Writing with kids -- trash to treasure

My students are going to embark on a journey this week where they find things that they (or their family) treasure which another person probably wouldn't appreciate.

We call it "Trash to Treasure."   It's a theme from our literature book to go with the short stories "Clean Sweep" by Joan Bauer and "The Treasure of Lemon Brown" by Walter Dean Myers. After seeing the treasures found in these stories, kids examine their own lives to write personal narratives regarding items of interest.

The stories they share are powerful, amazing, and empowering.  It provides a glimpse into lives and takes a child from being a classmate to someone with a rich history.  I'm so excited.

However, that's not why I'm sharing.  Since this is our first major writing piece of the year, I make sure I write with them.  It's a rough draft.  I haven't proofread, found areas that need clarity, made sure I hit all areas on our rubric.  Instead, I have the kids "peer" edit my work in groups.

Yes.  They grade me in all my glory.  They find my mistakes, give suggestions, AND will see their work rewarded in my final copy.  Not only do they get to work with the rubric, understand what's being assessed, and get a model of what is expected, but it helps to demonstrate that EVERYONE has to go through a process to achieve great writing.  Sometimes it's a long, painful process, but it's worth it.

Here is my rough draft.  I wrote it today about a family book (see photo in my Twitter acct).  I hope you like it.  More importantly, I hope it inspires you to write!

Amy Smith

Smith

ELA 3

8 September 2013

My Treasure: The Santa Claus Book

            The anticipation of the event was almost palpable.  Sitting around the fireplace, sated from the glorious meal, smelling the scent of spicy pumpkin pie wafting in from the kitchen, we would gather.  From oldest to youngest, this was the kickoff to the tradition that would last all month.  My grandmother would be seated in the chair of honor, in her calm hands was our treasure.  Smiling, we took turns begging for our favorite story to kick off the Christmas season.  My brother wanted to hear her read, “The Thirty-Nine Letters,” my cousins would choose “The Speedy Little Train.”  I even remember my uncle asking for “The Puppy Who Wanted a Boy.”  Memories abound with these stories.  Every night we would end with “The First Christmas Eve” as a reminder of the gift of the season upon us.

Everyone has special holiday memories they cherish.  After all, year after year we gather together to celebrate beliefs, families, and traditions that are important to use as humans.  In my family, Christmas-time is the most celebrated season of the year, starting with Thanksgiving evening.   There are many customs from which to choose, but the one that I remember bringing all of us together was a well-loved turquoise Big Golden Book entitled The Santa Claus Book.   This book is so much more than memories on a page; it is a celebration of faith, a reminder of what is important, and a thread that keeps those memories burning long after family members are no longer there to celebrate with us.

It’s an old book now.  The once shiny cover is dulled.  The binding is taped together.  There is the page when I wrote my name in on in purple ink when I was five.  The pages are yellowed and musty.  Yet held between these two pieces of cardboard were stories that bring back the memories of my childhood.  Memories that I hope to pass on to my children. The copyright claims that it was published in 1952, when my mom was 7.  She loves to tell the story of the Christmas when her mom bought it for her; the same year she bought a wind-up Santa for my uncle.  Christmas that year was pretty tight for them financially.  My grandfather was back from fighting in World War II, and he was working his way up the ranks at the Hutchinson National Bank.  My grandmother was a 7^th grade English teacher.  They worked hard to provide for their little family, and taught them the love of a good story.  Every year they would add a Christmas tale to their holiday shelf.  With these stories, they would create memories. Over the years, many accumulated; however, this one was a favorite from the start. The jolly red Santa on the cover of the book pulled my mom’s eye at the bookstore.  Opening the cover, she was enticed by the 43 Christmas stories and poems included.  This was exactly what she wanted.

“Momma, look!” her voice quavered with excitement at her treasure.

“Oh honey, I don’t know if it’s in the budget this year,” my grandmother smiled kindly at the hopeful face peering up at them.

Saddened, my mother replaced the book.  It was hard, yet she knew that money was tight.  She was grateful for food and clothing.

Secretly my grandmother slid the book on the counter.  She knew this would be something her children would enjoy for years.  It brought her pleasure to be able to share a love of reading with her children.

On Christmas Eve, my mom and uncle were each able to open one gift.  Carefully unwrapping the gift, my mom’s eyes shown as the book emerged.  Together they read all 43 short stories and poems within a few days. 

The purchase of the book provided a legacy for our family.  As my mom grew, she still enjoyed revisiting the stories every year.  Eventually I was born, and she began sharing them with me.  Every year on Thanksgiving night our journey began.  We walked through the “The Penny Walk” by Anne Molloy where two girls were searching for the perfect gift for a younger brother with the aid of a penny.  “The Exactly Right Present” illustrated that the thought and love of a child is what a mother wants.  “Susie’s Christmas Star” exemplified the thought that giving to others can be so rewarding.  We all have our favorites, and each one brings me back to the room with the people who mean the most to me.

Eventually I grew old enough to have a family of my own.  The one thing I wanted for Christmas was my own copy of The Santa Claus Book to share with my children.  It had been out of print for over fifty years.  I couldn’t find it anywhere.  I spent two years searching in old bookstores, on-line, and at garage sales.  That year, under the tree, there was a special gift for me from my mom.  Inside was inscribed, “To Amy, May you enjoy reading this to your children as much as I did.  It has been fun trying to find this for you! Love Mom.  December 25, 2000.”

Holding the book in my hands, I tears of joy ran down my face.  It was like giving my grandmother a hug.  It was hearing my grandfather read a favorite tale again. It was connecting me back to what is most important in the world.  Now I had an opportunity to share the gift with my children; a gift of family, faith, and love.  While many wouldn’t see beyond the old pages and musty smell, this treasure is worth more than gold to me.