It's a Tuesday or Thursday morning, and I'm slowly feeling my way on black roads to BYU's campus. It's a lonely business. At 7:00 A.M. the only thing alive in my office building is a vacuum. It's operator is still asleep, so I wave hello to the vacuum and settle into my office to prepare for the day's writing lesson. It's a delicate balance, teaching: one part magic show with high jinks to two parts labor and delivery. Today I have to jiggle the scales to make room for a research lecture. I make notes, print copies, cue clips, and then I whisper a prayer into the corner of my cubicle: "It's so early. Please let them be awake. Please let me be awake. Please help us learn something together today . . ." At 7:58 a.m., I unfold my spirit and walk across the lawn to the Maeser building. Campus is different now than it was an hour ago. Feet fall. Bicycles spin. Doors sway in open-and-shut rhythm. And suddenly, I am no longer alone. I am in room 211 and five rows of eyes follow my satchel to the front of the class, trying to decipher what it holds for them for the next 90 minutes. Today we spend the first 10 minutes of class the same way we do every class class period. "Take out your journals," I say. "Today I want you to write . . ." I want them to write and write and write. I want them to make their fleeting world a tangible one. I want them to etch their hearts and minds into that paper so they can see the people they've become. I want them to write and I want them to learn. Because somewhere in that early morning dialogue between pen and paper, when the skies are still flannel and their eyes are still heavy, the sun rises. And then everything looks different.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Getting Started
It's a Tuesday or Thursday morning, and I'm slowly feeling my way on black roads to BYU's campus. It's a lonely business. At 7:00 A.M. the only thing alive in my office building is a vacuum. It's operator is still asleep, so I wave hello to the vacuum and settle into my office to prepare for the day's writing lesson. It's a delicate balance, teaching: one part magic show with high jinks to two parts labor and delivery. Today I have to jiggle the scales to make room for a research lecture. I make notes, print copies, cue clips, and then I whisper a prayer into the corner of my cubicle: "It's so early. Please let them be awake. Please let me be awake. Please help us learn something together today . . ." At 7:58 a.m., I unfold my spirit and walk across the lawn to the Maeser building. Campus is different now than it was an hour ago. Feet fall. Bicycles spin. Doors sway in open-and-shut rhythm. And suddenly, I am no longer alone. I am in room 211 and five rows of eyes follow my satchel to the front of the class, trying to decipher what it holds for them for the next 90 minutes. Today we spend the first 10 minutes of class the same way we do every class class period. "Take out your journals," I say. "Today I want you to write . . ." I want them to write and write and write. I want them to make their fleeting world a tangible one. I want them to etch their hearts and minds into that paper so they can see the people they've become. I want them to write and I want them to learn. Because somewhere in that early morning dialogue between pen and paper, when the skies are still flannel and their eyes are still heavy, the sun rises. And then everything looks different.
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I love the part "I want them to make their fleeting word a tangible one" Thank you for teaching us how, it is a valuable skill that blesses our lives :)
ReplyDeleteSister Price, you are the first person who has really convinced me that writing can be fun and enjoyable for me. Thank you for being such a stellar teacher. I love reading your papers. They're so well written and make me want to learn to write like you do. Thank you so much.
ReplyDeleteI like how you "waved hello to the vacuum". More interesting that just saying hi. Thanks for waking up extra early to teach our class.
ReplyDeleteClark, your message was almost as brown-nosing as Sister Price and her notes to her elementary teacher! :)
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