11-4-21

After eleven days off for winter break, G3 found it difficult to return to our homeschool routine this morning. The fact that he had trouble falling asleep last night didn’t help. When we arrived at our New Jersey classroom, he was tired, cranky, and in absolutely no mood to do anything academic. Around noon, we stopped for lunch, and within seconds he was sound asleep. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t sleep enough at night and your classroom happens to be one of the most cozy places you can imagine. Sleeping, he looked so sweet an angelic so I didn’t wake him up. We had all afternoon. There was no rush to get our work done. However, about twenty minutes after he closed his eyes, he woke up crying — upset that he was technically still in school and still had to finish his lessons for the day.

Last month, he had written a poem for fun, a poem about the Battle of Bunker Hill which really took place on Breed’s Hill. We had recently learned about the battle in class which is what inspired him to write it. When he finished, he asked me if I could have one of my wring friends critique it for him. I am not a good poet. Poetry is by far my weakest genre and I’ve never shied away from admitting it. So when he told me he didn’t think I’d be as helpful as my poet friend, I wasn’t insulted. I reached out to her and she was kind enough to read the poem and make comments on it, the way we comment on each other’s work for our monthly writing meetings. After lunch today, my son finally studied her comments and set to work revising. He addressed most of her comments, but he struggled with metaphors. He really wanted to do what she suggested, but the metaphors were frustrating him. Looking at me he sighed, “I don’t think I can do it. Maybe next time.” I didn’t want to push. How could I when I’ve been writing for many more years and metaphors still trip me up. The poem also has no punctuation. That’s intentional. According to G3, “If I add punctuation it will look like prose. Please don’t make me add it. Not yet. Let me have fun. Don’t forget I’m not in college.” Okay, it was a semi valid argument. The last thing I want to do is discourage from enjoying poetry like my teachers had discouraged me.

Here is his historical poem:

Battle on Breed’s Hill

Pt: 1

Prescott’s fort was 

Forged by earth 

1,000 of us 

2,000 of them 

For we were a militia clothed in rags

We stood on Breed’s Hill 

All right and ready

The British were approaching

With red coats and muskets

Like lobsters in a bright blue sea

Do not shoot till you see the whites of their eyes 

Shouted Putman across the fields

Or later be dead

This rung in our ears as the British drew closer 

A shot was fired 

From the British no less  

The man in front of me fell

I was glad to not have stood there 

For I would have been dead 

Before the battle proceeded

Pt: 2 

After an hour or two 

Of sadness and death

The white flag was waved 

From our side 

We had run out of powder

We might have surrendered 

But we had not suffered

1,000 redcoats were slaughtered 

And only 300 of us had died in vain

For we were the stronger force that day 

If only we had had enough powder

We may have been the victor