It was the last class of the day, fifth time I had taught the lesson, and five minutes until the kids were gone for the weekend. "Would anyone like to share their quick write?" I asked.
The presence of the assistant principal who had dropped by unannounced to see what we were doing added a bit of energy to the exercise, but it was still feeling a little rote.
The first couple kids who read were notable for their earnest engagement with the prompt, and I glanced at the clock. "We have time for one more," I said. The student next to me had raised his hand each time, and it was his turn now.
"'Baseball is my favorite sport, I lied'," he started, and my eye brows shot up with interest. "It wasn't true," he continued, "I loved soccer, but I wanted these boys to accept me."
What followed was an amazing sketch, and when he finished, the assistant principal and I locked eyes with a What just happened?? kind of a look. Just then, the bell rang, and I dismissed the class, but not before I told that writer how well he had done.
In the last 30 years, I have read the work of thousands of sixth graders, and there have been several who I could easily imagine becoming way better writers than I will ever be, but this kid? He might be there already.
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