Imagination

As writers, I have to believe we have a bigger share of imagination than the average person. Other careers perhaps require just as much imagination, but no one else can turn dreams into reality quite so easily--at least reality on paper.

My imagination nearly ruined my early school career.

Through seventh grade I was sent to a private Christian school. After second grade, it just wasn't the right place for me. This particular school used a curriculum in which, once I knew how to read, I basically had to be self taught.

While sitting in a little cubicle.

The adults there didn't even bear the name "teacher", but they were there to answer questions if we got stuck or didn't understand the directions in our booklets.

This system works for students who are self motivated, who have the desire to learn. Who aren't burdened with an overly large imagination. It's like putting your child in his room with six hours of homework to do. Read the text, answer the questions, read the directions, do the math. Certain children would get their work done. Others would do about an hour's worth of work in that six hours.

That was me. And imagination was the culprit.

I'm not trying to be down on the school I went to. I'm a firm believer in Christian education for a variety of reasons. But I think the ideal happens in larger cities where they're able to also give the children a real classroom experience. When I switched to public school in 8th grade--and teachers who taught--my mediocre scholastic ability thrived.

Anyway, back to imagination. When faced with hours and hours of reading writing my answers, I wanted to be doing anything else. A little rivet I found became my pet--complete with a corral made from a ruler and two erasers. An unpopped kernel of corn, a baby named Poppy. Poppy slept on a Kleenex bed in my pencil box. My pet and my baby had all sorts of adventures. The most normal thing I did was to hide a notebook under my workbook and draw.

The school used a demerit system and my demerits were always for "wasting time." I'd have most of my work to take home with me. Imagine how well I did trying to finish it in my room--with actual toys to play with and not just a rivet and an unpopped kernel.

Now I can put my imagination to work for good. Back then I did so little schoolwork in a day, the principle and his wife--my nemesis in those days, giver of all the demerits--thought I was stupid or slow or had a learning disability. I would so like to send her a published book someday and say, "See! This is why I didn't do my work. My imagination was calling to me all hours of the day!"

The purpose of that story was to lead to the question: In what way has your imagination ever gotten you into trouble?