Writers Corner for July 29, 2011

Wordsmiths unite!

Send us your poems, your stories and essays. We'll publish them here.

Now, we present another round of local creative writing from The Press Writers Corner.

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A SPECIAL GIFT

It all began Dec. 26, 1948 - my son, Dean Robert, was born - and now, almost suddenly, it seemed, it was 1958, and I was listening to his fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Chappell.

"Shall I give Dean additional homework? He needs more challenge. He's a dynamo, you know."

I knew, and tried to think of some miracle remedy as she continued, "He just won't apply his talent and energy to schoolwork. Right now, I'm at my wit's end - for instance, I leave the room for a few minutes and come back to a circus, and Dean is the ringleader." I sort of coughed a bit as I vividly visualized the scene, and she added, "I have 30 other students who need supervision. What do you suggest?" I thought for a moment.

"No, please don't give him more bookwork. He's very creative! Why don't you have him write a play? I'll guide him along."

Coming straight home from school that day, Dean excitedly announced, "Mom, I have to write a play for school!"

"Hmmmm, that sounds interesting," I said with a smile. "I bet you can write a good one. Let me know how you are doing." We both had many ideas, and the five-minute play turned into a two-act drama entitled "Christmas Around the World."

When Mrs. Chappell phoned me that Dean was almost a model student since he had been writing his play I breathed a prayer of gratitude. Then she asked, "Would you please help us present the play for a Christmas program?" I didn't feel well, and I knew I would never be ready for the holidays if I got into school theater, but when I realized how much this meant to my son, I knew this was the one show that "had to go on."

Mrs. Chappell was wonderful to work with, and the next 30 days were packed with activity. I spent nearly every day at school teaching shy fourth-grade boys how to march like toy soldiers - eager little girls to dance like sugarplums - practicing lines - teaching stage presence and staying in character - rounding up costumes and even rounding up a truant, new student who liked siestas and fiestas better than school. When I told him if he didn't come to school he couldn't have a part in the play he decided to come to school. We worked hard. Every child in the room had a part. It was sometimes discouraging, then inspiring; it was enervating, yet exhilarating. I became ill, but recovered enough to delay surgery.

One little girl moaned, "My part is boring. I'm getting tired saying the same thing over and over."

"That's the price you pay for being in a play," I told her. Then I promised her, "You won't be bored when you have an audience. You'll be excited and glad that you learned your part so well."

Showtime finally arrived. The curtain opened on a large sign which read: LOST - THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS, and on Mr. Mouse reading a letter: "Dear Santa, please bring me a house for a mouse, a little cheese, if you please, and if you have a trap to catch a cat, I need one. Thank you. From your friend, Mr. Mouse."

Our 30-day-wonder thespians gave three fine performances, even if an excited Mr. Mouse said one of Mr. Cat's lines. With his furry-costumed paw, Mr. Cat promptly poked Mr. Mouse and muttered very audibly, "You said my part!" We weren't prepared for an encounter of that kind, but it did bring the house down in laughter.

When the feuding cat and mouse became friends, and the children from around the world sang "Silent Night" together, everyone knew the Spirit of Christmas had been found. The last curtain call brought many tears. One little boy cried, "It almost seems like the end of the world - can't we do our play one more time?"

At the reception honoring the cast, the parents, all who helped with the costumes, Mrs. Chappell, school administrators, the play directors, and the students, a Deseret News photographer took many pictures of the students, who were just blooming with self-esteem.

Principal Greenwell said to me, "I can hardly believe the change in Dean since he has been working on this play."

Almost in tears of joy, I murmured, "Beautiful discipline is so great; it leaves the children with their dignity. Just look at them, posing for pictures and enjoying the recognition and approval they have earned."

That night I was ill, and I was tired, but it was a happy tired. I knew my young son better, and now I knew him as a co-playwright and student director. Dean and his classmates learned a good bit about commitment and the follow-through necessary for success.

On Christmas Eve, 31 precious, hand-decorated thank you/Christmas cards from the students arrived at our place. One card from a child with a little speech problem tugged at my heart. It read: "I hope you get better. This is the happiest Christmas I ever had cause I got to say a part in a play."

Oh, the gladness of knowing that I had helped - helped a child with a personal heartache. Although our Christmas lacked the traditional frills, the sheer joy of sublimation - channeling the Instinctive Impulses and the restless energy of youth into something lovely and worthwhile - gave my entire family, especially Dean and me, a Christmas gift we would never have found wrapped in Christmas paper tied with tinsel and velvet ribbon.

P.S. I'm hoping that you will print this now - July is a good time to talk about Christmas - and perhaps there are people who are in the situation I was in 50 years ago and who might be inspired to find something new and wonderful in their children and even in other peoples' children. It can happen. Children who are appreciated and are recognized and have approval often become what they're called. Even now, at 91 and a half, and my son is turning 62 in December, this lesson has been vibrant and has brought such joy to me. It changed my child's attitude. He had a good start being the ring leader of a three-ring circus in school. I wept reminiscing with these old papers, being happy again that the whole thing happened!

P.P.S. I gave this story as a Toastmaster speech in about 2002. All of the evaluators wanted to know, "What happened to Dean?" And in case you're wondering - in the seventh grade, he decided to use his second name, Robert, so now he's Bob. And in an ABC Wide World of Sports show he thanked his mother for making him take ballet lessons. His partner, Kathy Farnham, went on to dance with the Celeste Ballet of San Francisco. Dean Bob went on to Hot Dog and Free Style Ski with the likes of Stein Erickson. He was a world class skier, taking many prizes, and the big national prize in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, in 1972. He lives in Park City, Utah, and has been married since 1975 to Else Brenner, a German American airlines flight attendant. He hangs in effigy in the Olympic Museum in Park City, Utah. And he is a loving, kind person. He started walking when he was six months old, and I've been bringing up the rear ever since. And by the way, he turned out to be a good writer.

- Roberta L. T. Davison

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NOT A LIMERICK

Limericks are fun, by golly.

They're often happy and jolly.

So I tried one just for folly.

Lines one and two, they always rhyme.

They must be kept in perfect time.

And matching line three to four

Really isn't a great big chore.

But rhyming four to one and two

Is where I hit my bug-a-boo.

This poem is not a limerick.

BUT THIS ONE IS

Lou lived in an old gray shack

Across from a railroad track.

She wasn't sad, or she wasn't lonely.

She had a friend whose name was Jack.

Together they ate white bread and baloney.

- Helen Mitchell, Hayden

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Send your Writers Corner submissions to Maureen Dolan, [email protected].

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You can send hard-copies by mail to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814.