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Working Words

The Personal Essay
The Idea Comes A-Knocking
by P.L. Elliott-Makolondra

The idea grew from my daughter's first high school prom and the preparations taking place in our home the afternoon of the dance. While not doing much more than offering encouragement to the girls, I did get a brain flicker which I immediately scribbled down on the back of an e-mail recipe.

I refrain from writing ideas on the walls, however, any other writable surface might and has been pressed into service. I find if I don't instantly write an idea down somewhere it is lost to me forever.

For this essay the "scribble" read: "House a hub-bub of activity - all female, wrapped in longing and seeking acceptance. One lonesome, brave boy manages to break in. Swallowed up by a wave of giggles and perfume."

This was short and quick, yet it managed to set the mood I wished to retain.

The First Draft - A Learning Experience

The next morning I was able to start thinking through and writing the essay based on the notes I had made. The first draft of an essay is, technically, like the first draft of any written piece - basically a mess. But it's the formation of the ideas which is important. There is still plenty of time to manicure your thoughts and ideas later.

Racing the Stars - Prom Night
by P.L. Elliott-Makolondra

Draft #1:

The "Prom" has come and gone for another year, my daughter's first as a participant, my first as the worried parent. Both of us anxious and nervous, but not for the same reasons.

The hub-bub which bubbled up and over, saturating the house with the energy of youthful expectations, is now only an echo - the parents' Prom memories which will remain with us as surely as those of our celebrating daughters and sons.

It is a celebration; the celebration of youth and all the wonderful - and sometimes not so wonderful - experiences, yearnings and run-amok emotions this time of life bestows those passing through.

My home featured girls. Only one boy was brave enough to scale the walls, to alone carry the torch of the male teen and wade through the giggles, perfume and power possessed by these teenage girls. He wore the look of fear, and justifiably. Teenage girls are a force not to be taken lightly, as so many teenage boys discover when it's too late.

The girls had arrived earlier in the day to "prepare." In my mind, this meant they were going to put their hair up, do the make-up, get their dresses on. Dinner reservations were for 6:00 - they were in their dresses by 2:00, a definite sign of anxiety.

They did do all the things I had anticipated, but there were also showers all around, which came as a bit of a shock. Not that they shouldn't have taken showers - which had to be done to wash the hair, which had to be washed before they could style it - but I had made the tragic error of judgment and put off purchasing the Drano until next pay-day. Teenage girls take LONG showers, using millions of gallons of water. I held my breath, praying the water would not back up in the tub and pour through the house.

Someone had a bottle of body sparkle something-or-other. I don't know if it was a powder or a lotion, but it was blue and full of sparkles. The dresses of choice this year featured spaghetti straps, or no straps, and all that bare skin was just begging for something, I guess. Thus, on with the sparkles. Actually, it looked rather nice on the girls - not nearly as gaudy as I had feared (though I did not express these fears to them, of course). It doesn't look quite as nice covering my bathroom vanity top and a goodly portion of the bathroom floor. Some Prom memories require soap and water to erase.

There will never be a time more sweet for them. And as they did each others' hair, rushed in to show off the dresses, still kids playing "dress up" in many ways, the commotion and joy was a ruckus. But once ready, gorgeous and sophisticated beyond their short years and so far from their earlier selves, a quiet solemnity came over them, as if they realized the passing which was taking place here. That with the grown-up dresses comes the grow-up responsibilities. Even though tomorrow they will be back in their teenage uniforms of T-shirts and blue jeans a subtle change will have taken place.

With the horrors of teenage life and the fears it instills still fresh in my mind, I needed this reminder of what is good, decent and oh-so-wonderful about these special years and these special kids now living through them and giving me a peek into their joy. It's an honor and a privilege to know them. And a blessed assurance, as well, the future of the human race, which rests with these teens, will be secure and worth living. They will make it so.

Draft #2 & #3

I will spare you too many painful retellings of this essay, but will explain a bit of what I changed and why I did so. Again, this is a very personal decision and the portions of the original draft I wished to change may not necessarily be those you would have considered. In addition, I probably let ride bits and pieces you would never allow to remain on a page bearing your byline.

By this point in the rewrite process my focus has shifted, though subtly. It became important to me to place more emphasis on the goodness and still-sweet-naiveté of these kids, particularly in view of the events in Littleton.

Racing the Stars -
Prom Night, (Rewrites #2 & #3)

Paragraphs #1, #2 & #3 -
I felt the need to be more specific in describing how the same events impacted the parents' and the prom-goers' memories in a different manner. Basically, the essay needed to be "fleshed out" and more concise.

Paragraph #4 -
I wanted to make the teenage boy more real, give him his own set of emotions and fears, explain his mission as one of great importance. I felt in the first draft the boy was a "toss off" with no real significance.

Paragraphs #5, #6 & #7 -
Now the big changes begin to appear. In the first draft there was a very uneven tone to the essay when writing these paragraphs. The journey which began as a stroll down a sentimental path had managed to take a U-turn onto the highway of comic relief. Did I want this to be a humorous essay, or did I want to present the subject in a more serious manner? I ended up making a bit of a "compromise - the tone is lighter, but no one's rolling on the floor with a stitch in their side from laughter.

In Paragraph #7 I have written in my own assigned responsibilities, moving the "parent" from the role of total spectator to having some input. This enabled me to not only compare the two generations, but allow the teenagers to have an advantage.

From this point in the rewrites I put aside the first draft completely. The description of the actual preparations for the dance are more detailed and the reader gets a more vivid image of the girls' growing excitement. This is the section of the essay I allow the teens to "support the point" which lead me to my conclusion, proving they are good people, worthy of our love and trust.

