LOVE MAIL

It's my youngest son's birthday, so I shouldn't be thinking about you guys.

But I feel bad.

I'm here at the District watching the Spongebob Squarepants movie and how Spongebob loves everything and I love that about Spongebob.

Mallary continues to surprise me. She's turned into one of my favorite poets and I don't think she was really into poetry before this class.

Michael is hilarious and I've thought so since his sophomore year.

Abby Waters doesn't swear at me even when I mark her absent on accident.

Tanner Johanson must be sick of me by now. English 10, TA, CW1, CW2, is he sick of me yet? Thanks for being real and funny and shy and funny. 
 
Kailee writes sick blog posts like this.

Squidward's talking about giving everyone refunds and I just hope these students don't ask me for a refund.

Morgan and Cass and McCall have broken the cheerleader stereotype. I'm serious. These girls have proven that you can be more than one thing and it's everything I've ever wanted people to get out of my class. They're dope writers and journalers and I'm glad they're in the class. I'm not afraid of cheerleaders anymore.

John melted the girls' hearts as a junior, so I can just imagine what he's doing to them this year. #jernhayes

Reagan has synesthesia and she said it so casually and it sounds amazing and you can read about it here.

Megan is Matt's little sister, and that means a lot to me. But it's getting close to "oh hey, that's Matt. That's Megan's older brother."

Tanner Thompson is Tim's little brother, and it will always be that way and I'm sorry. But his last blog post had me feeling some kind of way. (And I've never used that phrase before in my life.)

Sara is my daughter's favorite.

Plankton's talking about teamwork and he calls Spongebob the worst teammate ever. I felt like that today.

Isaac is good at Lacrosse and drawing and writing and other subjects and footbag and probably everything. And he's humble. What?

Abby Newell is a good person. I asked her to swear yesterday and she wouldn't. But she was smiling as she said it.

Annie probably doesn't do drugs and she probably never will. She took my class as a junior and I don't feel like she's ever left. In a good way.

Madeline is the Shawn Kemp of our class. Freak athlete who could jump out of the gym, but then they sold the Supersonics and I think he has like 17 biological children. I'm not sure that really connects, but I saw some socks at Nordstrom with him on it and I almost bought them even though they were $18. I seriously don't know how this connects with Madeline, but I've written more about her than anyone else, so I don't have time to explain anymore.

Colby has been on my mind since his sophomore year. That sounds really creepy. But I followed you to Arizona and I'm just glad you're home.


JJ wasn't supposed to be in this class, but I'm so glad she is. Her mom favorites some of my tweets.

Micah won the cutest couple with Mitchell Squires in the WritersParis Film Festival and I think she should win cutest couple when she was pretending to be me.

Squidward tells everyone it was fun while it lasted. We only have 16 classes left together.

Natty is Zack's little sister and I can still remember the video she made for the film festival. Just her in the forest. Goofy faces and poetry and it was dope squared.

Mallory, Ashley, and Saige aren't in the class anymore, but they still helped build our broken plane.

Sam is smart and I'm always trying to impress her.

C.J. has all the good ideas and I should do whatever she suggests.

McKay's blog was one of the greatest of all time. I talk trash that girls are the best writers and boys are cowards, but McKay is easily one of the most creative cats in the game. He changed what a blog could be.

Cole is a lyricist. He's a deep thinker who reminds me of myself when I was younger. Only he's much more opinionated and intelligent.

Taylor is straight up now tell me. There's no playing games with her and I DIG THAT ABOUT YOU MAN.

Emma is Clark's sister and I remember I once made the joke that Fruehan sounds like a yogurt, but I don't ever think of yogurt when I see her.

Natalie plays footbag sometimes with us during lunch and her leg bends sort of weird so now we call that kick The Pliler Leg.

Maddi's Beyonce rendition at the Noscars still blows my mind. How could such a powerful voice come out of such a small, quiet person?

Jess should be the president of the class.

Hannah doesn't talk much but she can sing the freaking roof off.

