Dream House

Okay, this one is from this past semester. I actually just re-revised it and handed it in as part of my final portfolio, so hopefully it's marginally more "advanced" than the other one in some way. 

The Dream House Contest

A bell rang over loudspeakers. Nathaniel Beck, an assistant principal at Jamesville Elementary School pulled a stack of papers to himself and plucked off the memo on top.

            Fourth grade contest: My dream house. Voting based on composition skills and creativity. Drawings included. Winning house design to hang in Jamesville Library. Please tally votes.

            Nate read the first submission.

            My name is Ali Greene. My dream house is green with pink shutters and a big lawn with a tire swing…

            Ali’s paragraph continued, detailing a flowerbed full of roses and a whole side of the house that would be covered in morning glories. Attached was a drawing done on yellow construction paper. There was the green house, pink shutters, and a garden full of generic daisy-like flowers. Tree with puffy cloud-leaves from which hang a black circle. Nate noted that the tire swing was about the same size as the daisies.

            My name is Greg Schafer. My dream house is a pickup truck. It has four-wheel-drive and Ford makes it. Houses are for sissies…

            The rest of the submission went on about the various models of trucks Greg would have and where he would keep his bed and toilet. Nate dimly remembered a disciplinary meeting with Greg’s parents earlier in the year. He read a comment on Greg’s page from his teacher, made in glaring red ink, that said, “Don’t say sissy. That’s a bad word.” Nate had to agree, having been called a sissy himself on occasion and never enjoying it.

            He read through twenty more submissions, most of which were like Ali’s, detailing the color of the house and the size of the child’s bedroom. Some featured secret passages, or entire rooms belonging to dolls and stuffed animals for their daily businesses of E-Z Bakeries, Hess truck emergency rescues, or both. From the more outdoorsy children, there were several treehouses, and even one house that seemed to be a hobbit-hole, as it featured a round door and was under a grassy hill. Another was entirely self-sufficient, as it was heated and electrically powered by solar energy and a wood stove, and the child even wrote that the paints used on the wall “would not contain any bad chemicals.”

            Then Nate came upon a submission written entirely in perfect textbook cursive, which the children had learned in the third grade. At first, Nate thought this was an example submission written by one of the teachers, considering the penmanship. He started to skim the paragraph, but before he could move on to the next submission, he found himself reading and rereading this one.

            My name is Stephen Royer. My dream house is a castle. It has rooms for my mom, my dad, and my grandmother. There are more rooms for each of my friends. There is a room for my toys and a room for my sister to play dress-up. There is another room for my brother and his toys. The walls are made of big beautiful stones and crystals. The windows are all open without glass and they have purple curtains that blow in the wind. There are no windows so that the fairies can get in and out easily. They also have their own houses, but they come visit my castle frequently. There is a weeping willow tree next to my house and I hang birdhouses in it for the fairies and the birds. There is a barn outside, for the horses. Some of them are Pegasuses, and they live in the upstairs part of the barn…

             The submission went on to the full back of the page, detailing the places various mythological creatures would be able to stay in Stephen’s house. The grammar was close to perfect, with an advanced vocabulary for an eight-year-old and very little misuse of commas. Nate read the rest of the submissions, but none were so detailed and imaginative as Stephen’s. His drawing was also impressive, showing all the details from the written portion and exhibiting an impressive mastery of perspective, with a front walkway that widened at the bottom of the page.

            After reading all eighty submissions, Nate found the page that described each of the four teachers’ choices for winners of the competition, and his or her reasoning.

            I think Sara Steinbeck is the best choice. She displays conscientious thought about reducing her carbon footprint and I think this should be rewarded. – Mrs. McDowell

             Well, Nate thought, I guess that was to be expected. Mrs. McDowell is very politically correct, and she teaches most of the science classes for the grade, and I’m sure she’s glad that one of these kids thinks about her subject even in English class.

            Ali Greene has excellent grammar and pays close attention to the questions asked in the assignment. Joyce Connell is also a good candidate based on creativity. – Miss Fallon

            All right. Miss Fallon could be a little conservative in her views, and Joyce Connell’s drawing of a hobbit-hole did exhibit skill with a crayon, but honestly, Stephen’s grammar was just as good as Ali’s, and his castle featured multiple turrets! Nate considered calling in a second opinion if none of the teachers chose Stephen’s piece.

            Sara Steinbeck’s piece would be nice hanging in the library to show how we integrate science and English. It is nicely thought out and it has a cute drawing. –Mr. Markinson.

