Descriptive writing

13. Free writing. You have five minutes to write down any images, ideas or details that come to you concerning the topic “homework”. Don’t pay any attention to possible grammar or spelling mistakes, focus on the content.

14. Clustering. Transfer this boxed subject onto your notebook page. Write related ideas, box them and connect them with lines to your subject and to each other. Swap your cluster diagram with your desk partner and point out the most interesting issues.

15. Write a 120-word essay describing the most memorable class you have ever had. It is important to organize your thoughts and present your arguments clearly in paragraphs, and to work out the structure of your essay before you start to write.

Suggested essay plan

Paragraph 1: introduce the topic

Paragraph 2: give points of view and information in support of the argument, with reasons

Paragraph 3: give contrasting views

Paragraph 4: conclude (give your own opinion or interpretation of the facts)

Three people and two seats

THINKING AHEAD

School life is about studies and communication. Both these processes are two-way ones and call for partnership. Partnership between students and teachers is key to success. But sometimes this key is broken… The story you are going to read deals with such a situation.

A WORD ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kevin Major is a prominent Canadian author who has recently got his recognition in the USA. His first career choice was medicine, but then he turned to teaching. It was while teaching science and English that he developed an interest to writing – especially his homeland. Now Kevin Major is the author of several novels, short story and poem collections.

PRE-READING ACTIVITIES

1. In small groups, make up a list of components that are an absolute must for a teacher-student partnership.

2. Decide why some students see the teacher as “the enemy”, never thinking about how the teacher feels.

3. Discuss the problems young teachers face in their classrooms. Is it just the small age gap that is to blame or more than that?

READING ACTIVITIES

4. Read the beginning of the story and find the hints at the main character’s profession and working experience.

Outside the garage the air was chilled and the evening dark except for the light from the gas pumps. It revealed scattered specks of falling snow that would otherwise have been invisible. They touched the ground lightly, hesitated, then disappeared. Beyond the garage and out to the highway the darkness expanded wider and blacker, completely unbroken.

"That bloody thing will never get here", he turned and said to the guy who had sold him the ticket. "It's a half-hour late already."

The fellow, held in the spell of the comic he was reading, didn't bother to look up. He nodded slightly and mumbled in agreement.

"Damn bus. Never on time." He turned and stared out the window again. The car's horn demanding gas finally disturbed the attendant's concentration. He brought the chair he was sitting on back to its legs and himself slowly to his feet. Spider-Man was carefully left aside.

"You'll just have to wait I guess," the fellow said on his way through the door. "Wait?" ... How much longer? Come Tuesday morning he would have to be back to start work again.

This long weekend break would allow him momentary recovery from the strain of the previous two months. It had been a hard decline from the eagerness and confidence that he had arrived with at this same bus stop in September.

The bus showed up eventually. He grabbed his overnight bag and climbed the three steps. The driver took his ticket. "You'll have to stand. All the seats are taken," the driver told him as he punched two precise holes. He made no reply but walked with his case toward the rear of the bus. He leaned back against the washroom cubicle. And then he cursed under his breath. Standing. Grand Falls was over fifty miles away. At least an hour before there would be a chance of a vacant seat.

"You might be able to squeeze in here." The voice was friendly though weak and unsure. He didn't reply right away, but turned and saw two boys. It was only then he was certain he was being spoken to. "There's not much room. We can move over."

"Thanks."

They were the farthest back of the seats on the bus, just behind where he had been standing and left of the washroom door. It definitely beat standing up. He sat down as the third person in a space normally occupied by two people. Because the others were small, the fit was a tight one but not uncomfortable.

"Where you headed for?"

"Gander."

His reply left an unexpected silence. He could feel they were waiting for more than one word. "What about you fellows?"

"Bishops Falls. That's where Kenny's aunt is. We don't live here, just goin' for a visit." The kid brushed the hair away from his eyes and scratched the back of his neck in one motion. "We've been there lots of times before."

The fellow who had been speaking was the shorter of the two boys, despite the fact that he looked older, probably fourteen. He had a dark complexion and black hair, which kept falling forward into his eyes. A quick smile revealed his potential for mischief. His buddy, next to the window, was blond with hair that curled above the edge of his baseball cap. He seemed to be the quieter but equal partner.

"My name's Brian. And that's Kenny." They were words that hung loose. Again they waited for him to answer. He knew there was no good reason not to.

"Mine is Dave."

The boys were eased. "You want a smoke, Dave?"

"No, thanks."

"You sure? We bought a pack between us this mornin'. We could save you a draw."

Each of the boys put one in his mouth. Brian pulled out some matches from his pants pocket. As they lit up, Dave could see they were seasoned smokers. It wasn't boyish misbehaviour with them any longer.

They blew smoke rings into the light above the next seat and watched them float away, out of shape.

