Not everyone likes to read. I went to school with one boy who would always choose the shortest book for a report. One day in fourth grade, he got in front of the class and gave a brief report. The teacher asked, “Did you get this report from the book jacket? You didn’t really read this book, did you?” He had to admit that the teacher caught him taking a shortcut.
In fifth grade, this boy got in front of the class and read the following poem as his own:
Spring
I know about the season of spring,
It really is a wonderful thing.
Many, many things start to bloom,
Then you can never catch the gloom.
In spring every day everyone works and plays.
Everyone feels so happy and gay.
In April, everyone fools around,
Many animals get out of the ground.
I remembered this poem as one I had written that had been published in a school paper. After class, I confronted the boy by saying, “I wrote that poem in the third grade!” He challenged me to prove it.
I went home and told Momma, who said, “I don’t know where the paper is. I’d have to find it.”
When she didn’t want someone to know where something was, she always said she didn’t know its whereabouts. I knew she had no intention of looking for it. Momma had thwarted my plans to tattle. I’m sure she made the wisest decision. Indeed, I didn’t find the school paper until after her death years later.
I was surprised this boy could pass off a third-grader’s poem as fifth-grade work. As a fifth grader, I didn’t consider that perhaps this boy’s level of competence in English wasn’t up to grade level. Instead, I took his plagiarism as a sign that maybe, one day, I could be a writer.
When You Don’t Feel Like Writing
I really really never thought
that in writing, I’d be able,
for I assumed that I brought
nothing to the table,
and that God would view my try
as something born of pride,
that He’d have to wipe each eye
of Lit Angels who had cried
after reading all the drivel
that I had passed along,
but I pressed on like Star Trek tribble
that I could prove them wrong,
and earn respect in quantity
where I fell short in quality.
Always wanted to work tribbles into a sonnet. Now I done it!
Andrew ~ your tribble comment made me legit LOL!!
Pam, I’m delighted!
LOL — “Tribbles” is a fun word!
Andrew, have you ever thought about writing a poem called “Quibbles with Tribbles” just for fun? ha!
Tamela, ‘Quibbles With Tribbles’ is a great idea!
Nice story. My brother Chad’s elementary school plagiarism story was like yours but with a twist. Our parents were teachers, my mother of second grade, my father of high school English. They hired tutors for us, from their limited income, to enrich us in many areas, including writing. Chad wrote a fine, creative short story in fifth grade and was accused of cheating. He was punished with detention for the alleged misappropriation of his own original work. From that episode, my parents decided it was better to be very slow to charge a student with plagiarism—better to potentially overlook some cheating, than to risk false accusation.
TAT
What a great way to point out how tricky the teaching profession can be — and publishing as well!
Someone once stole a picture I had drawn when I was in junior high. I looked and looked. Couldn’t find it. The art teacher knew about it.
A few weeks later, there it was, colored and hanging in the cafeteria. I told the teacher immediately and she took it down. I never found out who had stolen it.
I also had a glass stolen from the art room the same year. We had cut soda bottles to make drinking glasses. Mine was a Sprite bottle, green with dots on it that I painted white. It was really cool! When I went to class one day to get it to bring home, it was gone. I never found it.
While kids don’t realize what they do, they leave lasting impressions, don’t they? It’s amazing how often I think of those incidents and they happened over 50 years ago.
I am so thankful you chose to use that poem stealing to motivate you to keep writing!
What makes kids do these things! What a compliment to your art, even though you took a loss. The Sprite bottle does sound cool!
Cool. Thanks.
The last sentence is perfect. Let’s take a negative and turn it into a positive. It is all in how we see things.
Good point!
I love your poem. In the tenth grade, I wrote a paper about being Proud to be an American. My speech teacher gave me an A+ but never returned my paper. I would love to have kept it.
I wonder if your poem is being used to teach other students everywhere! Or maybe the teacher just loved it. Too bad she couldn’t have made a copy and then returned the original to you!
What a sweet story. Your mother was wise.
Very wise indeed!
That is a wonderful way to turn the situation around into a real positive note. What better way to gain confirmation about your writing.
Also, to add to the comments above: The Trouble with Tribbles is my favorite Star Trek episode!