Right then, I stopped reading, because I realized something
very important: that was not my story.
I am a creative person. Always have been. Eight-year-old
bowl-cut Amy, an enthusiastic little dweeb who wore brightly patterned shirts
and a perpetual smile, decided one day that she wanted to be a writer. And
people told her she could be.
Also, I was fascinated by everything. This is totally not posed. |
One example in particular comes in mind, one that goes
against Godin’s entire chapter about how our education system is designed to
repress creativity. I got an A on a high school history essay once. But it
wasn’t an essay. It was a one-act play about the life of Louis XIV. My teacher,
Mr. Gilmer, had me read parts of it out loud to the class.
At the time, I didn’t even know how to read the Roman
numeral in Louis’s name out loud without looking at a clock (it’s the
fourteenth, just for the record). But I did know that having people fight over
roles in your academic paper was pretty cool.
So I wrote the next essay as a short story set in the French
Revolution. And the next as a series of Help Wanted ads from the Industrial
Revolution. And the next as two speeches—for and against communism.
It was fun. All of the required facts from the textbook were
in those essays, but the content was unique. They weren’t just encyclopedia
copy-and-pastes. They had life in them, and people liked reading them.
Up to that point, I had been the student who sat in the back
and rarely spoke (yes, I know that’s hard for some of you to believe). I
suddenly became the student who debated the merits of postmodernism, asked
difficult questions, and had an opinion on almost everything. Most of the time,
in high school, I tried to blend in. In Mr. Gilmer’s class, I learned that it
was okay to stand out. And I never stopped.
Let’s fast-forward to July 2013. There are some days when I
don’t want to write or edit or create. I want to do mindless work or watch TV
or take a nap. Today was one of those days.
But I write and edit and create anyway, and it’s not money
or fame and fortune that’s motivating me.
I’m doing it for the librarian who let me check out way more
chapter books per week than the limit allowed. I’m doing it for the mom who let
me write a novel in eighth grade instead of working through the usual jr. high
homeschooling curriculum. I’m doing it for the college professor who gave me
enthusiastic feedback when I wrote a research paper about bacon in different world religions.
They defied Godin’s idea of what the stereotypical education
system looks like, and in doing so, they gave me a chance. They baked in my
creativity instead of stamping it out. Because of that I have an incredible
head start over a lot of other people who didn’t have that kind of encouragement.
So, to the non-stereotypical teachers out there: remember
that it’s up to you whether to stifle creativity in your students or encourage
it. We need you. A future generation of writers and artists especially need
you. Thanks for all you did—and do—for us.
I don’t need hundreds of pages from Godin to motivate me to
find my creativity again, because I never lost it. I’m doing what my teachers
and family and friends always told me I could do, and I’m very thankful for
their support.
And that’s reason enough to sit down and write.
I love this essay. Hooray for Gilmer!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteLoving this. Also, this will be of interest to you:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_how_to_escape_education_s_death_valley.html
That's such a valuable thing to remember. Thanks, Amy!
ReplyDeleteAlso, you and I looked quite similar at the age of you in that picture.