Yeah, that's right. Memorize poems. Most kids get an allowance...
We didn't get an allowance in our house growing up. But that summer... I got paid to memorize poems.
The thing is... my dad has always been a lover of all things written. My sister says it like this... that you could always tell what the focus was in our house by the vast amount of books and bookshelves we had vs. the one little television.
So that summer I memorized two poems. The first was The Village Blacksmith by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and the second was The Ride of Paul Revere also by Longfellow. I don't remember how long it took me to memorize the poems and I don't remember how much I got paid. But I do remember this...
My seventh grade year my English class was taught by two teachers who joined their classes together. They were the coolest teachers at Keithley Middle School in Tacoma Washington. Mr Ice and Mr Mondloch.
One day, during class we were separated into two groups... teams. We were being asked questions from Brain Quest cards and getting points for our team for correct answers. All of a sudden Mr. Ice gets to a question that he didn't think anyone in the class would know and he said that whoever could answer it correctly would get 50 bonus points. FIFTY! Then he reads the question and I can still remember this like it was yesterday. He's looking at the card and he says "In a poem by Henry Longfellow, who stands under a chestnut tree?" Of course, with 50 bonus points on the table, almost every hand in the class went up. Everyone wanted at least a guess at who it was. Some wise crack said Donald Duck. My little seventh grade hand went up in the air, but I ACTUALLY knew the answer!! That was one of the poems I had memorized for money! I sat there patiently waiting for them to come around to me. My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest.
When it was my turn to answer I said "Under a spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands." The room went silent and every jaw in it dropped. I got my 50 bonus points!
The point is, had my dad not encouraged me to memorize classic poems that summer, I not only would have not known the answer, I wouldn't have even known what or who the question was talking about. But my whole life at home I have been encouraged to pick up a book, to memorize a poem, etc. My dad amazes me. He can recite numerous poems by heart. The Ride of Paul Revere being one of them... which... is no short poem. Look it up sometime.
As the years have gone by the only part of the poem I've retained by memory is
"Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands"
This all came flooding back to me tonight. My dad declared tonight family poem reading night. He asked us all what our favorite poems were, and he pulled them up on the internet. Then we took turns oldest to youngest, dad, mom, my two sisters, and me sitting in the designated chair and reading aloud our poem. Tonight mine was The Village Blacksmith.
Here is the poem in its entirety...
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
Anyway. I wanted to share that part of my story tonight. The Village Blacksmith will always be one of my favorite poems...
...thanks to the summer when I got paid to memorize it.
