I knew a girl named Allison, my across-the-street pal in the first & second grade years. I was older than Allison. Wiser, even. Allison had not mastered things that I had firmly in pocket - for example, pronunciation of the words "sleeping bag." At my house for a sleepover, I noticed that Allison kept saying "sneeping bag" instead of "sleeping bag." At first I was disgusted, resentful at the way her babyishness was pulling me down. But somewhere along the way I realized my responsibility as her elder, and I wondered, how could I correct this terribly immature pronunciation of "sleeping bag" without crushing her spirit? I thought about it and chose my approach. All evening, I peppered my own speech quite liberally with the words "sleeping bag," slowing down the first syllable of the first word, hoping she'd make the connection. I wasn't really sure if she was getting it or not, until...
hunched into our sleeping bags, lights out, drifting to sleep, I heard...
Allison's voice whispering to herself...
"sneeping bag. sleeping bag. sneeping bag. sleeping bag."
She was trying it out, testing it, feeling the difference. I glowed and beamed in my sleeping bag, so proud of myself and, of course, so proud of little Allison.
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2 comments:
That is such a cool story. It just shows that you were meant to be a teacher from an early age. I wish that I had such a story to tell for my Carnegie course, but I don't rememeber any defining moments.
you ruined her childhood.
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