One of my earliest memories is of my brother Ben flying backwards off the horse we were riding while my father leapt into the air- catching Ben just before he hit the ground. When I imagine how my father would have felt on that day if Ben had been injured, I think, its a good thing Pappy made that catch. When that vivid memory in turn provokes me to recall the gaggle of horse-related mishaps that would later come to befall my father, brother and myself, I also think that its a good thing we all gave up trying to become cowboys a long time ago. So, I thought I would become a teacher instead. That latter journey is one that would come to gallop me across whole countries and continents, fortunes would be made and lost, hats would be tipped and tail feathers would be ruffled, existential truths would become briefly visible only to disappear behind sagebrush horizons just as lustrous moustaches would be grown only to be solemnly shaved off again. On several occasions during this endeavor someone riding their chuck wagon beside mine would holler:
"So if you're thinkin' to make yourself one of those Elementary School Teachers, don't that imply that one must teach everything?"
"Sure as a good wrangler loves beans" I would reply.
And within that teachin' of everything, that explorin' of worlds as vast as the clear night sky, I knew from the top of my ten gallon hat to the tip if my spurs that such an undertaking would by golly necessitate the teaching of English Language Arts. As I envision that undertaking in my minds eye, I picture children writing poems about the first snowfall of the year that blankets white those hills in the distance, I hear students singing sad twangy ballads about the last of the dinosaurs and I sense the illumination that resides in a child when they read their first sentence, paragraph or story. I hope to see children teach each other concepts in math and history through poems and stories they have written, just as I hope that P.E and Drama games can allow children to further explore the stories and poems we have read in class. I picture pen pals and partner reading, listening games and representations proudly displayed within picture frames, and the delight of children learning to spell their own names. Above all, I suppose that it is my modest hope that those young stablehands will come to see language as none other than a trusty maguey lasso with which they can ride towards truth and perhaps better yet- fiction, scoop up friendships and downright hogtie those feelings of inadequacy that so often are the thorn in the boot of our young folk. Finally, lest I should forget, I also hope the process will be a hootenanny!
Lassos, Language and Literacy
