1st Draft:
“plEASE CAN I HaVE MY PHONE”
This was legitimately the title to an old essay for a letter I wrote on the 8th of February, 2021. I was only 13 yet it had been since the middle of my first trimester since I got that accursed single mediocre report card that led my mom to hide away my phone. And increasingly, I thought, to never be seen again. I ruled against talking to her about it. I couldn’t. I’d just forget my points or be too informal or mess up my tone or whatever. And then she’d really never give it back. I figured she would somehow hear the worst of me and double down.
As I was chatting with my friend via text instead of fully focusing on my teacher in ‘Google Meets’, it hit me that I could just type up my words and give my points their best shot! From what I knew from my ELA class I was half-doing at the time, I could only show my best persuasive words with an intro, three body paragraphs —with 2 pieces of evidence for each in P.I.E.I.E format!—, and a conclusion. So I got to work, I went through my school day, showing little attention to my ‘Google Meets’ classes to get this letter down!
I felt my fingers hesitatingly clacking on my keyboard as I inefficiently tried to type up all my feelings and ramblings. The ideas left my head faster than I could type them, and this was the fastest essay I’ve ever written!
Throughout the process, I kept my ear out to listen for my mom’s footsteps, so I’d know she was coming right before she entered the living room. And when I knew, I would strategically switch tabs to the still in-session class about chlorophyll or whatever the teachers were talking about at the time. It was imperative to me that I kept my letter-essay a surprise. It would be more persuasive if she didn’t see it half-baked.
It took some time but I finished, of course. One problem though, I felt too paralyzed to actually show it to her. My throat was tightening before I could call her over to take a look. I felt as though I needed to find the right time and mood that would give my essay its best shot! But, days simply went by, and by the time I actually looked back at my 440 word ticket-to-my-phone-back, it looked terrible. My body paragraphs were uneven. My words are repetitive. My phrasing sounded unnatural. It would never work.
I never did show “plEASE CAN I HaVE MY PHONE” to my mom. I hinted at it at best. I mean, I got that phone back after graduating middle school at least? Needing to wait ~2 years for the phone was definitely way overkill in my opinion. And it stings more because I had a lot of hope from making that essay. But realistically, I could’ve never convinced myself my paper would be ‘quality’ enough for my mom. At the time, I knew my mom was just that much more critical of how to write than me. My mom was an A student at her time in college and always had to advise me on writing my own school papers. I’d have scenes playing out in my head with her telling me things like how I wrote ‘this or that part of the sentence’ wrong. Or how it was nothing like how she was taught to write papers. I didn’t want to see her go over my letter, find some grammar or word choice mistakes and ruin any hope I had left for the phone.
In retrospect, I believe the lesson here is that the reliance on highly formulaic and standardized writing hurts the ability to communicate with others. Something that could’ve and should’ve helped put into word my younger self’s frustrations about wanting his phone back just didn’t. At the time, I only thought about sentence starters and a formula for how papers should be. There’s also the aspect of how I was sure I could have my wants be most respected if I put it all in a very formal ‘American’ way, which isn’t a very rare feeling someone else in an English-speaking country would feel.
Last Draft:
“plEASE CAN I HaVE MY PHONE”
I chose this as a title for an old essay for a letter I wrote early in 2021. I was 13, yet it had been since the middle of my first trimester since I got that accursed mediocre report card that led my mom to hide away my phone. And increasingly, I thought, to never be seen again. I ruled against talking to her about it. I couldn’t. I’d just forget my points or be too informal or mess up my tone or whatever. And then she’d really never give it back. I figured she would somehow hear the worst of me and double down.
During a ‘Google Meets’ class, it hit me that typing could give my points their best shot! From ELA class, one way to persuade someone was with an intro, three body paragraphs —with 2 pieces of evidence for each paragraph in P.I.E.I.E format!—, and a conclusion. So I got to work, in-between two of my classes, prioritizing my attention to get this letter down!
I felt my fingers hesitatingly clacking on my keyboard as I inefficiently tried to type up all my feelings and ramblings. The ideas left my head faster than I could type them, yet this was the fastest essay I’ve ever written! Throughout the process, I kept my ear out to listen for my mom’s footsteps, so I’d strategically switch tabs to the still-in-session class about chlorophyll or whatever the teachers were talking about at the time before she entered the living room. It was imperative to me that I kept my letter-essay a surprise. It would be more persuasive if she didn’t see it half-baked.
It took some time, but I finished, of course. One problem, though, I felt too paralyzed to actually show it to her. My throat was tightening before I could call her over to take a look. I felt as though I needed to find the right time and mood that would give my essay its best shot! But, days simply went by, and by the time I actually looked back at my 440-word ticket-to-my-phone-back, it looked terrible. My body paragraphs were uneven. My words were repetitive. The phrasing sounded unnatural. It would never work.
I never did show “plEASE CAN I HaVE MY PHONE” to my mom. I hinted at it at best. Well, I got that phone back around the end of middle school, regardless. Though, needing to wait ~2 years for the phone felt overkill, and it was. My mom didn’t bother handing it back until I literally needed a phone to contact her outside like before the pandemic. That’s how she got away with not feeling encouraged to give it back, considering the whole virtual classes thing. It stung more because of the unrealized hope the essay gave. But realistically, I could’ve never convinced myself my letter would be ‘quality’ enough for anyone. I knew my mom was just that much more critical of how to write than me. She was an overachiever in school, an attitude she needed in her home country to keep up with everyone else’s access to private tutors. It carried over to her often advising me on my writing and feeling critical of even her own emails.
I’d have scenes playing in my head with her saying I wrote ‘this or that part of the sentence’ wrong. Or how it wasn’t like the English she was taught. My mom wasn’t a native English speaker and relied on what she knew from school or college. I didn’t want to see her go over my letter, find some lines that only make sense if you can imagine it spoken out loud, which she wouldn’t, and hurt my credibility.
I had a belief that I could have my wants most respected if it was through a formal ‘American’ way. And it’s not an uncommon feeling for a person to know that they have a valid point or need to get across but are limited by their own language and can’t easily get it across.
In retrospect, the reliance on highly formulaic and standardized writing hurts someone’s ability to communicate. Something that could’ve and should’ve helped translate my younger self’s frustrations about wanting his phone back, didn’t. He only thought about sentence starters and a template for how papers should be. Schools could give an understanding that language should prioritize translating your meaning and intent and that standardized writing isn’t a consistent shortcut for this.
