How I Learned to Use a Light Saber

"What was it about this assignment you didn't understand?" Ms. Weist shouted.

She was a small woman, shorter than many of her students, but she had a voice as shrill as a band saw and ran her classroom with the inevitable precision of a concentration camp commandant. All that was missing was a monocle and a riding crop. We never knew when she was going to go off on a tirade, or slam a book down on one of our desks when we'd nod off in class. "Let me ask you," she continued, "Did any of you actually read these books?" She paced around her desk, hands on her hips. "I'm really disappointed in you guys. You had over a month to work on this." Our book reports were in a pile on her desk, handwritten on lined paper, sandwiched between construction paper covers.

So far, I didn't like the eighth grade. I had shattered my right shoulder in a bicycling accident over the summer and was still wearing a sling and a brace. Now, it seemed I would start off the school year with an F' on a book report. The past few years, I had dabbled in creative writing as a pastime, but I had somehow managed to make it to the eighth grade without ever having written a book report. I didn't even know how to write one. The book I chose was the novelization of The Empire Strikes Back because I'd already read it and seen the movie three times. I waited until the night before it was due to write the report. My "report" ended up as three-thousand word retelling of the book. Although I retained the plot of the story, I used my own description and dialog and added a few scenes that weren't in either the book or the movie. I turned the paper in not knowing what to expect in the way of a grade.

Ms. Weist ranted on for at least half the class period before handing back the reports. The classroom was the only eighth grade room with windows - the only one that allowed sunlight to enter in. As she passed the papers back, I could swear the room got a little darker. She had started on the far side of the room and my desk was near the door. When she got to my desk, she had no report for me. She leaned over and said, "See me after class." If she thought so little of the reports she had handed back, whatever did she make of mine? I knew I was in trouble. I saw that big "F" looming closer and written in blood. I sat there throughout the remainder of the class period, dreading the moment.

The bell finally rang and the class

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