"Geez," Brian whispered to his friend after they'd been sitting quietly for only a minute, "we could have that guy up there smoked out in no time. He'd have to throw away his book and come up for air."

"Go for it."

"Sure."

"Go on."

"You."

Kenny took a deep draw on his cigarette, then burst out with fake sputtering coughs.

"Cut it out, jerk!" Brian warned him in a heavy, lowered voice. "You're gettin' ashes all over me."

A fist banged against Kenny's leg. "Oow!" The sound rose sharply. There was a brief silence, then a revenge hit from Kenny. It did not produce a great deal of noise overall. It didn't seem to be bothering anyone, and it wasn't bothering him. He had grown up through that kind of behaviour too... though he had not been so boisterous.

5. Now go on reading. What do you think will happen if Dave tells the boys he is a schoolteacher? Will the conversation remain as easy?

They were kids having fun. Perhaps, he thought, it should be annoying him. But a bus ride and a classroom are two different situations. Sitting there, he suddenly realized that. At the beginning of September he never would have accepted such an idea. He might even have considered it to be outmoded thinking.

Kenny poked his friend. "As Rabbit would say, 'You have no manners.'"

"No she don't. It's 'Brian, you have absolutely no manners!'" he mimicked, his voice highly pitched. Then lowered, "I could teach her a few things."

There followed lewd mumblings interspersed with whistles. "Absolutely no manners."

"Boys, you are a hard bunch," he said to them, shaking his head with a hint of a smile. He couldn't sit and listen any longer without making some comment.

"Nah."

"Your aunt doesn't know what she is in for. She expecting you?"

"Probably," Kenny said. "I go over every holiday we get. She won't be surprised. It's better than being in Corner Brook I'll tell ya. Hey, Brian, where's those sandwiches your mother gave you before you left?"

"Perhaps lost by now."

"Get 'em. I'm starved. You hungry, Dave?" Brian stretched out and moved his hand across the luggage rack until it struck upon a brown paper bag. Opening it, he withdrew a can of Pepsi and a small stack of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. They consisted of thin slices of bologna between pieces of buttered bread.

"Do you want one?" he offered their guest. "There's nothing wrong with 'em, honest."

The food stared up uninvitingly. "Okay." As he held it in his hand, it slid apart. "Your mother makes a slippery sandwich." They laughed.

"She was glad to see me go," Brian said, as if it were part of the humour.

How could he react to that? The kid regretted having said it and dug his buddy with an elbow. An empty can fell on the floor with a clamor. The too loud noise put a quick lid on their antics. They returned to the sandwiches.

Had he been sitting in another seat, he would probably been asleep by now. But instead, he was consuming the last bit of a stale sandwich next to a pair of disquieting boys. They gave him a great deal to think about. He couldn't help but picture the boys' homes left behind in Corner Brook. Their exteriors were real enough; he had passed enough of them to know how they looked. What took place inside he had gathered from a mixture of his sociology readings, of movies and novels, and the rough kids at school.

The picture stirred him. They would be forced to grow serious in time, he thought. Then the fun would be gone.

The stop at Grand Falls gave him a chance to stretch his legs. He left the bus without a coat and the cold night air abruptly cleared his head of any sleepiness. He went inside the restaurant and waited in front of the lunch counter.

Within a few minutes he reentered the bus, shivering, holding three small cardboard plates of French fries, each topped with a plastic fork and a packet of ketchup.

"Perhaps you're still a bit hungry."

They looked awkward accepting it. He thought that perhaps it was because they were not very often in such a position. They repeated their thanks a number of times. It seemed out of proportion to what he had given them.

"That's okay, I won't go broke because of it." They ate quietly now, but with obvious pleasure. It reminded him of the time, about a year before, he had been hitchhiking home from the university. He hadn't bothered to stop anywhere all day to eat, but stayed on the road to make it home before dark. Then, late in the evening, with thirty miles still remaining, a bakery van picked him up. The driver gave him a free hand with the leftovers in the back. He stuffed himself on apple turnovers and chocolate-covered doughnuts. At that time, a thank-you seemed inadequate.

"You fellows finished? Here, put the plates in this bag. Don't want the floor littered up."

Almost as if it were an automatic reaction, both boys got out their cigarettes. It was like a relaxing after-dinner smoke.

"What do you do? I mean... do you work?" one of them asked.

"Yeah." He hesitated. "I'm a schoolteacher."

They looked at each other quickly and smiled, then looked back in anticipation of him laughing.

"You are not a teacher."

He was sorry now that he had said it. He wished he had sidestepped the question. "Okay, I'm not."

"Then what do you do?"

He removed his wallet from a coat pocket and produced a white card for them to read.

"Here, read this. What does it say?"

"Newfoundland Teachers —"

"Association. And it has my name on it."

