They had already guessed, all wrongly (but that was okay), how old I was when I first read the book I was sharing with them. Their guesses ranged from five to twelve. When I told them that I was in my thirties, and was reading that book as a peacekeeper in Kosovo, where I carried first it, then Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, and The Little Prince in my cargo pocket, and read it with an M-16 rifle slung over my shoulder and a helmet on my head, sitting at a mountain camp on the Serbian border doing Bush-league military intelligence work, I think they got what I was hinting at: this children’s book was not for children only. Soldiers read it too.

I asked them if they knew the characters, and they all did.

“Name them,” I said - and their arms became a field of sunflowers reaching, reaching at the high noon sun. I picked them all. Some were wrong, but so beautifully happy to answer, to share what they thought they knew, it made them also so very, very right. I meant it when I thanked them for answering. How much I meant it quietly surprised me as I thanked.

None of them knew the characters came from a book; they thought they came from Disney cartoons. So I straightened them out on that one, too, and shared some of the priceless original illustrations.

I began the story: “CHRISTOPHER ROBIN was going away,” I read,

Nobody knew why he was going; nobody knew where he was going; indeed, nobody even knew why he knew that Christopher Robin was going away. But somehow or other everybody in the Forest felt that it was happening at last.

I looked up from the book at the sea of eager eyes atop all those fifth-grade creatures. Seated Indian-style, they leaned forward so eagerly to hear the story this big high school English teacher of AP Literature (whatever that was) was visiting to share with them.

“You’re going away too, you know.”

“We are?”

“Yes. You’re going away from elementary school. Next year, you’ll be in middle school. That’s why I chose this as the story I wanted to read to you. You’re going away too, just like Christopher Robin.”

A couple of girls sitting at the back of the huddle were already half-gone. I struggled to pull them fully back, against the tide, for just the space of one last story, and a struggle it was. Their eyes broke contact often. The boy in the very front, though, leaning 30 degrees from the floor to read the excerpt from the back of the book as I held it - what a piece of magic he was.

The one on the back is the one you’re reading to us!

He hadn’t lost the Art of Noticing, and I found myself envious of his parents for having that rare company in their lives.

Reading Eeyore’s valediction - no need to teach that word, since nobody needs it but AP test-takers, who’ll forget it after the test, while the natural readers will find it on their own anyway - reading Eeyore’s poem, I was saying, in Eeyore’s voice was hard, “a little lacking in Smack,” as he would say - but I did my best, and they were forgiving. It’s a hard poem to ruin completely, anyway:

Christopher Robin is going
At least I think he is
Where?
Nobody knows
But he is going–
I mean he goes
(To rhyme with knows)
Do we care ?
(To rhyme with where)
We do
Very much
(I haven’t got a rhyme for that
“is” in the second line yet.
Bother.)
(Now I haven’t got a rhyme for
bother.. Bother.)
Those two bothers will have
to rhyme with each other
Buther
The fact is this is more difficult
than I thought,
I ought–
(Very good indeed)
I ought
To begin again,
But it is easier
To stop
Christopher Robin, good-bye
I
(Good)
I
And all your friends
Sends–
I mean all your friend
Send–
(Very awkward this, it keeps
going wrong)
Well, anyhow, we send
Our love
END

They heard how Christopher Robin showed up, and Eeyore and all the other animals lost their nerve, gave him the poem instead of reading it to him, and disappeared out of some weird sense of farewell before he finished reading the poem to himself. They heard - and I hope some of them saw it - how only Pooh remained then, in the Hundred Acre Wood, at Christopher Robin’s side. Trying to catch the sound of the Christopher Robin voice I’ve always heard in my mind when I read him was such a delicate task. Christopher Robin’s voice is as important as the nape of his neck, his knees, his socks in E.H. Shepherd’s icons of him. Their eyes told me I was doing okay.

I was excited. I knew what was coming, and how it ended, and they wanted to hear so they could know too. This was Literature; this was Culture - more than I’d experienced in a long time. I said,

“Come on, Pooh,” and he walked off quickly.

“Where are we going?” said Pooh, hurrying after him, and wondering whether it was to be an Explore or a What-shall-I-do-about-you-know-what.

“Nowhere,” said Christopher Robin.

So they began going there, and after they had walked a little way Christopher Robin said:

“What do you like doing best in the world, Pooh?”

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best?” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called. And then he thought that being with Christopher Robin was a very good thing to do, and having Piglet near was a very friendly thing to have: and so, when he had thought it all out, he said, “What I like best in the whole world is Me and Piglet going to see You, and You saying ‘What about a little something?’ and Me saying,’ Well, I shouldn’t mind a little something, should you, Piglet,’ and it being a hummy sort of day outside, and birds singing.”

