Around March, I go through a manic period trying to give my sophomore classes last minute preparations for the state exam that they must pass to graduate. I usually pull some poetry examples from previous years, and on one particular day, I selected “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.”
After asking the students to write a short response, I called on one student who proceeded to read, “In the poem ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Child,’ there are images such as…”
“Wait,” I interrupted him. “Can you read that again?”
He read the line again, reading “child” instead of “cloud.” He proceeded to read it and it occured to me that he read the entire poem that way, having this depressing image of a lonely little kid, lost and alone.
I lost it. Seriously. In front of a room of 20 fifteen-year-old honors students, I started laughing hysterically, hyperventilating. I finally had to walk over to the desk in the room, sit, and put my head down. They were all laughing because I was laughing. I’d stop, inhale deeply and prepare to move on, then someone would snicker, and I was back to laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
Finally, the door to the classroom next door opened. My department head was trying instruct her class next door and clearly heard the hysterical laughter. She surveyed the room, noting that I was red-faced, trying to breathe and keep my eyeliner from running, and the students were in various states of hysterics.
“So,” she ventured, “what exactly is going on in here?”
I shook my head, still trying to catch my breath. A girl closest to the door finally answered: “We’re reviewing poetry for MCAS.”
“Uh-huh,” Department Head answered, and closed the door slowly.
It was even more fun trying to explain the ruckus during lunch.