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It Takes
a Team to Start a Fire: Rites of Passage
by
Lara LeVoy, Perspectives
Charter School
"Today's field study
was one of the most exciting that I have ever attended.
We learned that
fire connects all of us as one. I also learned that it takes
a full team to start
a fire. I learned a new way to create fire and how hard
it is. I don't think
I will ever forget this wonderful experience."
- Luis Casares,
9th grader at Perspectives Charter School
No Perspectives ninth
grader is bound to forget his or her Circle of Fire
experience at Northeastern
University with Dan Creely. It was the ideal way
to close our Rite
of Passage unit for freshman English. For almost eight weeks, we had read
Richard Wright's Rite of Passage, parts of Siddhartha by
Herman Hesse, and
various essays and articles about coming of age rituals
around the globe.
Additionally, the freshmen ventured to the Spertus Museum
to learn about the
life cycle, Dr. Aleka Wali, an anthropologist at the Field
Museum, spoke to
us about coming of age for the Kuna Indians in Guatemala,
and as a topper,
ninth graders created and wrote their own coming of age
ceremonies. After
having explored coming of age and rite of passage in
respectable depth,
I wanted to provide students with something similar.
Although we couldn't
imitate the anthropological elements of the coming of age ceremonies, we
could create ceremony, and these students were ready and
primed to have such
an experience.
On a damp, gloomy
October morning, the ninth grade, Mary Cummane, a
Perspectives science
teacher, and I rode the bus in absolute silence, setting
a solemn tone. Greg
Mitchie, author and educator who inspired me to create a
Rite of Passage
unit, wrote about how enforcing a silent bus ride really created appropriate
atmosphere. He was right. As we bounced over Chicago streets, I gazed out
the window and wondered what we would do if rain decided to be a part of
our experience. Upon arrival at Northeastern, the clouds funneled in, lightning
struck, and a deluge descended. We ran screaming from the bus to the Physical
Education building. So much for setting a tone.
Dan Creely, clearly
a master of Adventure Education, must always be thinking of the back-up
plan, and he certainly was prepared with one for us. He greeted us and
led us to the spiritual sanctuary of a racquetball court. There, we situated
ourselves in a great circle on the perimeter. Creely engaged us immediately.
He spoke of rite of passage, the importance of ritual, and the binding
and ancient rite of fire. He then distributed white candles to each student,
and turned the court to darkness. Creely lit a candle and, with its flickering
flame, he lit one of my student's candles, and then each student tilted
his or her flame toward a peer's unlit wick. In their reflections later,
Antoinette Huff wrote, "I will always remember the peace candle from Northeastern
University because I can reflect on what
happened in New
York. The peace candle is a wonderful way to comfort people.
When I get home
today, I am going to light my candle and let it finish burning in remembrance
of my godmother."
With each candle
lighting, another ninth grade face appeared, reflecting
innocence and hope,
in the shadows and light. As a glowing circle, each of
us read a personal
statement that revealed who we thought we were, who we hoped to become,
what we wanted to do for our communities, and how we intended to achieve
our goals. The room felt tightly bound, tensely silent, as each of us strained
to hear one another's spoken perceptions of our dreams, our
roadmaps, and ourselves.
There, in the warmly lit racquetball court, I saw each of these teenagers
as a budding dream, waiting to blossom. Not one fourteen year old was without
dreams, not one ninth grader was empty, not one adolescent resisted the
idea of giving back to community, and not one student failed to write and
share a personal statement. That union of dream-sharing, aspiration-telling
moved all of us. Antonio Duenes, wrote, "I think the day went well. I liked
when we lit up the candles. That is one thing I will remember. Everything
my classmates said was good and I hope the best for them to reach their
goals in life." Wilredo Buitron shared this sentiment. "The most memorable
thing that happened to me today was when we got in a circle and started
to talk about our personal statements. I was glad that everyone shared,
and not just a couple of people." After we all shared, Creely asked those
of us who wanted to make a wish to take a pinch of tobacco, hold it above
us, make a wish, and then sprinkle it into a wooden bowl. Everyone encircled
Creely and made their wishes.