“I like that too,” said Christopher Robin, “but what I like doing best is Nothing.”

“How do you do Nothing?” asked Pooh, after he had wondered for a long time.

“Well, it’s when people call out at you just as you’re going off to do it ‘What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?’ and you say ‘Oh, nothing,’ and then you go and do it.”

“Oh, I see,” said Pooh.

“This is a nothing sort of thing that we’re doing now.”

“Oh, I see,” said Pooh again.

“It means just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.”

“Oh!” said Pooh.

They walked on, thinking of This and That, and by-and-by they came to an enchanted place –

I wondered what they thought the enchanted place might look like, so I paused to ask them:

“Sorry for the intteruption. Will the following students please report for detention to Room . . . .”

The intercom. So that happens to storytellers and magic-sharers in elementary school also: climax interrupted by the end-of-day detention-list litany.

The children started stirring.

“Can I please, please finish the story, even if it keeps you after school? It so funny, and so sad. You won’t regret it.” They all said yes - even the half-gone girls. Their teacher didn’t mind either. I liked him.

* * *

I’ll have to finish this later. It left a mark, and quite literally changed my life. But I’m tired right now, my Wordpress editor is buggy with formatting, and I’ve got to prep for a trip to the embassy and immigration office tomorrow. [UPDATE 9 JUN 08: Part 2, “In Which We Say Goodbye,” is up.]

If you can’t wait for the rest of the story, though, you can read ahead on the Pooh. (And you-know-who, if you ever read this, things didn’t work, but your giving me Pooh was something I’ll always treasure you for.)

12 Comments

• At June 4, 2008, Adrienne wrote:

  A lovely and heartfelt story, Clay. I look forward to reading the rest!

  Now you understand why I love Middle Schoolers so much! Their energy inspires me and makes me want to learn and do more every day. They are still genuinely *excited* to learn, and sometimes don’t even realize that they are learning. It’s truly precious.

  Maybe you should teach primary or MS for a while…?

  Adriennes last blog post..Lesson Reflections: Video, Google, and more

• At June 5, 2008, lucychili wrote:

  =)

• At June 5, 2008, Gilbert Halcrow wrote:

  Beautiful, lyrical, insightful, accessible

  Pooh is still there you just have to remember how to do nothing and sit very quietly then reach for his paw. I hope you remember how to do nothing during your time off.

  Gilbert Halcrows last blog post..Edupunk Feeds and Reads and New Sir Ken

• At June 5, 2008, vejraska wrote:

  Just like a great storyteller to leave us hanging:)

  I love that feeling of being “in the bubble” with my kids, knowing that they are all drawn into what you are saying. Middle school students so rarely show thier soft underbelly…you must be an amazing storyteller;) I look forward to part 2.

• At June 5, 2008, Jabiz Raisdana wrote:

  This story really excites me for my new job next year teaching ESL to K-5. As a middle school teacher, I have always wanted to move “up” for the intellectual rewards teaching older kids could provide, but now I am starting to understand that moving “down” maybe much more effective for my growth as a teacher, a father, and a man.

  Thanks for reminding me.

  Jabiz Raisdanas last blog post..No Talk and All Action

• At June 5, 2008, Dave Stacey wrote:

  OK. Now I have a tear in my eye. I love these stories, and read the end of this one at my Grandma’s funeral service.

  I’ll be fine in a minute…

  Dave Staceys last blog post..Writing Doug a job description!

• At June 5, 2008, diane wrote:

  Going away…to school, to life, to adult adventures. Wonderful and inevitable. But sad, also.

  Sometimes we remember the magic of a story’s first telling. Or, in recreating it for another eager listener, find we’ve rekindled the magic for ourselves.

  dianes last blog post..Feathers and Wings: A Birthday Poem

• At June 5, 2008, Nothing’s Important at Students 2.0 wrote:

  [...] a random book off the shelf and reading 3½ paragraphs on page 27. Most of all, doing nothing is listening to all things you can’t hear: “I like that too,” said Christopher Robin, “but what I [...]

• At June 6, 2008, Wade Hopkin wrote:

  Isn’t that intercom obnoxious! What a horrible intrusion on an otherwise beautiful piece of authentisism. I feel your pain! Every second period.

• At June 7, 2008, Nothing’s Important at Newly Ancient wrote:

  [...] a random book off the shelf and reading 3½ paragraphs on page 27. Most of all, doing nothing is listening to all things you can’t hear: “I like that too,” said Christopher Robin, “but what I [...]

• At June 9, 2008, An Enchanted Place, Part Two: In Which We Say Goodbye | Beyond School wrote:

  [...] [Click here to read Part One.] [...]

• At June 14, 2008, HaloScan.com - Comments wrote:

  [...] remember: “I

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