Lesson Learned

Recently we unearthed an old essay written by the one and only Neil Coulter circa 1995. We're talking about senior year of high school Neil Coulter. It would be fair to say that 1995 Neil was suffering from a bad case of senioritis and operating under a heavy dose of teen angst. It would also be safe to assume that he wrote the glorious geographical analysis of China, pictured below, in under five minutes. I would guess he started and finished this assignment during the five minute passing period between classes. How would I know such a thing? Well, I teach high school kids. And even if I've never assigned an essay about China, I have, in fact, read this sort of essay many, many times before. And I know the type of kid who writes this sort of drivel; He's the kid who cares about his grade just enough to turn something in, but pays no regard to the quality of his work. It's the type of essay that has hand-writing that gets progressively worse as time runs short. It has no beginning, no ending, and no real facts or support; it's a filled up sheet of paper and a hopeful attempt at squeezing out a couple of measly assignment points. As a seasoned veteran, I'm never shocked when I receive an essay of such poor quality. What I will forever be surprised about, though, is that I ended up happily married to one of "those kids." Before I get too far into this, let's all take a moment to bask in the glory that is "CHINA" by Neil Coulter:  

So, now you're thinking, "Wow! I'm sure glad I don't work in one of "dirty" China's "several" rice fields. That wouldn't be very "glamorous" at all!"  Or maybe you're wondering what happened with Neil's friend Jacob's "very nice" Chinese girlfriend.  You know, the one who spent all that time teaching Neil how to speak and write in Chinese.  If she would have stuck around a little longer maybe Neil could have learned and shared even more riveting facts about Chinese culture!

Yes, making jokes at 1995 Neil's expense is very entertaining, but it's time to set the record straight.  This essay deserves the failing grade that it received.  Actually, in my professional opinion, it probably deserves a 0/20 points instead of a 5/20 (which, if you look closely, was originally a 7/20 before the teacher thought better of it).  It's nothing but a big, fat, unsupported generalization topped off with a lie that only a smart-aleck of Neil's magnitude could pull off.  That's right, folks.  I know the aforementioned Jacob, and I can confirm that his nice Chinese girlfriend never existed.  And, for the record, a plus sign sandwiched between two backwards parentheses does not a Chinese symbol make.  I would be willing to bet, however, that during the last feverish minute of this essay's composition, Jacob sat down next to Neil and that the last paragraph resulted in a good laugh from both parties involved.

So, how does 1995 Neil stack up to 2012 Neil?  Well, 2012 Neil cares a great deal about the quality of his work and he works harder than any other person I know.  Does that mean that if given the chance to warp back to 1995 that he would produce the A+ version of this essay that he is most certainly capable of?  Probably not.  2012 Neil will still do anything, and I mean anything, to illicit a laugh from the people he loves.   I'm guessing that the laughter and subsequent story that came from the last paragraph of his essay is still worth the 5/20 for Neil.  And, even though this essay (and the handful just like it that show up on my desk every year) makes the teacher in me shake my head, sigh heavily, and lament wasted opportunity, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't laugh until I cried when I read this slacker-tastic masterpiece.  Of course, it's easy to find the humor in it because I know Neil turned out all right in the end, but when I'm reading similar essays submitted by my own students, it's not quite as hilarious.  In fact, it's often infuriating, especially when it's from the kid who I KNOW has the capacity to do well.  It's at this point in the grading process, when my frustration level has prompted me to consider another line of work, that I have to stop and consider my options.  

Option #1 - Give this kid the zero he deserves and prove to him that his teacher isn't quite as stupid as he believed her to be.

Option #2 - Consider the student's situation.  Does he have someone at home making sure he's doing well?  Are there worries in this kid's life that are more pressing than a silly essay for English class?  

Let me let you in on a little secret.  If your teacher chooses option #1, it means that you've been a real jerk.  Consistently. Irrevocably. However, if she chooses option #2, it means that somewhere along the line you've given her a glimpse of your potential.  It means that she recognizes that just because some kids aren't good at being students, it doesn't mean they're not good at being people.  This teacher will still give you the F you deserve, but instead of 0/20 she will give you a 7/20...Then she'll remember that you blatantly lied about your ability to speak and write in Chinese, and she'll change the 7 to a 5.  Because you deserve something.  Because it's complicated to be a teenager.  Just like it's sometimes complicated to be a teacher.  

Pretendo!

I blame Owen's babysitter for his current Super Mario Brothers obsession.  The moment she bought a Wii and introduced him to Mario and Princess Peach, he was hooked.  At this point I'd estimate that 90% of our conversations are Mario related, and 100% of our pretend play scenarios begin with the declaration, "I'm Luigi, you're Princess Peach, and Bowser just captured you..." 

