Children writing their personal stories was a daily fare in my classroom when I was an infant teacher. Well, it actually didn’t have to be a story. Quite frankly my little six year olds could write and draw whatever they wanted. 

Just write, write, write! The babies took to it like duck to water… mistakes and all. No pressure. As they wrote I would rove, observe and offer just a few select suggestions. 

A student who particularly just loved writing stories was Sean. This six year old boy would write all day long if I let him. Pages and pages of stories piled up with wonderful drawings in between.

Now his pictures I understood easily but his words? Let’s just say, through my eyes it was just gibberish. Sean never knew how lost I was. I mean, he knew what he was saying, so up to that point the fault of not understanding would have been all mine!

Daily, Sean would excitedly read his stories to me and I would just say, “Great ideas Sean!” and he would walk off to draw his pictures while smiling with the greatest feeling of accomplishment.

Then one fateful day a magical experience happened. As Sean was reading his newly created story for me I began to recognise his words. His invented spelling began to make sense to me… well small portions of it at least. He read his fanciful tale to me and lo and behold some phrases jumped out at me. I eagerly dived in and read out the short groups of words that I recognised. Then he would continue reading while I listened before chiming in again for the portions that made sense to me. Then he would resume and that was how the sharing of his story proceeded until he reached the end of his written adventure.

It was mostly read by Sean with me excitedly chiming in for the bits that I could grasp. Finally his spelling and phonics were becoming standardised. Finally he was moving away from gibberish words to invented spelling to some formalised spelling! Finally! At Last! Phew! I looked at him with great pride and joy. The pride that only a teacher might feel when she commends herself for reaching the mind of a child as only she can. A feeling only a teacher might feel when she is ready to give herself a big pat on the back.

I proudly turned to Sean and exclaimed, “Sean! You have finally become a writer!”

Suddenly his face dropped.

What was wrong with this child? I had just given him a compliment. I had just praised him. Why the long face?

I looked at him feeling quite confused.

He turned to me and spoke with a flat, expressionless voice. He said only a few small words. Words, so simple yet so profound.

“I was always a writer.”

With that, he went off to his seat to create a drawing for his story.

I sat in silence. I had just experienced an ‘A-ha!‘ moment from a six year old.