Building Rainbows With CASH Club

As Written By Eileen Porzuczek

During my sophomore year of college, when I started writing my own memoirs, it became clear to me that no one can tell your story like you can. Even more daunting, I realized that sometimes no one will tell your story if you don’t and there is so much to be learned from our own life experiences—as well as others. I couldn’t help but wish that someone had told me this when I was younger, that someone would have sat down with me and helped me write my memoirs.

This is exactly what the Indiana Writers Center does for their students every summer as part of their Building A Rainbow Summer Program—a program that I have interned with for the past three summers. During my time as an intern, I have continuously had the opportunity to work with the Saint Florian CASH Club high school students.

Although each summer has been incredible watching them grow in confidence as they share their stories, this summer has truly been something special. I was so excited to start working with them and I knew it was important to not only connect with them, but to tell them the importance of sharing their stories. I could see their heads nod when we talked about this and the passion in their eyes growing.

As our meetings continued the students writing grew longer and longer. They began further developing their writing and digging deeper for exact details and emotions. I could see the sparkle in them when they sat in silence vigorously writing down the things on their mind and in their life.

Once the students had worked on their pieces for a few weeks, we did small group revision workshops. Each small group was comprised of 3 students, in my group I had two students who I knew from previous summers and then a new student who had joined the Saint Florian Summer Camp only days ago. As we sat down for workshop, I went around the circle asking each of them what they were writing about and to share what they had written so far. After each of them read, all of us talked about revision ideas, the things we liked, and the things that really resonated with us. It brought a smile to my face seeing them connect with each other because of the things they wrote about. I remember one student telling another student, “I really connected with what you had to say. In my own life, I have had to deal with similar things and I think it’s really cool you’re writing and sharing that.”

As our small group workshop continued they began revising, in hopes that they would be able to share their revisions aloud with each other before we left. Their faces lifting with joy when they realized they would have enough time to share revisions. Listening to the revisions they were able to accomplish in just fifteen minutes completely blew my mind and made me even more excited to see how they come together.

The CASH students that I have worked with the past three summers never fail to amaze me, and working with them brings me so much joy. During our final meeting with them for the summer, it made me smile when three of the students approached me and told me how much they loved seeing me every summer. This connection I have built with these students is something that will always keep me wanting to come back, wanting to continue to help them with their writing, and wanting to continue to get their voices heard. I am honored to have worked with them and to be continuing to work with them. Sometimes all it takes is someone reminding you that no one is ever going to tell your story like you can.

Building Relationships for Better Writing

As written by intern Nick Smith.

Building relationships is probably one of the hardest things that people who work with children have to do. If a child doesn’t know you, they aren’t apt to work for you. While this is most obviously true for teenagers (after all, they won’t blindly follow an authority figure the same way some younger kids will), it still holds merit with all kids. In a previous blog, I’ve already mentioned that we have a strong relationship with our St. Florian site and the kids there. The Writers Center has been working at St. Florian for years. All the older kids are used to seeing us each summer and new kids either quickly learn to accept us, or learn from their peers that we are alright and that they can talk with us. It doesn’t take long before every intern has at least one child that clings to them every time we come in or begs them not to leave when our time is up. It’s a great feeling to have.

Interns Nick & Sydney with Saint Florian students

Of course, when it comes to our sites, St. Florian is the exception, not the rule. We still establish relationships with new sites and these take time to grow. One such site is Horizons. This summer marks our second year working with this program. While it is every bit as enjoyable as St. Florian, it is consistently harder to get the kids going. Many worry that their initial thoughts aren’t good and that no one wants to hear what they have to say. Each day we have to re-explain that we are genuinely interested in what they have to say and that they should be proud to share their views. It almost seems like a foreign concept to some of them – the idea of an adult wanting to hear what they have to say.

Slowly, kids are starting to come around to us. Earning these kids’ trust is wonderful. For the handful of students who worked with us last year, I see many of them excited to join us. While it can sometimes just be that they’re excited to see a friendly face, it is still a start towards helping them appreciate writing a little more.

If St. Florian is representative of the best that the IWC can do, then Horizons and other sites serve as reminders of the hard work it takes to get there. You can’t just expect kids to jump into the deep end with a stranger. First, they have to learn to trust that you won’t let them drown. Sure, there will be a few students who jump right in (and their enthusiasm is ALWAYS appreciated), but for others this takes time. Some have to test the waters first, dip their toes into the water. It’s a process we respect at the Writers Center. And it’s a process that I am confident, in time, will yield even greater rewards.

