For this year's work on Les Miserables, I gave the students a "yellow passport", a shout out to the paper that Jean Valjean brings with him to the Bishop's house at the beginning of the novel. The passport marks him as a convict and is the thing that will continue to hold him back from a life--a good life, an honest life, a better life. Though Jean Valjean doesn't become honest in the way, perhaps, the Bishop hopes he will, Valjean becomes a better man--and it's all because he left the worst part of him behind: The piece described on the yellow passport.
My students were challenged to take something that they wanted to improve, regardless of how profound or superficial it was, and change themselves. They were to take their own personal "yellow passport" and become a better person as a result. They then had to extend the assignment into a symbol that represented the new them: Jean Valjean takes two silver candlesticks with him wherever he goes, a constant reminder of what the Bishop gave him through his forgiveness and love. The students had to come up with a symbol of their change, too, as part of their yellow passport.
Many of the students took the assignment to heart, though a few of them chose not to. With only a couple of exceptions, every kid who did something thoughtful and personal found the assignment powerful. For a few, it was life changing.
I often try to do the assignments that I give my students. Not all of them, but many. In this case, I decided to make my yellow passport about how I interact with my own children, but I also tried to give a less intimate confession of the weaknesses I need to shore up. Whenever I discussed the assignment with the classes, I would use cooking as an example. My symbol? Garlic.
See, I've been learning how to cook for the last half year or so, spending more time in the kitchen since I moved into New Place than I have probably the whole of my marriage. I've become the dish washer and frequent collaborator with my wife on many meals. Just tonight, actually, I made stuffed pork chops for my parents. It was really tasty, if I do say so myself. Which I do. Obviously.
The point of garlic as a symbol of my yellow passport--that is, the symbol of the new person I wish to become as I leave the non-cooking me behind--is that garlic was one of the first ingredients that I learned how to prep. I had not only forgotten how tasty fresh garlic is, but I am entertained by the idea of smashing the cloves before mincing them. There's something primal and satisfying about pounding the flat of a knife against a clove. A burst of aroma accompanies each preparation that makes me salivate and anticipate food--something that I haven't really experienced much in my adult life. Result? Garlic has become one of the staples of almost all my cooking. I could count on one hand how many times I haven't used garlic in a main meal, and those were all breakfast of some sort.
Because of this, garlic has become much more than an aromatic. It's come to symbolize a change of "can't make Mac & Cheese because I'll ruin it"* kind of me to a "I have no idea how to make a pork tenderloin. I think I'll figure it out!" kind of me. While I'm a far cry from a competent chef, or even one capable of cooking without a recipe to guide me, I like to think that this great vampire deterrent is also emblematic of deciding to make a positive change, and then moving toward the goal of self-improvement.
Also, it's mighty tasty.
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* This is a bit of an inside joke that, like all good inside jokes, needs to be explained so that you can see just how funny of an inside joke it is: I hate Mac & Cheese, but my boys love it. I have never made it for myself, so one evening, Gayle and I were making our dinner. We were working on whatever preparations needed--probably some steaks or whatever--and making the kids some Mac & Cheese at the same time. I promptly screwed up on the Mac & Cheese. I didn't actually ruin it, but I didn't cook it correctly. Gayle laughed at me that I could tackle stuffed hamburgers, prepare pork tenderloin, and cook all sorts of other things, but I couldn't make a pot of Mac & Cheese right.
See? I told you this was a good inside joke. Hilarious.
My students were challenged to take something that they wanted to improve, regardless of how profound or superficial it was, and change themselves. They were to take their own personal "yellow passport" and become a better person as a result. They then had to extend the assignment into a symbol that represented the new them: Jean Valjean takes two silver candlesticks with him wherever he goes, a constant reminder of what the Bishop gave him through his forgiveness and love. The students had to come up with a symbol of their change, too, as part of their yellow passport.
Many of the students took the assignment to heart, though a few of them chose not to. With only a couple of exceptions, every kid who did something thoughtful and personal found the assignment powerful. For a few, it was life changing.
I often try to do the assignments that I give my students. Not all of them, but many. In this case, I decided to make my yellow passport about how I interact with my own children, but I also tried to give a less intimate confession of the weaknesses I need to shore up. Whenever I discussed the assignment with the classes, I would use cooking as an example. My symbol? Garlic.
 |
| So tasty. So aromatic. So smashable |
The point of garlic as a symbol of my yellow passport--that is, the symbol of the new person I wish to become as I leave the non-cooking me behind--is that garlic was one of the first ingredients that I learned how to prep. I had not only forgotten how tasty fresh garlic is, but I am entertained by the idea of smashing the cloves before mincing them. There's something primal and satisfying about pounding the flat of a knife against a clove. A burst of aroma accompanies each preparation that makes me salivate and anticipate food--something that I haven't really experienced much in my adult life. Result? Garlic has become one of the staples of almost all my cooking. I could count on one hand how many times I haven't used garlic in a main meal, and those were all breakfast of some sort.
Because of this, garlic has become much more than an aromatic. It's come to symbolize a change of "can't make Mac & Cheese because I'll ruin it"* kind of me to a "I have no idea how to make a pork tenderloin. I think I'll figure it out!" kind of me. While I'm a far cry from a competent chef, or even one capable of cooking without a recipe to guide me, I like to think that this great vampire deterrent is also emblematic of deciding to make a positive change, and then moving toward the goal of self-improvement.
Also, it's mighty tasty.
---
* This is a bit of an inside joke that, like all good inside jokes, needs to be explained so that you can see just how funny of an inside joke it is: I hate Mac & Cheese, but my boys love it. I have never made it for myself, so one evening, Gayle and I were making our dinner. We were working on whatever preparations needed--probably some steaks or whatever--and making the kids some Mac & Cheese at the same time. I promptly screwed up on the Mac & Cheese. I didn't actually ruin it, but I didn't cook it correctly. Gayle laughed at me that I could tackle stuffed hamburgers, prepare pork tenderloin, and cook all sorts of other things, but I couldn't make a pot of Mac & Cheese right.
See? I told you this was a good inside joke. Hilarious.