At 10, my teacher dared me

At 10, my teacher dared me to fill a whole page with words. She dared all of us, of course, to take out loose-leaf paper and channel our power with a pencil. We had just finished a unit on westward expansion with tales of Lewis, Clark, and Sacagawea, families in covered wagons, and the herds of buffalo they found on their way. Instead of feeding us spoonfuls of fill-in-the-blanks, we planned the menu ourselves.

Mrs. O'Malley was very cool. She favored experiences over lectures. She brought in sugar cane and cracked coconuts open because we'd never seen them. She sent us on backyard adventures and had us gluing seeds and pinning insects––eek––to boards. To empower her future consumers, she invited us to weigh McDonald's quarter pounders and count the 1000 squares of a Scott brand toilet paper roll. 

When it came time to write, I'll admit I was nervous with my folder of notes tucked deep inside my desk. If I were to prove to Mrs. O'Malley what I learned, I’d have to flip through the files of my mind. I could see the pages of my neighbors fill line by line. The clock hand circled again and again. But somehow I translated the stories she had told us into my own language. Naming places and placing names, I scared the blank page away and coaxed in history as only I knew it. 

I was 10, so I doubt my writing could be used as a reference today. It was the doing, however, that I remember.