It seemed apropos
to end the day with a team effort, since everyone had given a piece
of themselves to the group. It was time to step up to the challenge of
starting a fire in the mist, using an ancient tool called a bow drill.
Creely prepared the students by telling them that he had "never seen any
group start a fire after it had been raining." He took a group temperature
as to whether they were interested. Whole hog prepared they were to take
on the challenge.
The ninth grade,
Mary and I slogged after Creely; we formed a Peace Circle
around Northeastern's
recently acquired Peace Pole. We waited, our eyes as
big as dinner plates,
watching Creely uncover unwieldy tools: two thick planks of wood, a log,
and what appeared to be a bow fit for Paul Bunyan. Although we carefully
listened to Creely's directions and warnings about how the bow drill
worked, we did not truly comprehend. The freshmen began to move in
toward the five foot tall cylindrical log, sandwiched between two two by
fours that had to remain level while the log rotated wildly between. This
team of fourteen year olds positioned themselves on either side of the
log AND bow and then listened to Creely tell them that they would have
to use a rapid sawing motion to cause the bow to spin the log, trying to
cause enough friction to create a spark that would land in a hollowed out
hole where Creely could retrieve it and then ignite jute, which would then
ignite bark, which would then start a fire.
Almost instantly,
it became clear that this fire goal was going to require
intense coordination.
Two by fours staying level, intense sawing back and
forth, minimal to
no decrease in intensity-- THIS was going to be a challenge. I shut my
mouth, stood back, and watched. When the conductor "Creely" said to start
sawing, the group, like a well-trained high school band, with looking like
flailing limbs of various bodies working against each other, began to move.
The top board started leaning. "Watch the top, guys, watch the top," Creely
warned. "Keep it up, keep it up. Don't slow down. Don't slow down!" Creely
cheered. Mary and I stood mesmerized by these ninth grade wonders--this
machine of bodies pushing, pulling, sawing, sweating, screaming, laughing,
huffing and puffing, communicating, shedding jackets, taking over for each
other, unwilling to be defeated even after sawing for many laborious minutes.
Finally, Creely stepped in to take a look in the hole. We huddled close,
straining to peer over his shoulder, squinting and hoping to see an ember.
Students saw smoke and got excited, but it was not yet to be. They dedicated
themselves once again to the bow drill, and they worked it until an ember
glowed at them. Creely scooped the ember up, added some jute that we had
frizzed out as flammable material kneeled down and began to blow long fluid
breaths of air into the ember cupped between his hands. No one spoke. And
before our very eyes, the ember, created from the spark that this ninth
grade class worked for, ignited and became fire. One student reflected,
"I will not ever forget watching Mr. Creely blow the breath of life into
the
fire. That was amazing."
The awesome act of
creating fire affected every ninth grade student. Leticia
Munguia said, "The
moment I'll always remember is when we were all working
together in the
rain to make a fire." Brittany Patterson wrote, "We worked as a team and
made a fire. We stood around to watch the fire burn. It was beautiful.
I was especially happy because Mr. Creely told us that we were the first
class to light a fire in the rain. That really made me proud." Daniel Braswell
added, "When my classmates and I had to start a fire, I did not think we
would be able to do it as a class. Sometimes when we do things as a class,
it does not come out the way we always want it to."
This class created
fire. They created fire by figuring out how all of their individual parts
could work together as a unit, and they did it with energy, devotion, and
optimism. As a class, they went through a rite of passage. When we
watched our tobacco wishes burn up to the sky, I knew that we had all been
transformed, maybe on the racquetball court, or around the peace pole,
or working as a team to create fire, a piece of us had changed. As participants
in ceremony that urged us to reflect, to build community, and to share,
we all transformed, perhaps not noticeable to the human eye, but certainly
palpable in our own minds and our own hearts. Without the Circle of Fire
Ceremony to claim as our own, the rite of passage unit would have merely
been remembered in the minds of these teens as reading and writing about
others' experiences. The Circle of Fire Ceremony was real, however, etching
itself into the collective memory of twenty-three teenagers and three very
privileged adults.
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