I usually model assignments for my students. One of my favorites was the personal statement I wrote about black licorice. Yeah, I know, it’s gross and no one likes it, but everyone has had that wonderful anise-flavored treat in their mouth, in some form or another. It’s the underdog, the candy people pass over, the one they pick out of a jelly bean mix, but it’s still around for some reason. And once, long ago, I found a way to write about black licorice as thus, all the while tying myself into its greatness.
Students have a hard time with personal statements because, well, they’re statements. They’re not an essay. No hamburger on anyone’s board is going to help them out here with claim and evidence. It’s a statement–something you might give the police after seeing an accident.
“Sir, can I get a statement on what happened here?”
“Yes you can, officer. You see, driving is an experience shared by many in this great land. From two-lane country roads to the seven-lanes-across 405 freeway, everyone who’s gotten behind the wheel has a story to tell.”
That’s all swell, but it’s an introduction to an essay. A statement has to hit the ground running and tell what needs to be told. I want to see some action.
I just graded many argumentative editorials this weekend. The assignment was not even mine–The New York Times gives it every year as a chance for young people to have an editorial, argumentative opinion and get it done in 450 or less. They offer 401 topics, a link to the guidelines, a link to last year’s winners, and their rubric. It’s all there, so there was no model from me.
Their papers were less than stellar. I told them over and over that they are teenagers, that the editorial, though argumentative, is still THEIR claim, and could be backed with what THEY have to say. Their papers were timid.
Their writing was fine, but there was nothing holding a reader to the words. No tension. No action. And very little of them. Most were hard to finish and didn’t offer much once there.
We talked about it today. My students just have it in their heads that they can’t write about themselves, conditioned for years to write a certain way that appeases teachers who don’t write. I am so tired of hearing, “Our teacher told us we couldn’t use I,” but I keep hearing it. The prompt can literally have “Feel free to use examples from your personal life and experience,” but, to them, it might as well read “Don’t you dare. Anyone who does is defying a former teacher.”
So, no one was bold. No one took a chance. Some cool topics, but it ended up just being words on a page. In the end, we chalked it up to practice, which is really important. I came home, finished a box of Good and Plenty (no lie), and wrote this.
No matter how mundane that last sentence was, at least it had action. Plus, I was part of that action. Perhaps you saw me shoving pink and white Good and Plenty into my mouth. Practice. However, I only have 57 more days with them. More practice.