No matter how old I get I can’t seem to shake the briny bitterness of Robert Frost. He invites himself in and inspects all the interesting advances in poetry we’ve made only to say “Too subtle, not bleak enough, where’s all that snow I ordered?” Well, Rob, to be brief the beats had it better with their need to be proactive instead of giving beatdowns to poor elementary schoolers decades after dying.
[A Brief and Insightful Overview of My Life With Chilly Bob]
-3rd Grade: I’m an anxious wreck because prescribing feel good meds to young’uns isn’t quite kosher yet. The teacher, who currently wears a neck brace for the shakes and her heart for her sleeve, takes out a book of picture poems for kids. Of course “Walking by Woods on a Snowy Evening” is the first to be read. It was soothing to hear the first time and it makes that brisk day warmer when she says; “Now, kids, did you know Robert Frost lived in New Hampshire?” Hey, I thought, I live in New Hampshire!
-5th grade: Alright, I’m in peak condition for a middle schooler. My diet consists mainly of Funny Bones, Pizza Pringles, and a distinct fear of authority. My favorite words include anything over four syllables and whenever my mom says “yes” to buying me computer games. I have not said the word ‘fuck’ yet. Mrs. Pitz, perpetually loud and tan, reads us “Walking by Woods on a Snowy Evening” and I kind of tune out. “Now, children,” she shouts “did you know Robert Frost lived in New Hampshire?!”
-7th/8th grade: My memory is fogged by bad music taste and the discovery of anime but I’d bet my old Shonen Jump issues that they assigned Frost too. I have now said the word ‘fuck’. My eyes cross as the hip Language Arts teachers say; “Hey, did you know Robert Frost was from New Hampshire?”
-9th/10th grade: WHOSE WOODS THESE ARE I THINK I KNOW. HIS HOUSE IS IN THE VILLAGE THOUGH;
-11th: Actually Frost was pretty sad.
-College in the Chicago Suburbs, senior year: I’m taking a Nature & Literature class and one of our three major units is on Frost. At this point I hate him and any other kind of pastoral, introspective, poetry. Dickinson is okay because she understood brevity, and Stevens can go straight to the hell his Snow Man ended up in. I frequently say ‘fuck’. I’m able to argue my points on why I dislike the material well enough to impress those in the class who are non-English majors. My English major friends roll their eyes and tell me to go back to writing one act plays.
The real issue is that I don’t plan on leaving New England or the education field anytime soon. So, really, Frost will follow me until I get fed up and move to Florida. Sunny skies, swampy roads, and the hope that I will break the cycle of Frost who, it might behoove you to know, lived in New Hampshire.
[A Brief and Insightful Overview of My Life With Chilly Bob]
-3rd Grade: I’m an anxious wreck because prescribing feel good meds to young’uns isn’t quite kosher yet. The teacher, who currently wears a neck brace for the shakes and her heart for her sleeve, takes out a book of picture poems for kids. Of course “Walking by Woods on a Snowy Evening” is the first to be read. It was soothing to hear the first time and it makes that brisk day warmer when she says; “Now, kids, did you know Robert Frost lived in New Hampshire?” Hey, I thought, I live in New Hampshire!
-5th grade: Alright, I’m in peak condition for a middle schooler. My diet consists mainly of Funny Bones, Pizza Pringles, and a distinct fear of authority. My favorite words include anything over four syllables and whenever my mom says “yes” to buying me computer games. I have not said the word ‘fuck’ yet. Mrs. Pitz, perpetually loud and tan, reads us “Walking by Woods on a Snowy Evening” and I kind of tune out. “Now, children,” she shouts “did you know Robert Frost lived in New Hampshire?!”
-7th/8th grade: My memory is fogged by bad music taste and the discovery of anime but I’d bet my old Shonen Jump issues that they assigned Frost too. I have now said the word ‘fuck’. My eyes cross as the hip Language Arts teachers say; “Hey, did you know Robert Frost was from New Hampshire?”
-9th/10th grade: WHOSE WOODS THESE ARE I THINK I KNOW. HIS HOUSE IS IN THE VILLAGE THOUGH;
-11th: Actually Frost was pretty sad.
-College in the Chicago Suburbs, senior year: I’m taking a Nature & Literature class and one of our three major units is on Frost. At this point I hate him and any other kind of pastoral, introspective, poetry. Dickinson is okay because she understood brevity, and Stevens can go straight to the hell his Snow Man ended up in. I frequently say ‘fuck’. I’m able to argue my points on why I dislike the material well enough to impress those in the class who are non-English majors. My English major friends roll their eyes and tell me to go back to writing one act plays.
The real issue is that I don’t plan on leaving New England or the education field anytime soon. So, really, Frost will follow me until I get fed up and move to Florida. Sunny skies, swampy roads, and the hope that I will break the cycle of Frost who, it might behoove you to know, lived in New Hampshire.
Header art by T. Guzzio. Original photo via Max Pixel.
CONNECT WITH VINCE:
Vince Rappa is a recent grad out of Lake Forest College where he stumbled into an English degree. Testimonials for his writing include; "He uses his words in ways that make you want to lie on the floor and waste away your days listening to experimental jazz," "As a good friend, I read them like I was asked to," and "That sure was a poem." Until he perfects his craft he can be found in his room playing Street Fighter. You can follow him on Twitter @MistahRappa.
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