Alliance for Catholic Education
The day begins, as always, with the alarm, the blaring opening notes of Nelly’s “Heart of a Champion,” and a quick pattering of feet to turn on the lights. I lay just as I did a few hours ago, unmarked and still, next to two pens, one forest green and the other Carolina blue. Although I spent the entire evening pondering which pen color would be best suited to tattoo me with comments, critiques, and praises (on one hand, the forest green matches the woodsy aesthetic of my essay’s topic, Robert Frost's “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” and resembles the alluring power of the woods on the speaker, but on the other hand, the Carolina Blue not only recalls the poet’s last name but also captures the charming wintry setting of the piece), the teacher, busy with making slides and handouts for the following day, did not get around to me last night. Maybe today will be the day.
Since I was passed from my creator to the teacher, I have made the trek from classroom to home and back several times in his brown leather bag. Although there have been days when I have felt that I would never be graded, today feels different. It is Thursday and the grind of lesson planning and reviewing formative assessments seems to be drawing to a close for the week. Today could be the day.
When I arrive in the teacher’s classroom, I am pulled from the bag and placed on the desk. This position of prominence is quickly diminished by the mountain of books, notebooks, and files placed on top of me, but I know that the teacher, obsessive about keeping the desk from getting too cluttered, will bring me back to the top soon.
Sure enough, once fourth period rolls around, and the bell rings to signal the beginning of the teacher’s planning period, he fishes me out from below an anthology of American poetry and places me front and center on his desk. He has the forest green pen in his hand. This is the moment.
The first comment is a circle, which highlights a comma splice in the first sentence. My creator tried to eliminate these, but I know I still feature a few. Then, the second mark, a note that says “Beautiful thesis!” at the end of the first paragraph. A pause, but then the teacher writes another comment on my right side: “Need more reasoning to connect Frost’s closing lines to the claim.” It is a sentiment that will be repeated a couple more times further down the page. Soon enough, the marking is over. There’s a final comment, but it is scribbled from the teacher’s now weary hand and I cannot quite decipher it (and doubt that my creator will be able to either).
A sheet of paper is placed on top of me–from the boxes on the front of it and the way that the teacher rifles through my pages as he marks it, I can tell that it is the rubric. When he is done filling it out, the teacher staples it to the back of me; it stings, but I’ll be fine. Although I am disappointed that I do not have a grade on me–I had always envisioned myself with a big red number or maybe even a letter circled on my top right corner–I know that I have the stuff that matters: the comments, the glows and grows, the information that will help my creator know their strengths and improve their weaknesses.
I am placed to the side, in a pile of papers just like me. I do not know how many are in the pile or how many still have to join us before our next step. I just know that I am where I should be as I continue my journey.
I do not know what will happen next. Some say that I will be given back to my creator who will immediately recycle me. Others say that I will be given a hallowed place in a folder, a proud testament to my creator’s strong work. Still others say that I will be crumpled up and jammed into a backpack, never to be seen again until I am shot into a recycling bin while my creator yells “Kobe!” as he unpacks his bag at the end of the school year.
But I am a Frost paper and I refuse to believe that I am finished. I lie with hope that this is not the end, but just the beginning. I will be written on again, edited again, discussed again, improved in the end. I am a Frost paper and I have miles to go before I sleep! And miles to go before I sleep.