Because the Coulter family lives in the technological stone age (no smart phones, no smart TVs, not even Netflix), purchasing a new gaming systems to satisfy what is probably a three-year-old's passing fancy isn't in the foreseeable future.  So you can imagine my delight when I found a dusty Super Nintendo neatly tucked away in my parents' basement.  Overjoyed, we ran home and Neil plugged that sucker into our not-so-smart-TV.  Like a true Super Nintendo veteran, he blew into the Mario game cartridge, placed it in position, crossed his fingers, and flipped the switch to the on position.  When Mario and Yoshi made their debut on our dumb TV's screen, the look on Owen's face was that of I-cannot-believe-Mario-is-at-MY-house-right-now amazement. He exclaimed, "Daddy! The Pretendo works!" and Neil was an instant hero because, as it turns out, three-year-olds don't really know the difference between a brand new Wii and a 20 year old Super Nintendo.  

For me, however, the best part of this story was Owen's inadvertent invention of the word Pretendo.  While it is a fitting description for the ancient gaming system that will serve as a pretend Wii for the next few years, the term Pretendo has come to stand for much more than that.  The word itself was accidentally invented by a child during a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.  There is magic in a moment like that, for a child and for his parents, so it's not surprising that a word created out of such magic would take on a life of its own. Pretendo goes beyond the device for which it is named; In our house, the word Pretendo, when used properly, has the power to grant wishes.  Yes, you heard me right.  It grants wishes. 

To understand Pretendo you must first have the ability to go beyond just "making do" and actually find happiness with what you have right now.  "Making do" implies that what you have right now not only could, but should be better.  It's saying, "I guess we'll just have to...[heavy sigh]... make do until we can get what we really want."  Well, I'm here to tell you that "making do" is nothing but a tedious waste of everyone's time.  With that said, please understand that I am notorious for my impatience; I want what I want and I want it right now, and thanks to my son and his lovely way with words, I have finally realized how to make that happen.  Pretendo!  It. Grants. Wishes.  Allow me to illustrate.

There are times when your son's only wish is to have a Wii.  And sometimes, no matter how hard you wish, you simply cannot justify the expense, so you must go out and do the leg work required to make his wish come true.  Sure, the act of Pretendoing is much more labor intensive than a "make-do" shoulder shrug, but here is the good news: It doesn't matter how old you are or what you're wishing for, if you're smart, creative, and determined, Pretendo will work for you, too!  Don't believe me?  Here's proof of the Pretendo promise:

Like many other young(ish) couples, extravagance is not in our budget.  Luckily for me, I have a husband whose creativity is enhanced by forced frugality.  When I told Neil that all I wanted for Valentine's Day was a bathroom that didn't make me want to die when I walked into it, he used his considerable carpentry skills, a gallon of discounted paint, and a rickety picket fence that was taking up space in our basement, and he made me a "brand new" bathroom.  I'm ecstatic with my there-is-nothing-new-about-it bathroom.  Pretendo!  Wish granted.


When I mentioned that instead of remodeling it might be easier to just set fire to our disgusting kitchen, Neil bought a couple of gallons of paint, I turned an old tablecloth into a curtain, and Pretendo!  "New" kitchen.

  

World's Dumbest Kitchen...

Behold!  The power of Pretendo!

When I hinted that I'd like Owen to have a playhouse, Neil used a couple of pallets and some fence pickets and Pretendoed one out of thin air!

Pretendoing in Action

Viola!  Pretendoed

Yes, I will admit that the power of Pretendo is especially strong with Neil, but the plain fact remains that no matter who you are, if you combine some elbow grease, a little ingenuity, and a healthy appreciation for simplicity, it can take you a long, long way.  I realize that the ease with which we use this magic won't last forever.  For Owen, Mario and Luigi will eventually take a backseat to another fad, and as he gets older and his tastes become more expensive, it won't be as easy to please (and/or trick) him.  The best I can hope for is that his dad and I can instill in him an appreciation for the simple things in life so he'll be able to truly understand the promise of the Pretendo philosphy.

Around here, we don't have granite counter tops, fancy smartphones, mass-produced plastic playhouses, or state of the art gaming systems, but we have harnessed the power of Pretendo.  We are willing and thankful to work with what we have right now, which sometimes isn't a lot but is always so much more than enough.  We manufacture our own happiness and make our own luck at the corner of Locust Street and Avenue B.  Pretendo!  Every single wish granted.