            Colin Markinson reminded Nate of his sister, Sue. Sue went about her world with a military exactness, always knowing the correct things to do in any situation. If Sue wasn’t already married, Nate might actually consider introducing her to Markinson. Well, if she wasn’t married, and if he wasn’t afraid of their hypothetical progeny. Nate leaned back in his chair, feeling like a beauty pageant judge who had noticed that a girl was stunningly beautiful and talented, and had turned to the other judges to find that they had blinked and missed her arrival.

It was painfully obvious to Nate that Markinson had picked Sara over Stephen and the others based on the opinion he wanted others to have of the school; Perhaps if Stephen’s fanciful characters were displayed on Jamesville’s library walls, Colin Markinson would be pegged as a teacher of fantasy, a cheerleader for the most ridiculous of mythological creatures, fairies and flying horses. And worse, as a man who molds the minds of little boys to believe that fairies and flying horses are appropriate areas of academic study. Nate could see himself arguing with Markinson about Stephen’s piece, and he could see himself losing. Resigned, he read the last teacher’s vote.

            I think Stephen Royer is the obvious choice for this contest. His vocabulary and creativity should serve as an inspiration to children and adults alike if his piece is hung in the library. Furthermore, he went beyond the requirements of the assignment and created a dream world, not just a dream house. Many of the children have not yet learned how to push themselves past the limits of an assignment as Stephen has. – Marisa Andrews

            Nate sat back in his chair. He had one, but did it matter? Did his vote count? Would Marisa Andrews back him up? He remembered for the third or fourth time that week that he had been planning to ask Marisa, the soft-spoken, curly-haired unanimous favorite of the fourth graders, to go out for coffee with him. Swiveling in his padded desk chair, Nate caught his reflection in the window behind his desk. His clean-shaven face looked back at him, perched over a blue collar held up by a blue-and-grey patterned tie. He had picked out the tie himself, thinking its pattern was one of those swirly, professional-looking ones, rather than a geometric old-man type or a paisley fatherly brand. Nate had always been proud of his taste in ties, feeling that they were the male equivalent of jewelry, a sort of macho mood ring that announced one’s state of mind. Now he was wishing that he had chosen a more somber, solid-colored variety that would reflect what he felt was the seriousness of his position in choosing the winner of the dream house contest.

It was nearing the end of the school day, and he had to announce the teachers’ decision at the afternoon assembly. He wondered at the possible effects of announcing that Sara Steinbeck had won the competition. She would be proud, as would her parents. The Steinbecks were nice people; they came to all the school’s events to which parents were invited. They had run carnival booths to raise money for charity and had donated used books to the school’s annual book drive. Nate mainly remembered them because of Mrs. Steinbeck’s face-painting abilities. He had brought his six-year-old niece, Sue’s daughter Caroline, to last year’s carnival, and she had been a wriggling, hyperactive ball of excitement until she had her face magically transformed into a butterfly. In contrast with her joyful metamorphosis, little Caroline had taken one look in the mirror and walked around the rest of the day as somber as a nun afraid to do anything that would ruin her beautiful green and gold feathers.

            On the other hand, if only he could somehow convince Miss Fallon or Mrs. McDowell to see the merit in Stephen’s little story – for it was really a story – by only his and Marisa’s opinions. Marisa Andrews was the newest and youngest fourth grade teacher at Jamesville Elementary and held little sway in the teachers’ lounge. Nate was in the same position relative to the rest of the administrative office. He wondered if tat was why they had both picked Stephen; Were they closer to remembering something that had floated through their minds on a string and had inspired games of Aladdin, House, Neverland, and Little Orphan Annie? Something that had perhaps buried itself deeper in the minds of Colin Markinson and Cheryl Fallon than in his own and Marisa Andrews’s? No, Nate decided. Colin Markinson would never have played Aladdin.

Shuffling again through the colorful papers on his desk, Nate wondered what Stephen would tell his parents if he won. He could not remember meeting a Mr. and Mrs. Royer, which was usually an indication that the child’s parents both worked full-time jobs and were unable to come to the school for the many volunteer efforts for which parents donated their time. Either that, or the Royers were both so wrapped up in careers, drugs, hobbies, or other children, that they were willing to push Jamesville Elementary to the periphery of their lives.

            No matter the possible mental and physical locations of Stephen’s parents, however, Nate felt strongly that the boy deserved to win. Judging by his writing, he was more likely to actually go to the Jamesville library than any of the other children anyway. And if another child won the prize that Stephen so clearly deserved, would he begin to realize what rules and values his teachers, the omnipotent adults with whom he spent more time than his parents five days a week, were thereby declaring? Would he give up on the fairies and flying horses? Would his imagination live to tell the world about the weeping willow tree hung with birdhouses in which apartments are shared by elves and squirrels?

