Ichabod Crane

There were lots of stories that kept me awake at night as a child, not just tornadoes and blizzards and squirrels. I was a little too old for R. L. Stine or the “Scary Stories” series growing up, but we had a copy of The Headless Horseman in some sort of pseudo-children’s book form. It’s really not children’s book appropriate, people. There is nothing child-friendly about decapitation, and even though poor old Ichabod replaced his own skull with a jack-o-lantern (or perhaps because of it), that story terrified the bejeezus out of me.

Runner up for this letter I entry is Isabella, which was my name in German class in high school. I think that all classes should allow you to choose a new name. “What’s your name in Women’s Studies?” should be the kind of question everyone asks. Ooh. Maybe I should assign new identities to students on the first day of class, and they must research their namesake and introduce their new selves to the class. I love it when blogging gives me new teaching ideas.


About Jennifer

Writer teacher mama sister friend sewist poet trying to stay warm in Minnesota's northwest.
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