Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind (6 page)

This year on the morning of Back to School Night, I handed out paper to each child. Then I drew a giant piece of paper with
lines and margins on the whiteboard.

“Okay, everyone,” I began, “today we are going to start writing letters to our parents welcoming them to Back to School Night.
We’ll leave them out on our desks so that your moms and dads will see them when they walk into the classroom tonight.”

Dylan looked worried. “
On
our desks or
in
our desks?”

“On
top,
” I answered.

He sighed loudly. “Good.”

I continued the lesson. “Now boys and girls, there are five parts to a friendly letter. The first part is the
Date.
” I tapped the large paper that I had drawn on the board and pointed to the place for the date. “In a friendly letter, the
date goes on the upper right side of your paper. But try not to write in the margin.”

“What’s a margin?” Gina asked.

“The space on the side of your paper.” I grabbed a sheet of binder paper off my desk and pointed to the left margin. “
This
is the left margin. See the pink line.” Everyone looked down at the pink lines on their papers. I moved my finger to the
other side. “And
this
is the right margin. There’s a pink line there, too, but it’s harder to see. Can you all see it?” Everyone leaned in.

“I see it!” John shouted.

“I see it!” Kevin echoed.

“Me, too!” Emily burst out.

I went on. “The reason the pink line is so light is because it’s on the other side of the paper.”

As soon as I said this, the entire class turned their papers over at the same time and started chattering.

THIRD-GRADE FACT: Finding the pink line on the back of a piece of binder paper is a very important discovery.

“Okay,” I said, “now we are all going to write the date.”

I wrote it on the board:
September 10, 2008.

“Make sure you put a comma after the
10,
” I instructed. “A comma
always
goes after the day.”

“Can we write…” John cringed as he tried to think of the right word. “Can we… you know… make it smaller?”

I helped him out. “You mean — may you
abbreviate
?”

THIRD-GRADE FACT: Abbreviating is more fun than writing the whole word out.

I shook my head. “Sorry. I’d like you to practice writing the whole word.”

“Can we write 9 slash 10?” Laura asked, making a hand movement for the slash.

THIRD-GRADE FACT: Making slashes is even more fun than abbreviating.

“Not today,” I answered. “I want you all to practice writing the date out entirely.”

I moved on. “Okay now, I’d like all of you to write today’s date on the top line. And try to not write in the margin.”

I knew exactly what would happen next. When kids first write the date on the top line of their letters, they
never
allow themselves enough room. An eight-year-old will begin writing the date in his normal penmanship. But when he is about
halfway through, he will realize that he is quickly approaching THE PINK LINE. Determined to not cross it, he will start to
write smaller and smaller, eventually stacking letters one on top of the other. When he is finished writing the whole date,
it will look like it just crashed into a pink wall. Unhappy with the way that this has turned out, the child will then begin
erasing his paper with the same force that one uses to clean a dirty pan with an S.O.S pad. The paper will tear. He will ask
for a second piece, upon which he will start writing the date in the exact same place he did on the first one.

After my students wrote the date (and I handed out more paper), I continued with the lesson.

“The next part of our letter,” I explained, “is the
Greeting.
The greeting is where you write
Dear Mom and Dad.
” I pointed to the left side of my large letter. “The greeting begins on
this
side of the paper. It goes on the next line after the date.” I wrote
Dear Mom and Dad
on the board. “Does anyone know what mark follows the greeting?”

“A comma,” Laura answered.

“Very good. In a friendly letter, the greeting is always followed by a comma.” I drew a gigantic comma after
Dad.
It was bigger than my head. The kids burst out laughing. “This is our second comma.” I pointed to both of them. “See?” Then,
putting my cap back on my marker, I turned and faced the kids. “Okay, next I’d like you all to write
Dear Mom and Dad
on your papers. And…” I paused. “Don’t forget the comma.”

Now, you’d think that writing
Dear Mom and Dad
would be easy. It’s only four words plus one little comma, right? Wrong. Do you know how many variations there are on these
four words? Thirty-three! And
that’s
if the children know how to spell
dear
(which they don’t). Every year I see all thirty-three variations:

dear mom and dad

dear mom and Dad

dear mom And dad

dear Mom and dad

Dear mom and dad

dear mom and dad,

dear mom and Dad,

dear mom And dad,

dear Mom and dad,

Dear mom and dad,

dear mom And Dad

dear Mom And dad

Dear Mom and dad

dear Mom and Dad

Dear mom And dad

Dear mom and Dad

dear mom And Dad,

dear Mom And dad,

Dear Mom and dad,

dear Mom and Dad,

Dear mom And dad,

Dear mom and Dad,

Dear Mom And dad

Dear Mom and Dad

Dear mom And Dad

dear Mom And Dad

Dear Mom And Dad

Dear Mom And dad,

Dear Mom and Dad,

Dear mom And Dad,

dear Mom And Dad,

Dear Mom And Dad,

And my favorite:
Dear Mom and Dad Comma

After the children finished their greetings, I tapped my pen on the board. “Okay class, look here. What I’m about to say is
very
important.” I waited until everyone’s eyes were on me. “You do
not
write under the word
Dear.
This is where we indent.”

Melanie looked puzzled. “What’s
that
?”

I looked around the room. “Who here knows what an indent is?”

“My mom has one on the side of her car,” Laura chipped in.

“Well,” I laughed, “that’s
sort
of an indent. An indent in a letter is where you leave a space.” I walked to the board and put my finger under the word
Dear.
“You do
not
write there.”

