I’m about to go all English teacher on you and share a project inspired by none other than a writing idea I found online.
It’s called a “Where I’m From” poem, and it’s about, as you might guess, “where you’re from.”
As I’m sure you fondly remember from high school, we English teachers are all about the hidden meaning and the “between the lines” essence of a writer’s words. At least, that’s what I’m told we’re all about. Therefore, a “Where I’m From” poem is not actually about where you’re from; rather, it’s more about what you’re from. But, naturally, “What I’m From” sounds crappy and “Where I’m From” is just so rich with connotation and possibility that English teachers everywhere want to give it a big kiss because it’s so beautiful.
I’m gagging a little as I write this. (I’m only trying to live up to the English teacher stereotype, you know?)
The point, Erin. What kind of English teacher are you? D minus for “ability to focus on a topic.”
Oh, yes. The point. The point is that I made some “Where I’m From” poems for us and then printed them so, in the event that we ever get around to putting holes in our walls, we can hang them up. I love them. I had to force Rick to sit down in an interview to get his poem’s details, but then I took care of the rest. Here are some snippets of mine:
Get it? Basically, you list a bunch of things that describe anything and everything you remember about growing up: your hobbies, your interests, your jokes, your family, your vacations, your friends, your secrets. Then, you end with a string of actions that pretty much sum it all up in a deliciously cryptic and not-literal-at-all way. Super easy, and super personalized. Nobody else on the earth will ever have this same exact thing hanging on their wall, unless, of course, you copy down what I wrote and hang it on your wall. But…why would you do that?
So: I’m from Barbies, band camp, and a seriously big imagination. (You can’t play fish science or pretend a coatrack is a drunken headmistress without it, you know.) And I can only imagine what my brother and I were dreaming up when one of my parents took this picture:
What are you from? What would you put in your poem if you were my student? Better yet, who wants to be my student? To audition for the part, please leave a comment in which you whine excessively about something that you did wrong but would like to blame on me, followed by a string of words used in ways I don’t understand, like “spit bars,” “ugg,” and “mad hype.”
P.S. I don’t actually find all of my students irritating. I find 90% of them to be quite lovely. You could, instead, audition to be one of the lovely ones, if, like I did, you received “Is a pleasure to have in class” on every single report card that you ever received. (I now know that this comment is actually code for “Thank you for not speaking in class.”)
***Linking this up to the Tater Tots & Jello Weekend Wrap-Up Party!***