Authoring Our Future: On Finding Hope in the Words of My Students

When I applied for the FAO Schwarz Fellowship, I was primarily focused on finding a job. Drowning in thesis deadlines and coming to terms with the hard truth that my time at college was quickly coming to an end, I was itching to figure out what my next steps were as seamlessly as possible. As the daughter of a life-long educator, the oldest of nearly too many cousins, and a veteran tutor/camp counselor/pseudo peer mentor to those around me, applying for a fellowship at an education-based nonprofit seemed like a natural fit. And 826 Boston focused on writing! Who would have thought majoring in History and Literature would actually increase my employability?

I look to my students as a beacon of hope for our future. It is the young people who remain changemakers, always ready to question authority, question their peers, and even question themselves.

As I went through the onboarding process, I realized how amazing of an opportunity engaging with such an intentional organization could be. As someone who has used writing to reconcile my own thoughts in moments of tension, advocate for change when I feel afraid, and express myself when spoken words seem to fail me, I intimately understand the power that literacy and writing education can engender within youth. However, over these past few months at 826 Boston, I have been surrounded by young people who use their pens as a tool, bridge, and weapon. Their stories and unfettered hope for a better future is infectious. Arts-based education is like a rock thrown into a pond; its impact of improving the self actualization of youth is simply the first ripple. Every lesson my coworkers and I learn from our students follows like concentric circles. Below, I’ll share a few:

1. Words can make dreams a reality.

At 826 Boston, our mission statement reads “826 Boston is a nonprofit writing, tutoring, and publishing organization where students in grades K-12 and beyond can share their stories, amplify their voices, and develop as leaders in school and in life.

In my time serving as a Publishing Fellow and part-time creative writing instructor at 826 Boston, I’ve been lucky enough to witness the tangible impacts amplification of student writing can have on audiences — and even more excitingly, the students’ own futures! At our annual gala, one of my students read a self-authored piece to an audience of donors. A comedy-horror story focused on a murder ambiguously committed through a seemingly safe meatloaf dinner, the student read the dialogue aloud with a famous local author. In a Q&A session afterwards, he shared that, when he grows up, he wants to be a star. Given that the audience was also filled with representatives from a college admissions team — some of whom spoke to him later and vehemently encouraged him to apply to the college with allusions to potential scholarship opportunities — his dreams are already on their way to becoming a reality.

Regardless of whether or not he attends that specific college — or university at all — his beaming smile reflected how significant this moment was . For students to be recognized for who they are and what they’ve been able to produce, can be transformative.

2. Hope can (and must) exist alongside despair.

As we see the world around us shift as a new administration takes office in Washington, mass shootings become more anticipated than a cold winter, and famine, violence, and genocide decimate the Palestinian people, it is necessary to despair. Sometimes I wonder what it would mean to raise my own children in an environment so fraught, unempathetic, and divided. Instead, I look to my students as a beacon of hope for our future. It is the young people who remain changemakers, always ready to question authority, question their peers, and even question themselves.

From essays on the Haitian Revolution and fantastical reimaginings of a world free from climate change, to personal explorations of queerness, ethnicity, immigration, generational changes, familial complications, and young love, I am constantly inspired by the nuance and authenticity they bring into every story. Like author and feminist cultural critic bell hooks writes, “The function of art is to do more than tell it like it is— it’s to imagine what is possible.” With each piece they share, my students remind me of the power words hold when paired with radical imagination. Aren’t we only limited by the bounds of our own thoughts? At twenty two years old, how have I started to forget that?

3. Laughing is good for the soul.

In a world of uncertainty, there are few universally accepted truths:

The sun rises in the east, winters in Boston are not for the weak, and sixteen-year-olds can make even the most stone-faced instructor break character.

While I’m not particularly known for my poker-face (quite the opposite actually), my students make me laugh every single day. From complaining about the cafeteria food (which should really be addressed) or their hefty workloads, they are masters of comedic timing and a certain adolescent je ne sais quoi. Although this keeps me entertained on the days when the clock hands seem paralyzed, it has also shown me the utility in allowing humor to serve as a connecting force between myself and my students. A good laugh can take the weight off a heavy revision session, expand our writing circle to include students who feel less comfortable sharing, and distinguish our creative writing club as a space for experimentation, not perfection. And isn’t that what every day is? An opportunity to start over, improvise, and surround yourself with people who are willing to join in on the joke?

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite poems that I plan on bringing to school next week. I think the kids will love it: 

 

“Every day I laugh,

do you hear my mouth lifting?

I fold and unfold

My heart a hundred times each

day so that it doesn’t freeze.”

— Victoria Chang

Picture of Anya Henry

Anya Henry

Anya (she/her) is the Publishing FAO Schwarz Fellow at 826 Boston.

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