Hailey is directing A Winter's Tale, which plays tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday. Holy crap.

I need to shave my head. I need to trim my nose hairs. I'm doing a TEDx talk tomorrow for crying out loud, I shouldn't be writing this freaking blog post.

But at the end of the Spongebob movie, the dolphin (Bubbles) had a freestyle rap battle with a seagull and it made me think of you guys. This year will always be the specialest....

HATE MAIL

Dear students,

I'm annoyed.

Maybe I shouldn't write this right now, because I'm angry. But I want to get some things off my chest.

I'll start with my "advanced" creative writing class.

Today's Mini-Slam was one of my favorite class periods of all time. But for some reason, here I sit unsatisfied. 

I'm sure the people who need to read this won't. And that's part of what bothers me.

Some of my complaints (in no particular order):
-how often you're tardy
-how often you miss class
-you didn't dress up today
-you never comment on the blog
-you don't write on your blog enough
-you don't read other people's blogs
-how easy you make my class feel

I'm sure there's more.

I feel like I care about this class more than some of you. I know you're teenagers and you're seniors and you just want to leave, but....

I feel like last year's seniors might've deserved this class more than you.

I feel like some of my CW1 students wouldn't take this class for granted.

(I'm sorry for lecturing everyone when not everyone deserves it.)

I just spent almost an hour trying to figure out how to add a slideshow to the blog. I can't get some of you to spend an hour on my class in an entire week.

Like I said, the people who need to read this won't.

Some of you are golden. I'm so happy you're in the class. You're getting so much out of it. But out of 33 students, I bet that number is like 20. That makes me sad.

Some of you are coasting. I wish I knew how to change that.

I feel like the coach whose voice you've heard for a little too long. And you've stopped listening.

I know I'm partly to blame. I've created a very laid back atmosphere and I've been very relaxed and the whole "building the plane as we sail it" thing.

BUT I'M SICK OF TAKING A BACK SEAT TO YOUR OTHER CLASSES.

This is the most important class on your schedule. Quit treating it like the 5th most important class.

I'm so angry. And I'm going to delete this instead of clicking PUBLISH.

It's 3:11 right now and I shouldn't be thinking about your class anymore. My son went to camp yesterday and I want to go home and see him. I miss him. (I just came back to this paragraph...it's 3:33 right now and my daughter just called to ask if I had her backpack. I do. I miss her too. Screw this stupid blog post.)

My CW1 students are revealing their pen names this weekend. I don't know why I wanted to share that, but it's on my mind. Landon's reveal is going to be hard to beat. It's sad to think that my CW1 class is getting more out of their creative writing class than my "advanced" creative writing class. It's probably my fault. They have clear expectations and you don't.

Some of my former students are getting more out of my class than you are. They still write, they still read, they're still present. Some of you are already on your 2-year missions but you're somehow getting credit in my class. Maybe that's why you're absent so much.

I NEED TO STOP COMPLAINING AND GO HOME ALREADY.

I guess I just want us all to get more out of life.

That's it. I'm sorry.

It's just...I was hoping to be happy by March 27th, and I'm not. And we're running out of time together.

Lifeguards (Draft #5)

Here's the original blog post last summer. 

Now I'm working on a poem performance for an upcoming TEDxUVU talk.

I'm going to read this poem to my classes tomorrow and gather feedback. I need to send my final draft to UVU tomorrow (Wednesday). And then I need to memorize the poem for the performance (next Wednesday).

Lifeguards

In 1st grade, I was waving. [wave]
In 2nd grade, I was waving. [wave]
In 3rd grade, I was drowning. [wave]
 
In 6th grade, I was waving again. [wave]
In 9th grade, drowning. [wave]
10th grade, drowning. [wave]
11th grade, drowning. [wave]
12th grade, drowning. [wave] 

I didn't become a teacher because I loved high school.

I did it for the money, money, money.  [wave, wave, wave]

When I was 12 years old, my mother went to see a fortune teller. The lady told my mom that one day I would pull a drowning boy from water and that I would spend the rest of my life trying to save people. 

