Sample Memory: Meeting Alice
It was my senior year of high school, and it was time for the big literary research paper. Everyone jumped on a classic author: Shakespeare for Bobby, William Blake for Stetson, Graham Greene for Liz. Everyone had an author, but I was in the the dark. I had no idea who I wanted to write about, and to make matters worse, everyone knew I wanted to teach English.
I searched and I searched. The interesting ones were taken and the others just sounded flat. It was around this time that our English teacher reminded us to not feel limited to the authors we'd studied. I threw my textbook aside and went to the library in search of an author and found one in the unlikeliest of places, the children's section.
The book was Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. It wasn't the manliest of topics, but I knew I could finish the book in a couple of hours and pushing through the book seemed a lot more pleasant than examining Chaucer's Canterbury Tales for a month. I had never been a fan of research, but Alice sucked me in. Carroll's carefully crafted satire painted an interesting picture of the England he lived in at the time.
It would be my first encounter with Alice, but certainly not my last. I got an "A" on the paper, and I've never scored lower on a Carroll project since. To this day, it's one of the few works of British literature I truly enjoy.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
What Defines You?
What makes Ryan Adkins, Ryan Adkins?
The answer is simple, but it comes in many parts.
I am defined by the words on a page. In second grade it was the single page stories written in crayon, with an accompanying horrible illustration. By junior high it was the papers I wrote in the hours before class and still managed to pass. High school was more of the same. As time progressed it was how I conveyed my ideas. Words are my most powerful ally. A letter to my girlfriend, a well-timed text message, a short story, a chapter, or even the multitude of explanatory email messages I bombard my students with on a near-daily basis. My words are everywhere and they are my way of finding myself, and sharing that self with those around me.
Words even explode from the subject matter I teach. Which leads me to the next portion of what defines me: the class that sits before me. I see myself in each of their faces: the quiet student in the back of the room; the slacker waiting until three a.m. to write a paper that's due in six hours; the love-struck young one who can't wait to leave just to hear their partner's voice; the writer disguising his prose as notes so the teacher doesn't know; the student who doesn't want to read his assignment, and even the one who does. I was each of them at some period in my life, and in many ways still am. I look at them and I see myself, or more accurately the evolution of myself, the definition of who I have came to be.
And the final and most important of all, I define myself through the one I love. Never has a single person pushed me as hard as she has. She found a spark, a sleeping drive with in me, and she brought it to life. Without her, I doubt I would have ever made it where I am today. She implanted courage, and gave me strength. For all of these things and many more, I am grateful.
So how do I define myself? The written word, the class I stand before, the woman I love, and so much more. We've only scratched the surface, but there's a lifetime left to explore.
The answer is simple, but it comes in many parts.
I am defined by the words on a page. In second grade it was the single page stories written in crayon, with an accompanying horrible illustration. By junior high it was the papers I wrote in the hours before class and still managed to pass. High school was more of the same. As time progressed it was how I conveyed my ideas. Words are my most powerful ally. A letter to my girlfriend, a well-timed text message, a short story, a chapter, or even the multitude of explanatory email messages I bombard my students with on a near-daily basis. My words are everywhere and they are my way of finding myself, and sharing that self with those around me.
Words even explode from the subject matter I teach. Which leads me to the next portion of what defines me: the class that sits before me. I see myself in each of their faces: the quiet student in the back of the room; the slacker waiting until three a.m. to write a paper that's due in six hours; the love-struck young one who can't wait to leave just to hear their partner's voice; the writer disguising his prose as notes so the teacher doesn't know; the student who doesn't want to read his assignment, and even the one who does. I was each of them at some period in my life, and in many ways still am. I look at them and I see myself, or more accurately the evolution of myself, the definition of who I have came to be.
And the final and most important of all, I define myself through the one I love. Never has a single person pushed me as hard as she has. She found a spark, a sleeping drive with in me, and she brought it to life. Without her, I doubt I would have ever made it where I am today. She implanted courage, and gave me strength. For all of these things and many more, I am grateful.
So how do I define myself? The written word, the class I stand before, the woman I love, and so much more. We've only scratched the surface, but there's a lifetime left to explore.