In cleaning up a home computer the other day, I stumbled upon a folder named “pbj” and had to laugh. I remember it well. Seventh grade. He was so ticked off at this assignment. It took him days to even think of something to write about. He hated English classes, period, but to be told to write a document of instructions about something, anything his heart desired, pushed him over the edge of civility.
I kept telling him, “Look around the house. There are a million things to write about. How do you connect your PlayStation? How do you play that game you always play? How do you get ready for school? How do you feed the dog?”
“I don’t know how you do this every day. Writing instruction books is so boring. I’d kill myself.” (Aw, sweet, sweet baby. Keep talkin'.)
Here’s what he ended up with:
How to make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich
So proud. I really think he went the extra mile with that “Together” stage. He didn’t have to include that. How helpful to his audience, right?