Relatable

As written by Nykasia Williams

“Being relatable makes someone seem more human, like you or me.”

– Mary Kate

I have learned that children are not impacted by your smarts or where you come from, but your ability to simply relate to them. I remember training for Build A Rainbow and being informed to write in a way in which our words seem tangible to our students.

As college students, being told to write in a way in which elementary students and at the same time, middle school students are able to understand; might seem a little inevitable.

This past week I was given my first writing prompt assignment:

“Tell me the story of what happened when someone was cruel to you or made you feel less than you are because of the color or your skin or what you look like, where you live, go to school, or maybe even who your family is.”

Preparing to share my story, I was challenged with vulnerability. I wanted to limit myself of what I felt led to share. Then I remembered the kids; their eagerness to listen to what we have to say, and their open hearts to get to know us.

Right then, I knew I wanted to share a part of my journey that I have never expressed with anyone. That is, my natural hair journey. I am a black girl, with kinky, curly, 4c hair and my hair is a large part of who I am. I expressed my emotions, feelings, and insides of how I have grown to become confident in my natural hair.

My intention was to not only let the students know that their natural hair is beautiful, but to also remind them that their story matters. At the very least, I wanted them to be comfortable enough to relate and express what ever the feel, with the same amount of passion.

Sure enough, my goal was accomplished. A student, Amiia, shared her story about her journey to “owning” her natural black girl hair. She expressed, “I feel like most black girls go through this, but I’m going to put it in the way I have to go through it. I am a black girl with thick but soft 4c hair. People are so judgmental to me and my hair, first let me tell you the struggle of having 4c hair…”

Her boldness and integrity made me realize that this program was much more than just what I wanted to share, but the impact that my words can have to help children be free, be confident, and be proud.

Furthermore, I am glad that my words chosen makes me #Relatable to our children, who are our future; with the power to change the world. Let’s continue to #BuildTheRainbow

The Power of a Sentence

As written by Nick Smith

“All Eyes Forward!”

“CLICK!”

 

Although it’s been a full two years since I last stepped into St. Florian, I already feel back at home.

I’ve now assisted the Writers Center at three different sites over the past four years. While each site has its own unique atmosphere and strength that make them fun to be at, I think anyone who has stepped foot in the St. Florian Center can agree there is something special about it. From the firefighters to the counselors to the interns to the kids, there is an abundance of passion and love.

The kids never cease to be excited when they see the interns – a product of a relationship we at the Writers Center have been fortunate enough to develop with them over time. Students are happy to open up and share stories about their lives. They don’t stress about whether or not they’re following the ‘rules’ or ‘directions’ that they often have to when they’re in school.

In fact, Dr. Jones, affectionately referred to as ‘Miss Lyn’ by the kids, reminds them every year that the writing they do with us “isn’t like their school writing.”

It’s this reminder that has always stuck out to me. There is undeniably meritt to this claim. Often in schools students are taught the “right” and “wrong” ways to write. They’re given so many rules and directions to the point where their writing is so distorted they often can’t be distinguished from one another. If that is writing, what student in their right mind would be interested?

That’s what makes being at St. Florian so refreshing. There’s just something about seeing 100+ kids excited to write that always puts a smile on your face. For me, it also reminds me of the passion I have for teaching.

Four years ago I decided I wanted to be a teacher.

Three years ago was the first time I heard, “this isn’t like your school writing.” It was spoken like an enchantment, one which altered the mood of everyone in the room.

For the past two years I’ve been vocal about everything I wouldn’t do in my classroom, everything that is wrong in education, everything I will do to make a difference.

Now, I’ve finally finished my last year of college and will have a classroom of my own. I will have a chance to make good on everything I have said I will do and everything I have said I won’t do.

The sentence “this isn’t like your school writing,” will continue to stick in my head as I start this next phase of my life. I’m not sure if there’s another magical sentence I can use to get my future students excited about writing; but, if there is, I intend to find it.

I Remember

As written by Intern Audrey Bowers

I don’t want to forget this summer at St. Florian. It’s one that I want to remember. That may seem redundant, but to me remembering isn’t the act of not forgetting. It’s the act of purposely engraving events, people, and places in your mind to hopefully keep and treasure them for as long as possible. By writing this blog, I am remembering in a way.

