A Lesson Learned In Second Grade
Writers study human nature and so must delve into the inner core of human angst. We must look beyond the superficial and find the driving force, the secret fear that motivates people in order to bring our characters to life. We have to find a way to connect with the reader, to make them say "yes, I can understand that fear! I too was terrified by Charlotte in Charlotte's Web - and I'm not even afraid of spiders! To this day I cannot watch that movie!"
Like my fear of tucking my hair behind my ears.
What?!?!?
Let me explain. When I was in the second grade, I had a horrible, cruel teacher. No, she wasn't even really a teacher. She must have been an Orc in disguise - or perhaps a harpy. She was ancient and had ferret like features and hands curled into claws complete with talon-sharp fingernails filed to a point. We called her Mrs. Crabapple, which was close to her real name but more fitting as she looked like a shriveled apple, wrinkled and dried up.
Everyone in my class hated her. She would make you stand up to ask a question and then take great pleasure in ridiculing your poor little seven-year-old self in front of everyone else, mocking you if you dared to cry.
She had many targets but I was one of her favorites. Maybe because I was generally pretty happy and friendly. Maybe because I tried hard to do things her way and to please her. I think the real reason was she was jealous of my hair.
Back then, I had long, blondish hair. It hung down to about my waist (like now, but now it's more brown and shot through with gray - lots and lots of gray). While in second grade I may not have had a figure to be proud of, or even all my front teeth, but I was proud of my hair. I brushed it every morning and every night, no matter how painful it was to dislodge all the tangles caused by running around the playground or riding my bike.
After months of trying to make the cantankerous old crone like me, I think she must have sensed I was giving up. My penmanship was not as exact, I'd allowed an ice cream bar to melt in my desk, and I refused to button my sweater up to my neck.
Then came the fateful day I tucked my long golden hair behind my ears.
I'd probably done this many, many times before - in fact, I'm sure I had. It was a habit, since I hated wearing headbands. But for some reason, this one particular day, it sent her over the edge.
There I sat at my little desk (the melted ice cream sandwich had since been cleaned up), working hard at my math problems, my honey colored hair tucked out of the way behind my ears when she swooped down upon me.
"Don't wear your hair that way," she snapped as one claw scraped my ear as she flicked the hair from behind it. "It makes your ears stick out and look big. I don't even want to catch you doing that again."
I was devastated, humiliated. My seven-year-old tender little ego was crushed to learn I had dumbo ears! I was so hurt. There wasn't anything I could do to make my ears smaller, was there? No, I would be destined to go through life as The Girl With Huge Ears. I could never tuck my pretty hair behind my monstrously huge ears again.
And I didn't for many,many years. Seriously. This one comment, made by a woman who was shortly "encouraged" to retire and had probably burned out years before on teaching a bunch of unruly second graders, changed my life and a part of my self-esteem for several decades.
Why am I boring you with this and not seeking out a therapist or consulting a plastic surgeon to have a lobe reduction? It's as I said in the beginning. Writing is a study of human nature and you never know when one small incident in a persons past can alter the course of who they become. When you create a character, it's the little things like having your second grade teacher tell you you have big ears that really shapes a person and as the creator, you need to delve into just such minute experiences.
And while I hate spiders, I'm not afraid of Charlotte - but she was a little creepy looking wasn't she?
Like my fear of tucking my hair behind my ears.
What?!?!?
Let me explain. When I was in the second grade, I had a horrible, cruel teacher. No, she wasn't even really a teacher. She must have been an Orc in disguise - or perhaps a harpy. She was ancient and had ferret like features and hands curled into claws complete with talon-sharp fingernails filed to a point. We called her Mrs. Crabapple, which was close to her real name but more fitting as she looked like a shriveled apple, wrinkled and dried up.
Everyone in my class hated her. She would make you stand up to ask a question and then take great pleasure in ridiculing your poor little seven-year-old self in front of everyone else, mocking you if you dared to cry.
She had many targets but I was one of her favorites. Maybe because I was generally pretty happy and friendly. Maybe because I tried hard to do things her way and to please her. I think the real reason was she was jealous of my hair.
Back then, I had long, blondish hair. It hung down to about my waist (like now, but now it's more brown and shot through with gray - lots and lots of gray). While in second grade I may not have had a figure to be proud of, or even all my front teeth, but I was proud of my hair. I brushed it every morning and every night, no matter how painful it was to dislodge all the tangles caused by running around the playground or riding my bike.
After months of trying to make the cantankerous old crone like me, I think she must have sensed I was giving up. My penmanship was not as exact, I'd allowed an ice cream bar to melt in my desk, and I refused to button my sweater up to my neck.
Then came the fateful day I tucked my long golden hair behind my ears.
I'd probably done this many, many times before - in fact, I'm sure I had. It was a habit, since I hated wearing headbands. But for some reason, this one particular day, it sent her over the edge.
There I sat at my little desk (the melted ice cream sandwich had since been cleaned up), working hard at my math problems, my honey colored hair tucked out of the way behind my ears when she swooped down upon me.
"Don't wear your hair that way," she snapped as one claw scraped my ear as she flicked the hair from behind it. "It makes your ears stick out and look big. I don't even want to catch you doing that again."
I was devastated, humiliated. My seven-year-old tender little ego was crushed to learn I had dumbo ears! I was so hurt. There wasn't anything I could do to make my ears smaller, was there? No, I would be destined to go through life as The Girl With Huge Ears. I could never tuck my pretty hair behind my monstrously huge ears again.
And I didn't for many,many years. Seriously. This one comment, made by a woman who was shortly "encouraged" to retire and had probably burned out years before on teaching a bunch of unruly second graders, changed my life and a part of my self-esteem for several decades.
Why am I boring you with this and not seeking out a therapist or consulting a plastic surgeon to have a lobe reduction? It's as I said in the beginning. Writing is a study of human nature and you never know when one small incident in a persons past can alter the course of who they become. When you create a character, it's the little things like having your second grade teacher tell you you have big ears that really shapes a person and as the creator, you need to delve into just such minute experiences.
And while I hate spiders, I'm not afraid of Charlotte - but she was a little creepy looking wasn't she?
Hi!
There are a few questions on your site.
How can I contact the administration?
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You just did. What are your questions?
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Wonderful post! I like your blog, and am a regular follower. I will be back monday!
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