has tormented him for years, and even though this man is little more than an arrogant and lecherous weasel, the audience finds itself pleased that Lecter has escaped and Childress will be receiving his comeuppance at the hands of Lecter. 

Turns out no one in the class has ever seen the movie.

THE WHOLE CLASS HAD NEVER SEEN THE MOVIE.

Their teacher reminded me that they were not alive when this movie was released, but I reminded her that I wasn’t alive when films like Psycho were released but I’ve still seen them.

A whole class of high school students who have never seen Silence of the Lambs, which is, by the way, widely regarded as one of the best films ever made?

Horrifying.

I assigned them the movie for homework.

I also added that the Thomas Harris novel upon which the film was based was also excellent, as was all of his work. 

HANNIBAL, the follow-up novel to SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, was one of the only books that literally had me cringing through scenes, and there was one particular scene that made me want to take a shower after reading it.

I still get the creeps just thinking about it. 

Two kinds of teachers

I have a theory on teachers: People become teachers because they loved school and were exceptionally well behaved as children, or they were disappointed by school and behaved poorly.

Those who liked school become teachers of the more traditional variety.  They attempt to re-create their blissful childhood experience for their students.

Those that were disappointed by school and behaved poorly end up as non-traditional teachers, doing everything they can to create an entirely different experience for their students.  These teachers are a riskier bet in terms of effectiveness and can make many parents apprehensive (especially those who loved school and their sweet, traditional teachers), but they also tend to possess a greater upside than those traditional, safe teachers in that they are often better able to harness the energy of difficult students and excite a class.

Which would you want for you child?

I’d take the riskier teacher every time, but I’d also watch him or her like a hawk.

Reunited! And perhaps an idea for a book.

This afternoon, I was eating lunch with a colleague who has been teaching for almost forty years.  She was telling us about some of her most memorable students from the past, including a young man named Richard who she had taught back in 1971.  Richard wasn’t the most well-behaved student in third grade and she was wondering what ever happened to the boy.

So I looked him up. 

In less than three minutes, I had located Richard and his place of business just by using my iPhone.  Then I called his place of business, despite my colleague’s protests and utterances of disbelief.

After confirming that Richard had attended the elementary school where my colleague had worked, I handed the phone to her, and the two began to speak.

It turns out that the once-naughty Richard is now a husband, the father of three children, a successful business owner, and a motorcycle aficionado.  By all accounts, he is doing very well for himself and no longer resembles that difficult, rough-and-tumble boy that he once was.  

Even better, he remembers my colleague as being one of his favorite teachers of all-time.  When I told him who was sitting beside me, he said, “No.  Really?  How old is she?  This is the strangest phone call I’ve ever received.  But it’s great.”

Richard lives only a couple of towns away from where he attended elementary school, and my colleague still has family in the area, so the two plan to get together for coffee the next time she is in town.

Just imagine:  Thirty-eight years after leaving third grade, you have the opportunity to sit down for coffee with your favorite teacher of all-time and tell her about the direction that your life has taken.

If we could all be so lucky.   

I was so happy for Richard, but I was even more pleased for my colleague.  Teachers worry about their former students a lot, and this particular colleague takes her worrying to an extreme.  She loves her kids and only wants the best for them, but as teachers, we hear stories about our former students which sometimes sadden us greatly.  Finding a way to brighten her spirits by helping her locate one of her most challenging former students and allowing her to see that even these difficult students can turn out just fine made my day. 

My week, even.  

My friend, Lindsay, suggests that this might make an interesting book.  I could spend some time reuniting former students with their teachers after years of separation and write about the resulting interactions.  Perhaps sprinkle in some of my own experiences with former students as well, many of whom I still have a relationship.  Some of whom now babysit for my daughter, housesit with my cat, and take my dog on the weekends when we are away. 

I have a lot of books to write (most of them fiction), but this idea isn’t bad.  At the very least, I’d like to hear about how the meeting between Richard and my colleague goes and perhaps write a story about this one instance for the newspaper.  And who knows?  Perhaps it might turn into a book someday.

It certainly sound fun.  But the question is:

Would you be interested in this kind of book?  Or would it be the kind of book that only appeals to teachers?

If you have any thoughts on the subject, please let me know. 

Talented teenager

My former student has been creating some stop-motion videos that are both ingenious and highly entertaining.  She was brilliant when I taught her in third grade, but seven years later, she’s even more impressive.  Please take a moment and check them out.  They are sure to bring a smile to your face.

I’m actually thinking about asking her to create a stop-motion video trailer for my next book, UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO, similar to the stop-motion stick drawings that she did in the third video.  I thought that she might be able to capture the idea of the story and the character of Milo pretty effectively through this medium.  And the thought that a former student created the trailer might have some additional appeal to readers and even media outlets.

Now if I can just convince her to read the book…

Don't compliment students. One kid's compliment is another kid's insult. Restaurant staffers also take note.

As a teacher, I abide by a simple and unusual rule in my classroom:

No compliments based upon physical appearance. 

I do not comment on a student’s wardrobe, hairstyle, shoes, or anything else related to the student’s image, even if he or she asks. 

Student: Mr. Dicks! What do you think of my new haircut?

Me: I think your memorization of the multiplication tables is outstanding!

Some think this policy a bit extreme, but having grown up wearing hand-me-down clothing and the cheapest of sneakers, I am well aware of the seemingly harmless praise that is often lauded upon the girl in the pretty dress or the boy in the dapper sports coat. 

While the student being complimented might feel great, what about the other students in the class, some of whom might rarely be complimented on their appearance?

One person’s compliment is another person’s painful reminder of what he or she does not have.

Besides, as a teacher, a student’s physical appearance is of little importance to me, nor should it matter to any teacher.  While I’d like them to be physically fit, I tell my students that I care about their words and deeds. Nothing more.

Even so, it wasn't an easy habit to break, as our society often seems hell-bent on praising a child’s appearance at every turn. It probably took three years to strip all compliments based upon physical appearance our of my teacher lexicon.

Today, I inform students of my policy on the first day of school, and their response is universally positive and appreciative.  

While some adults have understood and even admired this policy, many think that it is unnecessary and even ridiculous.

But not all.

After reading his piece in the New York Times entitled One Hundred Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do.  I suspect that Bruce Buschel might appreciate my policy on physical appearance.  His list includes: 

42. Do not compliment a guest’s attire or hairdo or makeup. You are insulting someone else.

While I’m not sure if complimenting a student’s appearance means that you’re insulting another student, there’s a good chance that you are neglecting one or unintentionally making one or more students feel subpar, and that’s bad enough for me.