I remember the first days back with St. Florian and the exhilaration that came when I noticed that students were filling pages with their stories. Sometimes after hearing the prompt they would begin to write feverously without my input and other times it took awhile to get started. We’d brainstorm ideas together. It wouldn’t take me long to respond with “Yes! Write that.”

Sometimes the kids were adamant that they had finished writing, but I’d use my reporter skills to ask them questions, to push them a little bit further. “We need some more details here,” I’d say.

I remember the laughter. Whether I was working with the littles or the middles, there was usually a belly-laugh to be had. Our stomachs would ache, but we couldn’t stop smiling.

I remember the time when a little girl called me ‘Miss Audrey’ when I sat down next to her and flashed a toothy smile at me. It felt like the world kind of shifted, as if I truly belonged there. It was the first time that one of the kids addressed me in that manner. It meant the world to me.

The same day one of the littles called me teacher and I didn’t agree with him right away. “Not really,” I said back. “Well basically,” he told me. That was that. Later in the day I thought about it more and believed him. After all, kids say exactly what they mean. Even though my life plans had recently shifted, I was still a teacher through and through.

I remember the day when I shared the story of the worst day of my life. It’s a wonder that I didn’t cry or shake from nervousness. The littles asked lots of questions and the middles related to my story. I remember a young girl who wrote about staying with her grandma too. A comment I distinctly remember was: “I like how confidently you shared your story.” Truth be told, I didn’t exactly feel confident, although I tried my best to be. I was vulnerable up there, but knowing I did a good job made me feel empowered.

I remember the time that the middles and the bigs came to Ball State. My favorite moment of that day was giving a campus tour. I mostly walked backwards, pointing to everything and telling them all the interesting facts I could remember, and answered their questions. That afternoon is one I won’t forget. They marveled at the rec, laughed when I showed them a ‘glorious’ parking lot, somehow managed to keep quiet as we walked through Bracken Library, and eagerly rubbed the nose of the famous Frog Baby.

I remember the last day at the Golden Corral celebration breakfast. I entered the restaurant with a fellow intern. A number of the kids hugged us. The interns who showed up ate mac and cheese even though it was nine o clock in the morning. Afterwards, we were shown a video of WISH TV after they helped St. Florian with a sweet new bus and some funds. A lot of kind words about the camp and our program were said.

I sat there remembering. I was sad that my time with the kids was over, but grateful that I had the opportunity in the first place. This may or may not be my last year interning with the Writers Center. It depends on what I decide to do after graduating from Ball State. I do hope that I’ll be able to return and will try my best to, but if not, I will always strive to remember.

A Different Kind of Writer

Whew! Was that five weeks already? These kids have overflowed their thoughts, feelings, and memories, straight from their heads, hearts, and guts right onto paper. Some days are different than others. Some days, the writing just pours until suddenly there are pages written front and back, while some days take a little more prodding before we hit the flow. Several students will say, “I never knew I could write that much!”

They’ll say “I loved writing about when I scored all of those points at the game,” or “My favorite thing that I wrote was about my uncle who passed away.” Why? It brings those memories back to the present. It revives loved ones who have passed. They learn that writing about something materializes it into something tangible in their lives – something that can be their legacy.

Writing to express ideas, rather than writing to fill a requirement creates different types of writers. It creates the type of writers who rush to read their work aloud with pride. It creates honest writers who are transparent and thoughtful. It creates writers who write because they want to give us a piece of themselves for the sake of soulful retraction rather than duty. It teaches these writers to pull from that soulful gut place when they do have to write for duty- and to do it joyfully.

And though we mentor them in their writing process and help guide them, they mirror it back to us interns. Aside from refreshing us with their radiant personalities and vivacious spirit, the kids made me a stronger writer as well. They taught me the vital lesson of unlearning and relearning things – a virtue valuable in both writing and in life. They learned to focus on content rather than mechanics. They learned to write it first, and check it later. They learned to spew, revisit, gush, unpack, and analyze their thoughts and experiences. And as we work on compiling and editing this book, we do the same; we unlearn and we learn. We learn from their stories, unlearn what we thought we knew, and relearn with a revived vision, hoping that one day in the future, they will hold the books they wrote as kids and unlearn and relearn new truths too.

