No one was more surprised than me when asked by Ms. S, a local teacher, to speak to her fourth-grade class about creative writing. Obviously she never talked to Mrs. Newsome my eleventh-grade English teacher at Briarwood High School, home of the Mighty Buccaneers. Then again, perhaps she had.
After reading my last term paper, Mrs. Newsome said she had never seen such “creative” writing in her entire life, so maybe that is why Ms. S trusted me. Mrs. Newsome must not have told her I received a D- on that paper.
Ms. S (I would use Ms. Spence’s real name, but don’t know if she really wants to be in the paper) also invited me to be a Celebrity Bus Driver. Guess she had heard of my 27-year career driving fire trucks without an accident.
Well, to be totally honest, there were a few: those two birds and that one deer. But their demise really wasn’t my fault. After all, everyone knows that you’re supposed to yield to an emergency vehicle.
On the day of the speaking and Celebrity Bus Driving engagement, all the necessary equipment to survive and entertain the classroom and bus full of students was loaded into my car: an emergency red light and electric train whistle for the top of the bus, and five spitballs in a Ziploc bag. Spitballs were for that bully lurking in the back of the room. From my life experience in elementary school, there’s always a bully in every class. But my epic third-grade battle with Down the Street Bully Brad is a story for another time.
Arriving at the elementary school early left me some time to go over my talking points and check all of my equipment one last time. I left the train whistle and red light in my car knowing they could be retrieved quickly on my way to drive the afternoon bus. The five spitballs in a bag were stuffed into my front pocket.
Full of confidence and fully prepared for whatever would come or be thrown my way; I walked to the office. An ambassador from the classroom was waiting there to escort me down to the classroom.
Upon arrival at her door, Ms. S led me to the front of the room and introduced me to her class. I was shocked. Instead of rowdy, spitball-throwing students, I was greeted by a well-behaved, seated, and forward-looking class eagerly waiting for me to say something intelligent about writing. They were all perfectly quiet. Except, of course, the Giggler.
The delightful student was a ray of giggling sunshine. She giggled at most anything. Even at being quiet. By the end of the day I would discover she was an extremely talented gymnast as well.
While I looked for something to sit on, Ms. S retrieved a stool from a corner and brought it over to me. When she turned to leave, I walked over and retrieved her spare desk chair, sat down, and spun my way back to the front of the room.
This sent the Giggler giggling again, but this time her giggles were echoed by the rest of the class. During the visit we talked about how to continue a story from a partially written story, hooks (story introductions, not fishing gear), closings, transitions and opinions. The Giggler gave her opinion all throughout the talk, and each time I spun in the chair she giggled.
Hard as it was for me to believe, I witnessed no bullies in the entire class. The students were extremely well behaved, attentive, and not one spitball was thrown. They were perfect students who listened to everything I had to say.
Guess that’s more than I did in Old Mrs. Crabtree’s class. She said listening was the most important thing we could do if we were to become good writers one day. We had to listen first before learning could begin.
Guess I didn’t learn that lesson too well because, on the way to drive the bus, Ms. S thanked me again for being a Celebrity Bus Rider. I guess they did hear about those two birds and one deer that failed to yield to my fire truck after all.
I told stories to the busload of students about my elementary school bus driver, Sir Walter P. Holcomb, and greeted parents at each stop. My electric train whistle and emergency red light were left unused in the car. The five soggy spitballs in a Ziploc bag, still unused in my front pocket, were discarded in the trash upon returning to school.
But the memories of some of the brightest, well-behaved students I’ve ever had the privilege talking to I will carry with me forever.
A special thanks to the folks at Robert J. Burch Elementary School for their hospitality during my visit and, of course, for Ms. Spence and her entire class of wonderful students for the invite. Hope to spin my way back for another visit soon. And who knows, maybe next time I’ll get to use my train whistle.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
