By Lady Gray, June 9, 2015 — For five years, at the Lafiya Family Services Reach One to Teach One Summer Camp, my title had been Specialist Instructor / Poet. I came to the camp and showed elementary school-aged boys and girls how to write poetry. No complaints there. Since the age of ten, maybe even sooner than that, I read, ate, drank and slept poetry. I have loved the subject since I got my first library card.
So imagine my surprise when I checked the roster for summer camp in the year 2000 and they had listed me as the Creative Writing Specialist. Creative Writing maybe, but hardly a specialist on the subject. To me, that encompassed so much more than just poetry. It meant I had two weeks before camp to figure out what that would mean to me and the campers that would be sitting in front of me two, sometimes three times a week for the next eight weeks.
When I finally had my preparations in order, I approached the first day of camp confident that I would have something interesting for my three groups to do. Three groups of campers: the Primaries (ages 5 and 6), the Middlers (ages 7 and 8) and the Juniors (ages 9 and 10). Most of them were returning campers except the 5 year olds and maybe a handful of new faces in the other groups. While there may have been some reluctant writers, most of the projects I planned could be done in small groups or as a class. At this point, my worries were few.
What I did not know until the day camp started was that a new group was added. They were 11 and 12 years old with 3 thirteen year-olds whose parents did not want them to be home alone all summer. Appropriately, they would be called the Seniors. As the kids say today, “OMG! What am I going to do with a bunch of tweens, pre-teens and new teens who are notorious for thinking they know everything?” Thankfully there were only 12 of them so I was still able to maintain some order during our sessions.
I had to re-vamp my writing plan a bit for the older campers. The older kids cooperated well enough for us to have some good sessions. Week One- I had them make up fiction stories about themselves and who they wanted to be. I got everything from astronaut to movie star with a few basketball players and rappers thrown in the mix. Some even volunteered to show the class their skills! The boys and girls gave the task their best effort except for a boy named Omar (not his real name).
Week Two- They had to interview someone in their family as if they were reporters or authors preparing to write someone’s biography. The campers surprised me by asking their subjects some very pointed questions and got a few historic facts in the process.
Week Three- I told these young people to do their own autobiographies. They older campers wrote about themselves being just a little too truthful sometimes, especially about living in foster care but maybe they needed to talk about it. Everyone cooperated, except Omar.
Week Four: We wrote a group story in class. Each young person contributed 2 or 3 sentences to the story and turned out to be a great mystery piece. This time Omar did participate.
Week Five: I had them critique the writing of someone else either in a newspaper or magazine. I wanted them to understand what proofreading was and why it was necessary. They also gave their opinion on the article and the writer. They all did it, except Omar.
Week Six: We concentrated on poetry. We wrote tongue-twisters, haikus, rhyming poems, free verse. We even picked a product and wrote a jingle for it. Then we had a lot of fun trying out different melodies for our jingle, except Omar. Let me point out that like other teachers, I experienced the frustration of having to stop the lessons from time to time to say any or all of the following: “Please, go back to your seat.” “You just had a bathroom break.” “Put that down, it’s not yours!” “Why are you bothering them?” “Stop talking!” “Why aren’t you writing, class isn’t over yet?” “Don’t do that!” “I’m going to have to report this to your mother.” “Stop! Just stop!” Most of these commands and warnings were directed at (say it with me, now) Omar! I was so exasperated. I really did not think anything would get and hold his attention.
Week Seven: I got the bright idea to have the campers write a play. They had the option of working as pairs, in small groups or individually. I allowed them to situate themselves before I gave them the topic. Not surprisingly, Omar did not move. I was not sure if it was because he did not want to do it or if he was going to work alone. Once they were settled I said, “How many of you remember the story in the Bible about the Prodigal Son?” Most of the children raised their hands but for those who did not know or remember it, I gave a brief summary with some help from some of the campers. “Well Senior Campers, you are going to take the story our of Biblical times and make it a modern day, 21st Century story.” One of the boys asked if they had to keep the title. “No,” I answered, “Why? What title would you give it?” To my surprise, Omar blurted out “The Knucklehead!” “Okayyy,” I replied with a smile just for him, “Go for it.” For the first time, Omar came alive. He wrote diligently during the remaining 4 sessions as if his life depended on it. Not one did I have to say anything to him about his behavior. In fact, the only time I had trouble was trying to get him to go to the next activity. “Wait!” He’d shout. “I’m not finished this part” or “Can’t I skip swimming? I need to do this now.” I was amazed. Omar never missed swimming.
During the last week of camp, we got an extra session to prepare for Parents’ Day. That was the day set aside for each Specialty Class to present what the campers had been doing all summer. Each Specialty Class: Art, Dance, Music, Arts & Crafts and Creative Writing prepared something special for the parents to see. Our group had a chance to do some table-reads of the plays that were written and the group decided that Omar’s play “The Knucklehead” would be the one presented on Parents’ Day. A table-read is where everyone who will be the voice of a character in the play sits and reads their part aloud including the narrator. You can still get the feel of the play but the dramatic action is missing.
In Omar’s play, the money the boy squandered was his college fund and he spent it on a condo, an expensive car, designer clothes and parties. His guests at these parties, mostly freeloaders, robbed him blind especially since he spent a lot of time drinking or getting high. One day he woke up to find himself homeless, eating out of dumpsters, dressed in rags and dirty. Just like in the Bible story, this Prodigal Son, this Knucklehead went home to his father who welcomed him with open arms.
When the read was done, Omar and the others who read with him, got an enthusiastic round of applause and I was truly proud he found his purpose as a creative playwright.