Creative Battle Royale

“I’ve been last man standing twice!”

“That’s nothing! I’ve done it five times!”

I walk over to a table of fifth graders and they fall silent upon my arrival. By their behavior, it is clear that the students expect me to admonish them for their “off topic” conversation. To the students, I am just another teacher here to tell them how they can and cannot write.

What these students don’t realize, however, is that I’m no ordinary teacher — I’m a summer intern for the Indiana Writers Center (IWC), and limiting their writing is the last thing that I intend to do.

They, like many others their age and older, have downloaded the popular game jointly developed by Epic Games & People Can Fly, Fortnite. For those unfamiliar with the game, it is a third-person shooter most know for its “Battle Royale” mode, in which players compete with 99 others to be the last person standing. The game’s popularity has only grown since its original release in September.

Age clearly is not a factor when it comes to those who play the game. Adults, college, high-school, middle school, and (evidently) elementary school students alike all cannot get enough Fortnite.

So, why were these students expecting to be scolded?

The answer, unsurprisingly, is a reflection on their previous experiences with teachers and adults in supervisory-positions over them. The education system fails students when they do not have the opportunity to be creative.

Yet, in 2018, our students are still given an abundance of tests that are intended to “assess” their writing ability. More frequently, however, what these tests actually assess is whether or not a student can produce a piece of writing the way the grader wants to see it. This encourages teachers to “teach to the test” as well as specific forms, when they should be encouraging students to write in creative and innovative ways.

So, when students are continuously told they can’t talk about a certain subject or are repeatedly instructed to follow specific guidelines, it’s no wonder they so often go silent when an adult approaches.

After a brief moment of silence from the students and myself, I made the connection between Fortnite and our writing for the day (we were writing poems about our favorite places). I’d been fortunate enough to see game-play of Fortnite on a few different occasions and I knew that one of the defining characteristics of the game was its expansive, colorful map. This, I told the students, was a unique location to write about and one that they should feel free to explore.

Even if I hadn’t had an understanding of the game, I know engaging the students in a conversation about it for a brief moment would have been the better alternative to telling them to focus on the task at hand. This is what the IWC is about — encouraging students to be creative and take risks in their writing and let them know that there isn’t a right or a wrong way to write. While the IWC prides itself on the students telling stories of their own lives, there are many ways to do so.

In some ways, a song about Fortnite, written by Jalen (one of the students sitting at the table I talked to), does just that. Take a look for yourself. NOTE: Jalen even made it a point to say that his song should be sung to the tune of “God’s Plan” by Drake, what more could he have done?

“Fortnite,

theres a lot

of bad teams

that they’re

putting and

putting and

putting and

putting and

putting wit me, yeah,

I asked them

if they have

wins I said

hardly, I only

love my scar and

my skins man I’m

sorry, 50 dubs

I even got a squad

army, Renegade Raider,

season 1 skin like

darth vader.

some peole wit no

skins is some haters.

bout to get some

food yeah that’s

catered. Yesterday

I just got the love Ranger

It’s almost the end of

the fortnite trend and

it’s the end of my poem.”

Often times when people play video games, they immerse themselves in the world, becoming the character they play as. A poem about Fortnite may give you more insight on the poet than you may think. At the very least, it lets us know they like themselves a good Battle Royale.

Writing with CASH

by Eileen Porzuczek

This summer I was given the opportunity to intern with The Indiana Writer’s Center and their Building a Rainbow summer program. The Building a Rainbow summer program allows youth in the greater Indianapolis area to improve their writing and literacy skills. As interns we work with the students through thought-provoking writing prompts to engage them in writing about their lives. These writing prompts allow the students freedom to actively think and write about their lives.

This summer I worked with the students at the Saint Florian site, a youth camp run by African American Indianapolis Firefighters. I worked with students ranging from elementary to high school. In the mornings I would work with the junior high/middle school students first and then work with the elementary students. Both groups were always full of smiles and ready to write. I remember one piece distinctly that one of the boys wrote about how someone stole his Wendy’s chicken nugget. The amount of detail and imagery the boy used captivated everyone in the room. It was amazing to see the students express themselves and grow as writers.

