The Stranger Final Project: Long Paper on Self

THE STRANGER FINAL PROJECT: LONG PAPER ON SELF

Example of PART ONE/ THE EXPERIENCE (mine is not complete. It is not full length. Yours will be longer.) NOTE: This is not correctly formatted and liberties have been taken with grammar rules. Also, it is fiction. ***You would use your notes from the grid from the experience and write like this:

The restful quiet of the room scatters like cockroaches the instant I hit the switch. The dead glare of the florescence seems to poke at the sour battery acid eating away at the bottom of my gut. I force a steady stride out of my aching legs to avoid being trampled by the fluttering, chaotic wave of energy blasting in behind me. Loud reactions to conversations started four minutes ago ricochet off the gloss of the harsh white walls and three thuds end with a click securing the door open so the flow of Precious Cargo comes at the room uninterrupted now-- with one exception. Like a log jammed in the rapids, Roger stops, stands grinning with the benign happiness of a dog I might own, demanding a handshake. I look down, pause, and submit to the moist glove of a hand and feel a last flicker of energy drop from me like a cinder down a cold chimney…

Some of the faces look up with anticipation, some are still turned sideways engaged in teen drama as if I am invisible and silent—in fact, I feel winded already, like I am shouting into a 747’s engine. Somewhere in my gut I quickly snowball a bellow demanding silence. Still no change, except now the stare of one youngster cuts into my forehead seeming to say, “I am listening. I have been. When are you going to do your job you idiot how dare you speak like that to me I am not them there are people here besides Roger…” I decide to ignore the sentiment. Pushing forth with the lesson is literal; I physically shove at it and feel the beginnings of momentum. One piece of the Cargo seems to have caught notice, almost an apology in her eyes, instantly attentive but still saying, “if this isn’t the start of class I am going to finish my talk with Ralph…”

I’ve got it, I am leaning into it, walking as I talk, feeling lighter, ignoring the girl still looking at me like I am babbling about aliens in my brain. We are rolling. “You will type this and turn it in on…”

“Wait, we should type this?”

“Yes, Ralph,” I stumble on this but the momentum is still here, I can keep going.

“Well I started writing it so how about can I write it first and then type the whole thing?”

“That’s fine Ralph. Now does anyone have a question on the actual— “

“So if we don’t do the chart but we…”

“Wait, what do you mean analyze ourselves?” a voice from the back chimes in. Dicky has put his head down. He has no respect for me, the momentum is gone. He is thinking Mrs. Lewis always had handouts and we did them and we got something done; I don’t even know what I am getting in here, Mr. I. is losing it.

Tommy looks confused. He wants to do well but

“Can I borrow a pen?”

“Mr. I., let’s say our story has people in it that are, like, not, like ‘appropriate’ for a school paper?” says Jack with mock sincerity, wondering with his slight grin if we are both playing the same game, if Mr. I. is really a party animal waiting ten years for the right question from the right kid to set him free. The left side of my neck seizes up. A cable seems to be pulling at the base of my skull, dragging it toward my shoulder blade. An electrical fire breaks out along that cable. Alfred--his desk still unblemished by papers or the trappings of academia--suddenly discovers that this is all a sham, that everyone is ignoring the 400 pound gorilla in the room and poses his question with all the appropriate disgust and pride in himself: “What does this have to do with the book? What did we learn this year? This isn’t a phil-os- oh phee class. I thought this was In-glish. What’s gonna be on the final? Like, existential stuff? So we can write anything?” (and so on…)

ANALYSIS/ REFLECTION—about 20% of you paper’s length.

I probably shouldn’t have thrown that desk. I guess I have a bad temper. I like to think that I can diffuse the anger. I like to think I can keep a professional detachment. Can I blame this place? Is it the vicious values of this area? I feel myself drifting away from the real world. Maybe it’s just that I have my mother’s temper. Or maybe I just need to grow up. Who takes one class in May so seriously? Who cares if Tommy lives for points and doesn’t care to learn? Am I really expecting to change that? Too many Dead Poet’s Society type movies.

I realize that these children want to please their teacher—and learn something maybe. But they respect things they can memorize and put on the final. I know I need to relax, I don’t need their respect; they must do as I tell them. I may be an ineffectual teacher, but they are not going to be changed by anyone—as my colleague said, they’ll learn it from me or someone else. I am disposable, a stepping stone to college, to a Mercedes. All that matters is taking attendance and being in the hall during passing. No one complains about a B+. I need to relax. If they get it they get it. I am not a doctor; if I screw up, they don’t die. They “learn” something next year. And so on.

HELP WITH YOUR ANALYSIS— If you are stuck, make sure you have done all of this:

1. Looked at your choices/ emotions and found reasons for them. Explain whether they fit into your ideal idea of yourself (and define your ideal self). Explain sources for them. Are they part of a pattern or was this a freak event?

2. Draw a larger conclusion about yourself—are you stagnant? If so, what are your overall traits as seen here? (Even buying a pack of gum can reveal something about your attitudes.) Are you changing or growing in any area? What would you change about yourself?

3. Examine those around you. Pick apart the people involved in your event. Analyze their emotions. Describe their values. Point out their influence on you and/or the event. When you assumed they felt a certain way, were you right? Are you a good judge of people?

4. Draw a larger conclusion about your society—those people are a part of it. Are they like everyone else in the world? Are they mean? Are they products of this area? Of America?