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This is Brent. And this is my rebuttal to Part V.
Ring, Ring..."Brent! Phone. It's a giiirrrrl."
This moment was a perfect opportunity for my sister to embarrass me in front of my friends.
"GIRL?! I bet it's Kelsey from Maysville", they taunt as I pick up the phone hiding my interest in Kelsey; the mission trip girl by which all other mission trip girls will be compared. [You see they have been with me on these mission trips when I'm around Kelsey. They know it, I know it, but as guys we play it off. By "it" I mean instead of acting like a cartoon character; jaw dropped, eyes popped; tongue hanging out while we pant...we suppress it and act cool.]
“Hello”, I said with a nonchalant look.
“What does she want?” my friends whisper.
“Shhh. Worlds of fun.”
I’m sure they proceeded to act like “Brent” and “Kelsey” sitting next to each other on a roller coaster.
“Umm, yeah, I have to mow that day.” Making up the only excuse I had; it was the summer and that’s the only agenda I had besides having fun (worlds of fun you might say).
Why an excuse? I couldn’t go and reveal to the world I wanted to go…meaning I liked her…meaning the already awkward conversations with this girl would be even more awkward since we’d both know that I liked her. Besides, she seemed cool with it. She was so outgoing that I’m sure she could call up 5 guys cooler than me to go with her. “Ok, Bye.” The phone conversation ended and I tried continuously to convince my friends that I was too busy for ladies.
While the truth was that I LOVED worlds of fun and being in her company; she’s got such a great personality and she’s a beautiful girl. “Man, she must like you if she wants you go to with her to worlds of fun.”
“No, it was just for a church trip…plus I have a couple of yards I’ve been putting off mowing and really need to get done this weekend.”
We have started our poetry unit in LA II. I love reading my students' poetry. Today I shared this poem with them because I'm trying to convey the idea that poetry means taking something you care about and making it beautiful. I told them they could write about their muddy cowboy boots and make it a beautiful poem.
I absolutely love this poem. Each time I read it it is like a gift and wanted to share:
Valentine for Ernest Mann
by Naomi Shihab Nye
You can't order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, "I'll take two"
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.
Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, "Here's my address,
write me a poem," deserves something in reply.
So I'll tell you a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.
Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn't understand why she was crying.
"I thought they had such beautiful eyes."
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at his feet.
Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us
we find poems. Check your garage, the odd sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.
And let me know.
Another poem I absolutely love and will be sharing my my students soon is the following. I use this one to talk about the importance of titles. W talk about how poems are very very short stories, and you have to squeeze a lot in to the lines. Often the title is the foundation for the entire poem and without it the poem may not make any sense. See below: