Neighborhoods
Last week the theme of my writing workshop for my youth was “neighborhoods.” I asked my students to write about where they live and where they grew up. I wanted them to take what I taught them about describing settings and connect it with their daily environments. My goal was for them to write what they see, hear, and feel when they’re in their neighborhoods.
The prompt was, “Write about where you live,” with guiding questions such as “What do you see? What do you hear? Who lives near you? What makes your neighborhood special?”
The assignment was to encourage them to think critically of where they live and to use their lenses as a way to describe their familiar environments in great detail. My intention was not to make them feel inadequate by doing this, but rather to make them feel critical of their surroundings. However, I learned very quickly through this lesson plan that identifying where you live isn’t always the easiest to write about. Like love, loss, and life, location is a sensitive topic for any person.
When I asked my students to write where they live in San Francisco, many of them hesitated. Some remained silent, while others expressed their negative comments aloud. One specific student pulled me to the side and said, “My mom told me to never tell people where I live. I don’t feel comfortable talking about my neighborhood.” And another student screamed out, “Yo! My neighborhood is ghetto! That’s all you need to know.”
At this time I could feel my classroom crumble and a deep heavy feeling overcame me. I could feel the dark cloud hanging over my students’ heads as if they were my own burdens. I knew immediately this piece of writing was a touchy subject, I could feel it. More so it was a heavy subject–a theme tied to experiences they wanted to forget and never relive again.
One of my students couldn’t handle writing anymore she left the classroom crying in the middle of the freewrite. After only writing a sentence, she paused and realized she couldn’t handle what she was about to write. So she put her pencil down and moved to the corner wishing to erase her story. She told me,”What happens if we don’t have good memories? I don’t want to write about this. I live in the hood. Ain’t nothing gonna change here.”
When the workshop was over, I felt defeated. I felt horrible for making my youth relive whatever trauma they’ve been through. I even approached one of the host teachers at the end of the workshop and told her I wanted to cry because I felt so sad. She then looked me straight in the eye and said, “Don’t be. Isn’t this what writing is about?”
That night when I got home, I realized this it isn’t about just today or past experiences. Writing is something that is difficult for anyone of any age. It is an act, a practice, a memory retold that is anything but easy. Writing is never easy. It never will be. Now I know that more than ever. I know now more than ever that no matter how old you are to write is to relive, and sometimes to relive is something a person is not ready to face. And that with writing comes patience, strength, and resiliency. And time, lots of time. I know that now. And I am forever grateful for my young writers who are teaching me to be patient and to only write when ready.
XII 