I thought about becoming a lifeguard, but I'm afraid of sharks and I look weird with my shirt off.

So I wear sweater vests to work
and when I see young people waving in the halls,
I look twice to make sure they're not drowning.

Sometimes fortune tellers get it right. And sometimes they don't. 

You know what. Excuse me, sir. Would you put your phone away, please? I asked you to hold all questions until the end. No, you may not use the bathroom. Don't make me call home. Pay attention, follow along. Don't clean up while I'm talking. The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do. You, in the back, get your head up. No, you may NOT use the bathroom. Don't make me repeat myself. Don't make me repeat myself. 

(Sigh) Maybe I should've become a lifeguard. Maybe I did.

I mean, yeah, we work opposite seasons. But we have more in common than you think. 

Lifeguards and teachers. We got into it for the right reasons. For the children. For the summers. Parents rely on us and teenagers ignore us. We both have big plans. We're going to save up to buy a car, we're going to save the world. We were both going to save the world. But we spent more time blowing our whistles, telling kids to stop running, than we ever did diving in and saving people.

We make less than we should, and everyone thinks we have it easy. Each August adds another five years to our faces.

But we're not the only ones. No matter what you choose to do with your life, it probably won't go as planned. Lawyers got into it to find the truth, but they're too busy looking for technicalities. Doctors got into it to heal people, but they're too busy checking insurance cards. Police Officers got into it for the chase, but they're too busy filling out paperwork.

We'll spend the next offseason wondering if we're doing what we're supposed to.Then some random Tuesday, a kid with a shaved head will wave to us, and we'll decide to do it all over again.

writers and other things

starting now,

you guys can be writers and cheerleaders and writers and lacrosse players and writers and actors

you can be writers and singers and writers and designers and writers and dancers and writers and rappers and writers and pissed off and writers and kind and writers and everything

you can be good friends and writers and chefs and writers and hipsters and writers and artists and writers and AP students and writers

and you can be missionaries and writers and alcoholics and writers and make-up artists and writers and boyfriends and writers and girlfriends

and you can be writers

and you can be little sisters and writers and big sisters and writers and little brothers, big brothers, no brothers and writers

and you can be popular and writers and underdogs and writers and tall and writers and small and writers and business majors and writers and small business owners and writers and gardeners and writers and potheads and writers and procrastinators and writers and OCD and writers and ADHD and writers and LMNOP and writers and left-handed and writers and

I shouldn't have to give you permission, but here I am. 

On the Ropes

Round 1:
It all happens so fast, you don't even remember it.

Round 2:
You bob and weave, you have plenty of energy. One, two. One, two. You stick and move. You float like a butterfly and you smile.

Round 3:
You take a shot to the chin and your knees wobble. Your trainer reminds you to keep your hands up.

Round 4:
You hit your gloves together and go in for more.  You deliver a left-right combination that almost shocks the world. The crowd goes wild. This is what they paid to see.

Round 5:
You take a hit below the belt. You're gonna feel that one tomorrow. 

Round 6:
You see stars and hear bells ring. The ref gives you a standing eight count and asks you if you want to keep going. Yes. 

Round 7:
You're down again. One knee, looking for your mouthpiece. I swear it's around here somewhere. 

Round 8:
Flashback to watching fights with your dad when you were a kid. Saturday night and you never thought you'd lose him. Two more drinks and the lights almost go out forever. 

Round 9:
You're your father's son again. Jab, jab, jab, and dance. This is what it's supposed to look like. Jab, jab, jab, and boom. Haymaker. The crowd's behind you and Disney's thinking about making a movie.

Round 10:
"This kid's got heart."
 
Round 11:
A lull. It happens every couple of rounds. We only have so much energy. You dance and hug, dance and hug. This thing's almost over. 

Round 12:
This is it. It feels like the end, but it lasts forever. Bright lights, crowd cheering, trainers yelling. This is it. You don't knock him out, but he doesn't knock you out either. The bell rings and you wait for the decision.