“Why?” Dylan called out.

I shrugged. “That’s just how you do it.” I pounded the same spot on the board with my fist. “DO. NOT. WRITE. THERE.”

There was a good reason that I was making such a big production of this. No matter how many times teachers say, “Do not write
under the word
Dear,
” half the class will. I don’t know why, but children just do
not
want to leave a space under that word. I’ve tried having them put a finger under it, but that doesn’t work. They’ll spend
five minutes coloring their fingernails. I’ve told them that there’s “hot lava” under that
Dear,
and they can’t touch it. But the hot lava idea backfired. As soon as I said it, everyone wanted to write in the lava spot
and scream that their words were burning up. I know I shouldn’t say this, but I hate that indent.

I forged ahead.

“Okay, boys and girls, the next part of our letter is called the
Body.
It is the main part of your letter. It is
not
to be confused with this kind of body.” I posed like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Giggles. “In the body you should welcome your
parents and thank them for coming to Back to School Night. Ask them to look around the room at your work.”

It is at this point in every letter writing lesson that one of your students will say, “I don’t know what to write.” To avoid
this I always write a sample on the board. I began writing.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Welcome to Back to School Night! Thank you for coming to my classroom. Please look around the room at my work. You will see…

“Mr. Done?” Christopher interrupted.

“What?” I said, continuing to write.

“Can we tell our parents that they have to listen to the teacher?”

I smiled. “Sure.”

Trevor grinned. “Can we tell them that if they don’t listen they have to go to the principal’s office?”

Melanie giggled.

“Uh… I think that’s going a little too far.”

Stacy raised her hand as I finished writing the example.

“Yes, Stacy?”

“How long does the letter have to be?”

“Mmm… I’d say about half a page. You’re big third graders now. Third graders can write at least half a page.”

Stacy’s jaw fell open. David threw his head on his desk. Gina made a high-pitched squeal. You’d think I had just asked them
to write
Moby-Dick.

“Can we copy that?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes.”

Brian’s hand was up next.

“Yes, Brian?”

“I don’t know what to write.”

I was almost finished with the lesson. “Okay, kids, the last part of the letter is called the
Closing.
Watch closely.” I put my finger up on the date. “Place your finger on the beginning of the date like this.” The children
copied me. “Now drag it down your paper in a straight line.” I slid my finger down the board. They did the same. “Pretend
there is an imaginary dotted line here.” I drew a thick dotted line so they would understand what I meant. I tapped the bottom
of it. “This is where you write
Sincerely
or
Best Regards
or
Love.
Since you’re writing to your parents, you should write
Love.
”

“Ewww!” David shouted.

I gave him a look then wrote
Love.
“Now you make your third comma.” I drew another giant comma. This one was even bigger than the last. Laughter swept the room.
“Finally, you sign your name under
Love
— indenting it just a little — and you’re all done.” To finish it off, I signed Trevor’s name. More titters. Trevor’s face
lit up.

THIRD-GRADE FACT: Whenever you use a child’s name in an example, he will beam.

After I reviewed where to put the commas and where to make the indent one last time, the children began writing their own
letters. When they were finished, several lined up at my desk for me to check what they had written.

Gina was first. She indented in the correct place but also indented every line after that.

I rubbed my forehead. “Gina, next time you only need one indent, okay?”

“Okay.” She handed it in.

Dylan was next. He signed his letter
Love From Your Favorite Son.

Smiling, I turned to him. “What will your brothers say about this?”

He giggled then played with the stapler on my desk as I read more.

“Dylan, how many commas in a letter?”

“Three.”

“Good. But I don’t see any in yours.”

He leaned over his paper and stared at it. “Oh yeah.” He snatched it back and ran off to fix it.

David was third in line. My lips scrunched into a pucker when I started reading. He had only written
Welcome to Back to School Night!

“Uh… what happened to writing at least half a page?”

“It
is
!” He pointed to the words
Love, David
in the center of the paper. “See!” Between
Welcome to Back to School Night
and his signature, there were six inches of blank space. I gave it back.

Sarah stepped up and set her letter on my desk. I smiled when I saw it. A thick dotted line ran from the date to the closing.
In her margins, she had drawn pixies and butterflies.

“Honey, your letter is beautiful, but this dotted line is supposed to be
imaginary,
not real.”

“Ohhhh!”

She picked up the paper and skipped back to her desk. A couple of minutes later she returned and handed it to me. The dotted
line had been transformed into a giant beanstalk. Fairies hid in the leaves. More butterflies and pixies flew all around it.

“Well, honey,” I said, fighting back a laugh, “that’s the best imaginary dotted line I have
ever
seen.”

A
pparently, fewer and fewer people are using cursive these days. On a recent SAT exam, only 15 percent of teens used cursive.
The rest wrote in block letters. Could this mean that handwriting may someday end up the way of filmstrip projectors, record
players, and hairnets on the cafeteria ladies? I hope not.

If my school got rid of cursive, I’d have to start going to the gym. Teaching handwriting is my daily workout. I get my stretching
in by forming giant loops and curlicues in the air. I lean to the right like Jack LaLanne so my kids will slant their letters.
I work up a good sweat racing around to each desk turning pieces of newsprint at an angle, correcting pencil grips, checking
that feet are on the floor, and making sure that their lowercase
’s go all the way up to the dotted line and only have three bumps. Not seven.