Bound by Words And Much More

Va. Memoir Class Draws Kids and Parents Closer, Easing Both Into Writing

Miles Crank-Brock, 11, seated, and Craig Wanda, 9, write in their journals during a session at the memoir class at Arlington Traditional School. (Photos By Lois Raimondo -- The Washington Post)

Nine-year-old Craig Wanda sat cross-legged on the rug in an Arlington County schoolroom, rapt as his mother described the most terrifying night of her life.

It was 20 years ago. Rebels had taken over the Ugandan government, and the fleeing army of the old regime was raiding towns, burning out homes and shops, and terrorizing the populace.

On this night, they attacked the town where Craig's mom, Joyce, was attending a girls boarding school. She and 800 other students were in their dormitories when school officials quietly rounded them up.

"We all just took a blanket and went into the auditorium," she said. "We were told not to utter a word or else we could be discovered. . . . Then myself and my cousin thought, we can't die in a crowd. We thought we should sneak out and hide elsewhere.

"We proceeded to climb on top of the building. . . . We could clearly see smoke from a distance and could hear some gunshot-wounded people running across the road. . . . I was so scared and so frightened, fearing that that might be the last time to live."

Craig frowned in concentration. He had never heard this story.

It was another breakthrough moment in Donna Sacco's memoir class in Room 203 at Arlington Traditional School -- a class designed to get fourth- and fifth-graders and their parents in touch with their inner autobiographers.

It would seem that America's obsession with the memoir has trickled down to even the Lemony Snicket set.

The class, which has about a dozen members, meets bimonthly and spends a couple of hours brainstorming, writing and consulting, and reading accounts aloud.

The children are not fending off literary agents -- their tales of homework and family vacations are more Reese's Pieces than "A Million Little Pieces." But the exercise is helping them forge bonds with their parents and putting them more at ease with writing.

Unlike James Frey, the author excoriated by Oprah Winfrey after parts of his drug memoir turned out to be fabricated, the writers in Sacco's class are encouraged to be creative and not worry about the structures usually imposed on them by work or school.

"I've seen so many kids who in class can't produce any writing because there are just so many rules," said Sacco, who teaches at the school and started the evening writing class five months ago. "In this writers workshop, I want the students and parents to find their voice and a flow to their writing. . . . There are no rules other than 'Respect your fellow writers and their work.' "