My Masterpiece

On a cold day in mid-January of 1987, 1 prepared to create my masterpiece writing.  As I sat in my grandmother's back bedroom looking out on a world of white snow and glistening ice, I tried to think back on exactly what my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Coatney, had told us about this paper.

She had asked us to hand in a creative writing about any topic we chose, but the assignment had to be turned in at the end of two weeks.  She gave the class directions and topics we might consider writing about.  Mrs. Coatney loved providing a challenge for her students and believed strongly that they had the talent to achieve anything they set out to accomplish.  Mrs. Coatney's eyes always sparkled, but as she explained to us why this assignment was so important and special, her eyes were brighter than usual.  The grade school principal, another teacher, and Mrs. Coatney would pick the top three papers and these would be a submitted to "The McDougal, Littell Young Writer's Annual” for a writing contest. She went on to explain to us how the winners would have their writings published in a book, receive a copy of it, have an award presented in front of the whole school, and a picture of the winner would appear in the local newspapers.  It was exciting to think of being recognized in front of the whole school, but to have a picture in the newspaper was the best award I could think of.

I was excited and could not wait to get home that day to tell my mom what Mrs. Coatney had said.  The bus ride home seemed to last an eternity.  Snow had started to pack on the roads, and it took all the bus driver's effort to make it uphill and avoid sliding in the ditches on the downhill side.  As the bus finally slid to a stop in front of my house, I made a mad dash in to tell my mom.  She said, "Caleb, you're a good writer.  You make A's an all your papers and if you put out your best effort you have an excellent chance of winning.  You have to try as hard as you can and if you do, you're always a winner." I always enjoyed creative writing because I always had a story to tell about something.

The snow continued to fall through the night, and the next morning the TV announced “no school”.  Drifts of snow piled high and then the snow changed to ice.  It began to cover trees, fences, and electric lines.  By the next morning, the poles that held the electric lines had begun to snap from the weight of the ice and we were doomed.  We had no heat, no water, no lights, and worst of all no TV.  My sister and brother and I thought the end of life had come.  We didn't know it but school would be closed for a week and a half.  I got busy building snowmen, making snow angels and all the other fun things you do in the snow, and school assignments were light years away.  We went to my grandparents’ house because they had a generator and we could have heat, water, and lights, but still no TV.  I let that week and a half slip by.

So here I was, sitting in the bedroom, with only a few days until the paper was due. There was nothing on my paper, no idea in my head, and the snow was beginning to melt. 

As I thought about everything that had happened since the snow storm hit and all the inconveniences it had caused, I created a story of fictitious characters, Mr. Freeze and Mr. Burn, who battled against each other.  I titled the story Disaster Hits Oklahoma and I began to write my story.

 “Hello!  My name is Mr. Freeze.  I help Mother Nature in the wintertime.  This winter I got mad at Mr. Burn because he made the summer so hot.  I was steaming so I had to cool off.  I froze Oklahoma! It was one of the only times I got mad."

As my pencil flew across the paper, I visualized Mr. Freeze causing the outside conditions we had been experiencing because of the actions of Mr. Burn the summer before.  I went on to tell how Mr. Freeze broke down trees and power lines and how it took the electric companies a week to fix the power lines.  In the end he decided he had acted badly and went over Oklahoma viewing the damage on his way to Mr. Burn's to apologize for what he did.  Mr. Burn promised he would go easy on the heat this summer, and they were friends again.

When I finished I let my parents and grandparents read my paper and they all assured me I was a winner, as parents and grandparents usually do.  School resumed two days later and the paper was handed in.  The committee graded the papers and I made a 98, the highest score in my class.  Mrs. Coatney asked me to recopy the paper and make a couple of corrections, so she could send my paper to the national contest.

            As winter faded and spring came, baseball became more important to me than that long gone paper.  One day after recess, Mrs. Coatney came up to me in the hall, smiling, and said, "Caleb, you've won!".

The events that followed were just as Mrs. Coatney had promised.  After the assembly where I was presented my award in front of the whole school, the older kids and other teachers, most of whom I didn’t know, were coming up to me, slapping me on the back, telling me how great I was and how proud of me they were.  I received a certificate and a personal letter from Mr. McDougal, the head of the foundation, and the copy of the book.  It is quite an overwhelming feeling for a ten-year-old to see his name in print and know that people all over the country were reading it too.

I felt that I had become famous, at least over two counties.  Mrs. Coatney wrote an article about the award and recognition I received.  It was published, along with my picture and my story, in several newspapers.  I still could not believe something that had come from my imagination had been published nationally.  I felt like quite a celebrity, not humble in the least.  I was going to really enjoy this, but the limelight faded fast and I soon became a regular kid playing second base on the baseball field that summer.

The thrill of that win never really left me.  I still enjoy reminiscing about my time in the spotlight.  I think at that point, it became apparent to me that no one could win things for me or make me something I was not.  I could depend on my family for moral support, but only I could achieve the thing I desired.

I figured that from then on, just as my mother had told me months before, if I tried I could do it.  These few words inspired me many times since then and probably will many times again.