"You could have made it up yourself... All right, what grade do you teach?"

"Eight, most of the time."

"Kenny, you think he's tellin' the truth?" They figured he might be trying to pull a fast one on them.

"There are thousands of teachers, you know. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"You don't look like one. Besides, I've never seen a teacher like you, eh, Kenny? Every one of the teachers at our school are crabs, except maybe for Mrs Lewis. But she don't even teach us."

Perhaps he should have felt flattered, but suddenly lurking back to deaden any contentment was the thought of the experiences of the past weeks.

"Tell me now, what would you boys do if you had me for a teacher?"

"Guess we could have a bit of fun."

It wasn't what he had hoped for. Neither was it a surprise.

"Maybe you would learn something."

"Nah, not me."

"Me neither."

"Couldn't beat anything into my head."

Damn it!

He should have known better than to ask. What was he expecting?

"You wouldn't want to be a teacher very long in our school anyway. There was a guy there last year only lasted two weeks. We almost drove him crazy. He was an okay guy, I mean he would have been all right, but he never could keep order. He couldn't even get real mad with us!"

"But he wasn't tough on you, you could have given him a chance! Sure, perhaps he was trying to help you guys. You think I wouldn't last two weeks? You think I'd crack up too?"

What kind of fool was he anyway? Trying to be reasonable with kids. He turned from them. He must be some kind of damned idiot.

6. Read the story to the end. Does the torn card indicate doubt, defeat or hard thinking?

They were right — cracked in two weeks. Face it — two weeks, two months, it was all the same.

As a teacher he was nothing! He liked kids, didn't he? And hadn't he tried to show that? Or did that matter? Did he have to pretend to hate them before they would behave in the classroom? Did he have to play Jekyll and Hyde?

He recalled when he went into his first class — he was nervous but his intentions were good. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted response to what he was teaching. He wanted their opinions. Not facts. Feelings. On an equal basis.

He read somewhere later that any teacher who smiles very much before the end of six weeks is inviting trouble.

Too bad. He wasn't going to take any advice from what must have been some sour spinster.

He couldn't deny now that that he had been creamed. From then on, whenever he wanted seriousness, it was hell to get it. He had reasoned wrongly. Show them that you know real life is not all easy, show them that you understand — they will respond then; they will make an honest try. Like hell. They did not see it that way. For most of them it meant he was a soft teacher. Someone to take advantage of.

Someone he didn't even send people to the principal.

They just couldn't understand a teacher who didn't jump on them. That' s the way it's played — the guy up front yells; they sit and stay quiet.

"Sorry, we didn't mean it that way." Brian spoke shyly.

They left the bus at Bishop Falls, the next stop. He couldn't come up with much to say then. He smiled at them from inside as they headed down the road. That was the only way he could put it.

He was now one person with two seats. The one beside him remained vacant for the rest of the trip. It was a luxury, almost a bed if he wanted to sleep. He never gave a second thought to using it. He sat there, hardly stirring then for the next hour, until the bus stopped at Gander. He got off, leaving the two seats unoccupied, except for the four torn pieces of a white card.

AFTER-READING ACTIVITIES

7. Answer the following questions.

• Why was Dave so eager to get home?

• What things aggravated the young man’s strain and irritation?

• Were Brian and Kenny deliberately disturbing the passengers or just having fun?

• Why was Dave trying not to pay attention to the boys` jokes?

• What can the readers guess about the boys` probable background?

• How can the boys` disbelief concerning Dave profession be explained?

• What was the boys` attitude to their teachers and school?

• What lay behind Dave’s anger and disillusionment?

• What was the reason for his professional failure?

• Why was it hard for Dave to say something to the boys when they were getting off the bus?

8. Find all the words with the help of which the author describes Dave’s state of mind. Pay special attention to the character’s inner speech and ponder over the role it plays.

9. Let us describe the characters of the story with the help of their remarks.

• “Boys, you are a hard bunch”.

• “Your mother makes a slippery sandwich”.

• “I could teach her a few things”.

• “Tell me now what would you boys do if you had me for a teacher?”

• “Every one of the teachers at our school are crabs, except maybe for Mrs. Lewis”.

• “But he wasn’t tough on you, you should have given him a chance”.

• “Sorry, we didn’t mean it that way”.

10. Study Kenny and Brian’s behavior, speech and gestures. In what ways are they typical kids?

11. Let us focus on style. Read the definition of a stylistic device and find its examples in the story.

The epithet is a stylistic device based on the interplay of emotive and logical meaning in an attributive word, phrase or even sentence used to characterize an object. The epithet is markedly subjective and evaluative. The logical attribute is purely objective, non-evaluating.

12. Describe the feelings of a young teacher who has come to school with the best intentions but finds teaching and coping much harder than she/he has expected.