My first-grader, Eleanor, is learning about various forms of writing in school. She has learned how to compose a letter and now writes several each day, to me, to her father, and to her sister. She doesn't seem to have realized that she can write to people further away than the couch, but I am working on that.
She is also learning about plays. At school, they read and perform simple plays each week. She and her best after-school buddy wrote a short play about a girl visiting a zoo with her mother. I'm thrilled that she is interested in writing.
Yesterday, she and Hazel (my 3-year-old) decided they wanted to perform for us. After stalling them for several hours, Jimmy and I finally took our places on the couch, shut off the football and put down the magazines. Eleanor came in and announced, "This play is called, 'The Screaming Girls.'" "I don't think I'm gonna like this," Jimmy deadpanned.
What followed was clearly in the category of experimental, lacking any narrative structure. Eleanor's performance still managed to be conventional, while Hazel was just out there altogether. She performed in underpants-only costume and repeatedly broke the fourth wall.
This critic will do everything she can do to insure that "The Screaming Girls" is never performed again.
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