            Nate sent memos to all four teachers, and the fourth grade recess found the five of them in a meeting in the vice principal’s office. Nate, who had been so convinced that he was taking a stance on a moral issue, was now unsure how to explain to these teachers why he was depriving them of half their lunch break.

            “I brought you together to discuss the results of the ‘Dream House’ competition,” he began. “As the votes lie, Sara Steinbeck would win the competition.” He looked at them. Marisa Andrews appeared surprised. This gave him enough confidence to go on.

            “I wondered whether you all might reconsider the winner based on the parameters of the assignment.” At this, he received raised eyebrows from Mrs. McDowell and a scowl from Miss Fallon. Mr. Markinson was the first to speak.

            “Listen, Mr. Beck – “

            “Please, call me Nate.”

            “Nate, we grade assignments like this all the time. We really only sent you the submissions as a formality. You know, the judges aren’t supposed to be the ones to tally the votes. Some rule somewhere. You didn’t actually have to read the submissions.”

            Nate recalled the memo on top of the pile of papers. Please tally votes.

            “I’m aware of that, Mr. Markinson.” He paused. No “Call me Colin” was forthcoming. He continued, “But I did read them. I guess I was trying to be thorough. And I’m glad I did, because there was an entry that really jumped out at me. Stephen Royer seems to have mastered English skills beyond his grade level and the imagination put into the piece is fantastic. I really think we could put his entry up in the library and people would be amazed at the education kids are getting here.”

            There was a pause, during which Marisa Andrews appeared oddly troubled, and Miss Fallon exchanged a look with Mr. Markinson. Mrs. McDowell finally spoke.

            “Listen, Nate, Stephen did an excellent job, but he went outside the assignment. Did you read the assignment?”

Nate nodded.

“Then you know they were only supposed to describe the ideal house they would want to live in, and so on. Stephen’s house was cute, but it was a fairy tale.”

“It seems to me that he went above and beyond the requirements of the assignment. Also, I received a memo that stated that you were grading this contest based on composition skills and creativity.” He showed it to them.

“It also says, ‘Please tally votes.’ Not, ‘please grade.’” Miss Fallon reminded him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, reminding Nate of his own fourth grade teacher, an aptly named Mr. Stern.

            “Well, I assumed that I received the full stack of submissions for a reason,” Nate said, “and I feel that it is important as a school administrator to be familiar with the work the students are doing.”

            “I didn’t realize you had enough free time over in the VP office to read everything placed on your desk. I wish I had that kind of time,” Miss Fallon replied pointedly.

            “All right, all right,” Mr. Markinson cut in with the air of the teacher telling his students to settle down. “Listen, Nate, this whole submission thing, it’s a perfectly democratic process. We all told you what we thought and you’re supposed to tally the votes. I think we all appreciate hearing your opinion, but at the end of the day, we’re the ones teaching the kids, and I think we know how to decide if a student has learned what he was supposed to learn. I understand if Stephen’s little essay appealed to your own personal sensibilities, but that’s not necessarily what we want to promote in the classroom.”

            Nate was completely taken aback. His personal sensibilities? Was this supposed to be a stab at his image? At what he now suspected was his alleged sexuality? He began to feel the heat and pinpricks of the kind of sweat that accompanies a specifically sexual embarrassment. The kind of sweat he had been trying to avoid since eleventh grade, when Bill Anderson had made sure their entire class of two hundred twenty-six students was aware that Nate was a virgin.

            “Sara did a great job,” Mrs. McDowell pointed out. “She referenced several areas of scientific study and gave detailed descriptions of the different parts of the house.”

            “Nate, buddy, if you haven’t got anything else for us?” Mr. Markinson asked, in a perfectly polite, condescending tone. Nate wondered if he spent time practicing that voice.

            He glanced over to discover that Marisa Andrews was looking at him in a way that confessed that she agreed with Mr. Markinson’s analysis of Nate himself, although in a less accusatory way. He also realized that perhaps his choices of tie and matching shirts had not had quite the effects he had hoped for. He let his mind drift to the afternoon in the auditeria – the combination auditorium and cafeteria – where he would announce that Sara Steinbeck had won the Dream House competition. Where he would make several such announcements before the year was out. Where it would be impossible for him to ever give Stephen Royer the recognition he deserved without leaving himself and Stephen vulnerable to their respective colleagues because of their appreciation of a dream house where nobody had anything but innocent intentions and benevolent spirits.

            Nate dismissed the fourth grade teachers from his office.