Page Two of To Write a Paragraph
As the semester went on, we all began to look forward to that class. With one exception. There was the boy with the beautiful blue eyes and the ravishing hair. I might add that he had an unusual voice, both quiet and melodious. He was quite silent for the most part. If he did enter discussions, which were often quite spirited, his comments indicated that he had read and thought about the material, and that he had a surprisingly even-handed view of whatever the controversy seemed to be. I'll call him Dan.
Everything seemed to be going better than I could have dreamed — until I had to give a test. A small class in Senior English made an essay test obvious. They would have been insulted by some pro forma multiple choice. Dan wrote one sentence on each of three questions. There wasn't anything wrong with those sentences, but they did nothing to indicate anything more than that he'd understood the question. He didn't discuss, he didn't elaborate, he didn't give examples. He simply wrote a few words and quit. Fifty minutes occupied everyone else fully. He was finished in five.
I didn't know what to do, so I went to Mrs. H….. She had no suggestions other than to offer after-school tutoring. I wasn't surprised when he refused because he had a job.
Months passed, books were read and analyzed and argued over. Dan continued to contribute, if sparingly, in the classroom, and to fail miserably any time he was asked to write down his thoughts or his recollections or opinions of material we'd covered.
By June, I was in despair. The class had been formed specifically for a group of capable students who disliked conventional classroom approaches so much that they were in danger of failing to pass their final English requirement, and thus failing to graduate. With this in mind, I once again tried to persuade Dan to come in for extra help, though the truth was I had no idea what help to offer.
He did come in one afternoon, and we talked long enough for me to see what his personal life was like, and the incredible stress he was under at home. He gradually became completely candid, to my surprise, and left saying he would really do his best on the final exam. As in all senior final exams, these were two hours long, with only a short multiple choice section.
When I expressed my fear that Dan would never pass it, Mrs. H… called in the principal, and she persuaded him to let me offer an oral makeup exam if he failed the written one. They agreed ruefully that they were sure he would never show up for that if he needed it.
Sure enough, on a broiling hot June day in the sibilantly echoing cafeteria, windows open with a view of a grass-covered bank and a horned lark's nest, a mocking bird shouting from the top of a lamp post, perspiration making my hair stick to my temples, I saw as I passed down the aisle that Dan had a four-line paragraph written for the first essay question, with about an hour to go. One more paragraph turned out to be the extent of his written final exam, comprised of five essay requirements.
In due course, I offered him a chance to make the exam up, orally. He accepted, and we made an appointment early enough to register his grade if he passed so he could graduate.
We were sure he wouldn't show up, but he did. As he had always done in class, he spoke articulately, with a large vocabulary, analyzing and interpreting anything I could put to him. It was with enormous relief that I could, with my notes for support, convince my superiors that he could graduate. His other grades were satisfactory, if not brilliant. Dan would receive his diploma.
Then he was drafted. Think of M*A*S*H and the whuppity-whup of those helicopters almost at every pause in the conversation. Dan was trained as a helicopter mechanic. We knew this because once he got to Korea, we received ten-page letters at least once a month.
©Joan L. Cannon for SeniorWomenWeb