In the afternoons I would then work with the high school students, or CASH writers as they are called, on their writing. This was by far my favorite part of interning this summer. Working with CASH was exhilarating because in addition to writing pieces they also had the opportunity to perform their writing as spoken word. As the CASH intern I was able to guide them in the writing of their pieces, as well as prepare them to perform their writing in front of an audience.

I remember my first day with CASH, as I walked into the room they all stared at me. I could feel every cold eye following me as I approached a chair in the front of the room. They didn’t know me and I didn’t know them. But as our meetings went by we got to know each other better, and I got to see each student’s personality shine. The words they wrote began to flow like waterfalls full of emotion and together they shared their stories. When it came time to perform they blew me away with their confidence to share such personal and emotional snippets of their lives. I absolutely loved working with the CASH students whether it was working on writing/performing or just getting to know each other.

My entire summer experience as an intern with the Indiana Writer’s Center was more than I could have ever imagined. I grew myself as a writer and an individual. I loved working with the students at the Saint Florian Center and hope to be able to see them grow in their writing even more next summer.

Bearing Fruit

by Alyssa Huckaby

As I sat at my kitchen table with a slice of toast with avocado sprawled on top of a layer of cream cheese, I found myself drawing near to comforting words in a devotional online. The author focuses on how death brings forth life, how the underappreciated can ultimately bring about beauty. She does this through one overarching metaphor: the avocado. I looked down from my computer and to the smear of greens, yellows, and white on my toast. *I am not a fan of food metaphors, quite frankly.

As soon as she spoke of her metaphor, I was turned off. All I saw was a blunt and obvious way to make connections and draw conclusions…something I have worked hard against as a writer, which is not necessarily a good thing to do, but I do so damn well because I am as lost as the next person attempting to write something brilliant. I write words until they no longer string together and fall out of my fingertips to my keyboard. But this writer took a plunge into a new way of seeing the avocado and spoke mainly on the nut. She wrote on the fact that the nut itself is the bearer of fruit; it is the dull, deadness that brings about the color and liveliness we all have grown to love and see. **It is the only stuff we don’t throw away when cutting the avocado, but to save the nut and use it as replenishment was an idea I had never truly thought on.

I looked back down at my plate and saw not only the avocado slices, but the entire avocado unsliced, then split down the middle and bearing the fleshy fruit and it’s round, brown nut. The skin is tough and textured, ready to take on the elements in nature and yet it is still soft enough to puncture with even the pressure of a long fingernail. Underneath the skin is the mesocarp, in between the exocarp and the endocarp. Who knew an avocado could sound so biological, so natural. And the pit, the nut…whatever you prefer; It brings about all of the above. It is a bearer of life and is unappreciated. In comparison to the green fruit that it is awkwardly nestled in, it is the rounded, hardened, browned bearer of life. It’s so easy to get swept into a whirlwind of thoughts brought on by something like a metaphor in a piece of writing. So, I whirl with it and take the ride.

How do I do it? How do I bear fruit and what does my fruit look like?

I am a future educator who won’t necessarily be able to reach every student the way I want to, but my heart will bleed openly and readily for all of them. I will hold back tears and fight battles that are too great for me to handle, but I will do it anyways.

I am an intern and editor for some of the brightest, radiating-with-light humans to exist in this world. They pick up the blue and green pencils, look up at me and into my eyes as if to say: I’m ready to share my story. And some of them do, but some of them don’t always, but I am still there to look back into their cheeky, faultless faces and respond with: I am ready to share your story.

I am a writer struggling to make meaning out of my thoughts. I enter into a daze in front of my screen or paper; I can’t seem t unhinge myself from the frame of everyday life to get the freaking words down.

I am a person who can’t seem to get over the humps, through the fogs, or past the webs in my life. I can’t always make ends meet, I force myself up and out of bed sometimes to sustain what life I realize I am lucky to have.

I am a lover and empathizer who crushes herself with others’ burdens and daily woes by choice. I weep silently under the heap and avoid giving myself personal time when the heap I take on is quite large.

I am all of these characteristics at once; I am a hardened, round pit that is able to plant herself and bear it all at once. And I realize that I am not the only one and the definitions are vast and distinctive for everyone. I am not the most fruitful, nor can many of us be. I am one who, yes, does have her struggles to bear fruit, but some struggle more than I do. I question how I am able to take my own fruitfulness and impart it in a meaningful way.

How do I instill and sustain the life of something so very much underappreciated?