Paragraph #8 (First Draft #8) -
I then set down my convictions and explain why I feel this way, based upon the alien nature of the world inhabited by these teenagers. I'm reminding adults to recall their own experiences as teenagers and to remember how different they were from their own parents. We forget these little things and we need to keep them with us, to keep us balanced. This paragraph constitutes my "revelation."

Paragraph #9 (First Draft) -
Surprisingly, I found I rather liked this paragraph and left it intact. I say "surprisingly," because I jotted it off in the first draft because I had to have something with which to end the essay. I expected to have to redo the last paragraph entirely. Instead, I found it rather effectively wrapped up my point, maybe not in a profound manner, but as an emphasis on the positive and optimistic outlook I see for these kids.

What follows is the final draft, which appeared in my newspaper columns (pick up check & pay the mortgage, list complete).

Draft #3 - Final Revision:

Racing the Stars - Prom Night
by P.L. Elliott-Makolondra

The high school prom has come and gone for another year - my daughter's first as a participant, my first as the worried parent. Though we both anticipated this hallmark event with a copious amount of anxiety and nervous trepidation, not for the same reasons.

The hub-bub which had bubbled up and over, saturating the house with the energy of youthful expectations, is now only an echo resounding in my memory. These behind the scene prom memories will remain with me and the other proud parents as surely as will those different memories being created by our celebrating daughters and sons.

It is a celebration, of course. It's the celebration of youth and all the wonderful - and sometimes not so wonderful - experiences, yearnings and run-amok emotions this moment in life bestows upon those who so quickly pass through.

The preparations in my home featured girls. Only one boy was brave enough to scale these walls. For this boy, entering such a feminine stronghold was every bit as alien as stepping out upon the surface of the moon. His was a noble calling - a single torch-bearer representing the teenage male, he waded through the giggles, perfume and power possessed by these girls. He wore the look of fear, and justifiably so. Teenage girls are not a force to be taken lightly, as so many boys discover when it's too late.

The girls gathered early, for there were many complicated, and foreign, tasks to perform. The hair required all their still developing skills, concentration was essential in the successful application of their makeup. And the dresses, the wonderful dresses, when slipped over their heads performed magic. As right before my very eyes these girls were transformed into women.

The floor-length formals were snugly fitted and made the most of their glorious curves; the girls were outwardly dismayed, but inwardly pleased. Oh, would those lucky boys appreciate how precious is this loveliness? I knew the answer, but I still had hope.

I had my own duties to perform in the proceedings, having been designated the "Keeper of the Cameras." Even this simple job proved too difficult a challenge for my meager abilities, as the girls handed over brand-new little cameras - none of which I could manage to operate. Were the cameras really were so difficult, or was I simply reduced to a form of premature senility, so often encountered when age bumps up against youth? I prefer to blame the cameras.

The preparations had actually gone quite smoothly. From my daughter's bedroom the bass track on her CD player shook the walls, the volume geared-up in a futile attempt to hear the music over the roar of the blow-dryers. The poor judgment which lead me to put off the Drano purchase until next pay-day did not result, as feared, in a backed-up tub and flood ravaged house - even though each girl took a long shower.

A bottle of body sparkle lotion or powder, lovely on the delicate shoulders and backs the dresses revealed, was a bit less effective sprinkled upon the bathroom vanity and scattered over the bathroom floor. Some prom memories require soap, water and elbow grease to erase.

The prom-goers had made dinner reservations for 6:00 that evening, while the actual dance began at 8:00. By 2:00 that afternoon, however, the girls were made-up, coifed and dressed - a definite sign of anxiety.

Still, there will never be a time more sweet for them. As they did each other's hair, rushed in to show off the dresses they had yet to slip on, they reminded me in many ways of kids playing "dress up," and the commotion and joy was infectious. But once ready, gorgeous and sophisticated beyond their short years, a quiet solemnity came over them, their silent passage into maturity marked by the knowledge along with the grown-up dresses came grown-up responsibilities. Though tomorrow they would be back in their teenage uniforms - T-shirts and blue jeans - a subtle change will have permanently taken place.

These young men and women are experiencing life in ways their parents can not comprehend. This is how it is supposed to be. We, their parents, gaze upon our children's lives through eyes grown focused on a different world. Their youthful challenges are not ours, nor have they ever been. We attempt to gauge their childhood based upon our own and wonder how they manage to survive so much trauma. But they do not yet possess the experiences necessary to allow them to make comparisons.

Looking back over our own teenage years we'll recall our parents felt the same way about us. What a different world we all inherit from each other. Each generation's imprint renders it their own, at least temporarily. As we were when their age, these teenagers know no other childhood; this is the only life in the only world they've ever known.

With the horrors of teenage life and the fears it instills still fresh in my mind, I needed this reminder of what is good, decent and oh-so-wonderful about these special years and these special kids now living through them and allowing me a peek inside. It's an honor and a privilege to know them. And a blessed assurance, as well, the future of the human race, which rests with these teens, will be secure and worth living. They will make it so.

The Meaning of Life Revealed!

When asked to write this "Working Words" column, I was hesitant to accept the challenge. Unlike so many of you Mom Writers I rarely write informative articles, research turns my eyelids inside-out and causes my brain to disengage. Even the articles I have written take on my "essay" tone - I believe this is referred to as my "voice," which is good, as long as I'm writing essays.

I decided to take the stab at it, however, because promoting the writing of the personal essay is something I believe in and the scope is universal. Writing a personal essay requires us to sharpen the skills we possess to search our souls, to trust our ability to find importance in all aspects of life, and to exercise the forgiveness required to permit ourselves to be human. The personal essay forces you to close tight your eyes to look deep within yourself. It is a most rewarding form of writing; possibly the most rewarding writing you will ever allow yourself to pursue.

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