I debated with myself about sharing this November entry from my fifth grade notebook of what the teacher called Expressional Writing because it seemed so revealing. Then I decided the picture it gives of the way the writing exercise worked, and of the world I was living in, were worth sharing. Plus, I think they're kind of funny. The photo is another one I took on that crazy journey along Route 95. We were heading south then, and used the bathroom at the Chili's in the picture, wearing disposable gloves and trying not to breathe too much indoor air. I held the door for someone on my way out and we both wordlessly acknowledged how strange the world had become. Anyway, here's the results of that long-ago writing exercise, where I assume the teacher played sounds from a recording or maybe even a portable record player.
Sounds to Hear Expressional Writing
The first sound sounded like something tinkling and jingling.
It sounded like something for Jingle Bells or the Night
Before Christmas, or Santa Claus is Coming to Town.
The second sound sounded like a rubbing sound.
It reminds me of a shopping cart at the supermarket.
The third sound sounded like a rough sound. It reminds me of a bird.
The fourth sound reminds me of a clicking sound.
It reminds me of my grandfather clicking his teeth.
It was loud. It sounded like a father
spanking someone.
It sounded like a car when it doesn't work.
It sounded like a car backfiring.
It sounded like someone who is nervous and is
tapping his foot.
It sounded like my mother scraping the
plates from dinner.
It sounded like my sister kicking over the
garbage.
Notes: The entry was dated November so I guess holiday songs were in the air; we're Jewish and this was Brooklyn so most everyone we knew was also Jewish, and yet... Our grandfather loved shoving his dentures out with his tongue, where they balanced precariously on his lip; this was also how they convinced my sister and me to go to the dentist. Spanking was a thing; but mostly I remember it as other people's (Jewish) mothers trying to smack the bottoms of their sons. Cars definitely backfired. They also needed to be warmed up in the morning during cold weather. People would go out and start the car, leave it running, and then come back to go to work. Good times. I didn't know I was aware of nervous foot-tapping. We never had a dishwasher. And if anyone kicked over the garbage (in the kitchen or outside where the metal cans were stored in the 'bin'?) I'd have thought it would have been me. Could be a case of blaming my sister for something I did and wouldn't be the first. Isn't that what siblings are for? In Brooklyn at least?
Sounds to Hear Expressional Writing
The first sound sounded like something tinkling and jingling.
It sounded like something for Jingle Bells or the Night
Before Christmas, or Santa Claus is Coming to Town.
The second sound sounded like a rubbing sound.
It reminds me of a shopping cart at the supermarket.
The third sound sounded like a rough sound. It reminds me of a bird.
The fourth sound reminds me of a clicking sound.
It reminds me of my grandfather clicking his teeth.
It was loud. It sounded like a father
spanking someone.
It sounded like a car when it doesn't work.
It sounded like a car backfiring.
It sounded like someone who is nervous and is
tapping his foot.
It sounded like my mother scraping the
plates from dinner.
It sounded like my sister kicking over the
garbage.
Notes: The entry was dated November so I guess holiday songs were in the air; we're Jewish and this was Brooklyn so most everyone we knew was also Jewish, and yet... Our grandfather loved shoving his dentures out with his tongue, where they balanced precariously on his lip; this was also how they convinced my sister and me to go to the dentist. Spanking was a thing; but mostly I remember it as other people's (Jewish) mothers trying to smack the bottoms of their sons. Cars definitely backfired. They also needed to be warmed up in the morning during cold weather. People would go out and start the car, leave it running, and then come back to go to work. Good times. I didn't know I was aware of nervous foot-tapping. We never had a dishwasher. And if anyone kicked over the garbage (in the kitchen or outside where the metal cans were stored in the 'bin'?) I'd have thought it would have been me. Could be a case of blaming my sister for something I did and wouldn't be the first. Isn't that what siblings are for? In Brooklyn at least?
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