Forget About It

I'm reading The Blind Side and the kid says,

"People ask me if I ever reach the top will I forget about them? So I ask people if I don’t reach the top will y’all forget about me?"

 

Forget About It

I said something terrible the other day. We watched a video and I laughed and told the class:

I don't remember that student's name. I don't remember that student's name. Or that student's name. And it wasn't a lie. I couldn't think of their names off the top of my head.

So here's how I sleep at night:

Let's just run the numbers. Two classes every semester, that's 70 students. So every year that's 140 students. After five years, that's 700 students. Not to mention the four classes of sophomores, that's 120 every year. After six years, that's 720 students. So that's over 1400 students in six years.

I mean, my heart is big, but c'mon...

Plus I have to remember my wife's birthday, what grades my kids are in, my social security number, my anniversary, my address, my phone number, my top 5 favorite movies, my daughter's voice, to get milk, where I parked the car, when I last mowed the lawn, when I last wore this shirt, when the next new episode of New Girl is on, to take attendance, what my brother Josh looked like when he smiled, that God loves me, where my keys are, to tell my mom I love her, to call my dad on his birthday, my Skyward password,

plus a bunch of other stuff I can't remember.

So if I see you in a Walmart checkout line or in an old video, please forgive me if I can't think of your name right away.

I promise, I haven't forgotten you.

Your name is just a leaf that hasn't dropped yet. So before a big windstorm comes by, do something for me. 

Remember when we made the dance video with Caden and Tara and everyone? Forget about it.

Remember Tim's face when he was sitting back at my computer? Forget about it.

Remember when Lexi came back? Remember when Lon got up and read? Remember when Sarah and Addie's blogs made us jealous? Forget about it.

Remember how excited we all were on the first day? Forget about it.

Remember how nostalgic we were at the end? Forget about it.

Remember how I struggled to get your attention because the girls were just too excited about everything all the time? Forget about it.

Remember the day we tried to talk about Jonny, but nobody knew what to say? Forget about it.

Remember how I made seating charts, but most of you sat where you wanted anyway? Forget about it.

Remember how fast this year went? Remember Valentine's Day? Remember jumping in the air on Indie Day? Remember the story about the wise man and the bird and how everything was in your hands? Forget about it.

Remember this: doo, da, doo. da da da doo doo doo. #fancy

Remember trying to come up with a pen name? Remember choosing a blog template? Remember when nobody knew who you were? Forget about it.

Remember when I told you to fall in love? Forget about it.

Remember the story about the autistic son who typed the words "I Am Real" ? Because I almost forgot about that.

Remember the paradoxes, the contradictions, the top 5s that I missed, the pictures of journals I never showed you, remember the natives and the tourists, the hearts you saw and the ones you didn't, remember what your bones said, all the lines from all the songs, and every blog post you didn't read.

I feel like the girl in The Book Thief walking through the crowd of Jews whispering, "I won't forget you, I won't forget you."

But I'm sorry. Because I can't stop bombs from falling.

Found your blog. Blown Away. Please help?

Hello, Mr. Nelson.

You don’t know me, but I stumbled across your blog while looking for excerpts from Joe Brainard’s I Remember. I soon discovered countless poems that I believe are all student submissions. My question is: how have you guided them in crafting such stunning work???

Oh. Right. I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Joe Belknap, and I’m a Creative Writing teacher from Milwaukee.

To the point: Are you willing to share any powerful mentor texts you use? Or are there poets you could recommend to me?

Thank you. And thank you for being a teacher.

Best,

Joe Belknap

Hey, thanks Joe!

I just yelled at my 4th period class (full of sophomores, not creative writing students). So your e-mail was much needed. 

Yes, most of the examples and links on my blog are student examples. And I agree with you 100%. Some of them are absolutely stunning.

So how are they producing such great work?

Answer #1: I don't know.

Answer #2: I teach in an affluent, literate area. Maybe since many of them come from literate families, with books in their homes, that they come into the class already equipped with poetry. (Wait, so poor people can't write poetry?)

Answer #3: It's the platform. Because they each have their own blog, and they know other students will be reading their work (and perhaps Joe Belknap), they put forth maximum effort to make their words mean something.

Answer #4: It's not me, it's Anis Mojgani, it's Buddy Wakefield, it's Andrea Gibson, it's Sarah Kay, it's Phil Kaye, it's Derrick Brown.

Answer #5: I teach them less about craft and more about courage. I get them to look at themselves as creative, then I have them list their fears, then I tell them that we're all going to die, then I tell them that all their fears are irrational because really we're all going to die so why be afraid of anything else, and then I make them get up and do some SLAM POETRY SHARE YOUR HEART stuff in front of the class.

As far as mentor texts:

Joe Brainard's I Remember is amazing. I remember reading that when I was in college and it inspired me to write my guts out. Many of my mentor texts are slam poets (such as the ones mentioned earlier).

Feel free to use anything I've linked to on my blog. Most of the stuff I'm sure I've stolen myself.

Again, thanks for the e-mail. It means a lot. 

Kyle

SSDD

and it all happened in an instant.

Everyone graduated, and everyone got a year older. The announcements were licked and sealed. They saw New York and said goodbye to their boyfriends.

And here we go again.

I haven't posted anything in months and I don't know if it's because I was intimidated by them or you or

maybe these new guys just ain't ready yet.

I saw you in the hall yesterday, but you graduated three years ago.

We're friends on Facebook, but I can't remember your name.

We got married 14 years ago, but we still feel like teenagers.

You're already counting down the days until June. But my calendar still says August. It will always be August around here.

I was listening to Spotify five minutes ago, but the song ended. I was left in silence with only the sound of punched keys and the echoes of students in the commons getting ready for Homecoming.

Listen to me. Do your hair up real nice and put on two squirts of cologne. Ask your parents to borrow the car and stop for a minute to take it all in. One day you'll forget everything. One day Homecoming will no longer exist. 

Don't worry if you don't understand anything I'm writing. I don't either. Pretty soon you'll be graduated and married and divorced and it will all make sense. Hit me up on Facebook. I'll respond to your friend request within three weeks, I promise.

Welcome back.