I do this through the youth I work with. An idea so simple that many of us casually think of it through the years, but some of us never embark on that journey with them where they are the nut for majority of their young lives. I plant myself beside them as they struggle to make sense of their journeys. They regress and progress: it is a continuous cycle.

A young writer that I worked with quite a bit bared himself to me. He exposed how disappointed he was in himself and how he questioned whether it was all worthwhile. Willingly and whole-heartedly, I quickly exclaimed yes – but then I thought about his own journey to bear fruit. I sat back a bit and asked him a bit more as to why he felt this way.

“Life is a game. But all those things (characteristics) make me me. And I appreciate me for that.” — Justin

And that was when I was able to see that he was already fruitful. I was able to assure him of that too. I asked him for a hug as I attempted to keep face and not let tears roll down my freckled cheeks, and he agreed and wrapped his arms around my shoulders as I did to him.

I later realized that Justin’s – and many kiddos’ – journeys are undocumented, meticulously avoided by people older than them. These kids may have never been able to realize just how much they have rooted themselves in their actions and their thoughts; that their reactions to life plant them. They are kids whose lives are much more complex and drawn out than I might have realized before my education and career path. I’d like to think that I would have the same feelings with or without those two components, but my experiences have allowed for me to truly understand their positions in life.

They are the pits. And they are fruit-bearing…all of them.

*There are few instances where I have seen food enacted as a solid, beautiful metaphor in creative nonfiction. We all attempt it as writers. One of them being in Jill Christman’s “The Avocado”, which pulls tears from the depths of me, even when I thought there were no tears to be had. I have read this essay at least 20 times (most definitely read it while writing the drafts of this essay/post) in the past two-ish years and continue to let the metaphor and image of the avocado appreciate with the trials of my own life. That’s what a good metaphor does: it sits in your stomach and works its way through you.

**Avocados have always been a part of my life (as vague and peculiar as that sounds). My mom always attempted to feed me slices of avocado or guacamole. It wasn’t until I let my taste buds be the ruler of my eating that I grew a likeness and fondness for the fruit. It then became a part of my life, daily: it was my job for 3 years where I served and sometimes made guacamole. I was always in the front of house, but occasionally I would be allowed to work prep in the back of house where the avocados were the main event. I washed them, cut them in halves, scooped out of them, and threw their skins away. The pits were knifed out of the middles of the fleshy fruit by a freshly sharpened knife. The meat was the only part that everyone expected and saw; mashed and mixed with cilantro, red onions, lime juice, and salt. I mainly use avocados for garnish or in guacamole, but occasionally I will slice one open and eat it with a spoon and some salt.

The Joy of Teaching

by Audrey Bowers 

It was my first day interning for the Indiana Writers Center, which I had looked forward to for an entire year. I was excited and nervous. If I weren’t keeping myself still in one spot, I’m sure I’d be jumping up and down from the caffeine in my morning coffee. I’m sure the other interns felt something like this too or at least that’s what I told myself.
I saw an ocean’s worth of yellow Saint Florian t-shirts along with brown faces smiling back at me. “Don’t be afraid,” I thought to myself, “they can smell fear.” I knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but I wanted to do the best and be the best for these kiddos. They deserved it. Also, I wanted that itty bitty piece of nervousness to subside, so I could feel nothing but excitement as I worked with these kids.

After prompts were delivered, I stumbled upon three girls at a table that didn’t have another intern there to help them and I decided that I would be the intern that would help them. They were about ten to twelve years old and they decided to write to the prompt: “Since you ask, I’ll tell you why I’m so angry.” I personally loved this prompt and the way that my fellow intern Kayla wrote to it. I had a feeling deep inside me that I would love what these girls were about to write since something just clicked with them. They had ideas for what to write about in practically an instant.

These girls blew me away with their writing. It felt important. Their voices were loud and proud on the page. I was upset that these girls had to deal with such difficult things, but I was proud of them for finding the courage to write about what hurt them the most. They wrote about bullying and racism that they knew all too well. I listened to them, gave them suggestions for what they could write next, and affirmed what words they already had written down. All three of these girls ended up with at least a full page of writing and I ended up with a heart so big and full that it could burst.

I felt like I really knew what I was doing for once and that I was doing it well. I imagined a life full of writing and teaching boys and girls just like the ones surrounding me. I was content.