The Love of Reading

By Brittany Vis, Guest Author

5th grade teacher, Alexandria Public Schools, Alexandria, MN

When I was a little girl, I absolutely loved reading. I remember sitting on my parents’ laps and letting them read or sing different books to my siblings and me. My mom was a daycare provider, so we learned all sorts of songs that were also stories, and this love grew into when I could read the books myself.

This love of reading continued as I entered elementary school. Starting off, I remember reading books like Biscuit, Arthur, Franklin, Dr. Suess books, and so many more. Then I got to second grade. I was considered a high reader so I was a student that started the Accelerated Reader program. I couldn't wait to read books and show my teacher how smart I was by taking a test for each one. When I did well on the tests, my teacher would send me back to the “Treasure Box” in the back of the classroom where I would then get to choose a prize. I was so motivated by this, especially because other kids in my class weren’t getting to do the same thing.

However, it didn’t take long for that excitement and motivation to wear off. The more books I read, the more tests I had to take. Although I still was sent to the “Treasure Box”, the selection of prizes was becoming a slim pick because I had been there so often. For this reason, I stopped reading so many books because I wasn’t excited about what external object I was going to receive next.

As I got older, I continued to be a part of the Accelerated Reader program. To be in this program, I had to take a pretest to see what would be my overall goal for a period of time. It also recommended a general academic level for books I should choose to read. With each book I read, I would then test on and earn points toward my goal. My love of reading that I had as a kid was starting to disappear.

When I entered middle school, I had figured out a way that I could “cheat” the system. If I didn’t try on the pretest that determined my goal, my goal would be lower, so I could accomplish my goal more quickly and then maybe I would get to read books that I was interested in, instead of the ones I had to read because they were in the range of books I was supposed to choose from.

Eventually though, I started to hate reading. I didn’t have a chance to read the books I needed to read to pass my AR goal in class, which meant I had to read the books I didn’t want to be reading at home. Reading became a battle with my parents because they told me I needed to read and keep my grades up, but I wasn’t interested in reading at all. What I really wanted to do was play outside with the neighborhood kids. Once in a while, I would find a series I enjoyed, like Little House on the Prairie or Harry Potter, and would sit down and read. The problem was, they were either considered too easy or too difficult for me to take the tests on, so then I felt like I was just wasting time when I was reading what I wanted to.

This continued throughout middle and high school. Then when I got to college, I was taking an Adolescent Literature class. To start each lecture, my professor would shut off the lights and read a book aloud. At first, I wasn’t intrigued that in college I had to sit and listen to a read aloud. But the more she read the book to us, the more I didn’t want her to put it down. It was so good, and all I had to do was listen to the story! Then she gave us our assignments for the semester for the class. One of the assignments was that we had to select 3 books, each of different genres, that we’d read and have book club conversations about with a small group. This was the biggest change for me as a reader, and ever since, my love of reading has returned.

This passion for reading continues in my classroom. I cannot wait to get new books for my classroom library and read different books in our book room so I can recommend them for kids to read and have conversations about. The most important lesson that I’ve learned in my reading life is that my love of reading comes from reading for enjoyment, not for any other reason. If I can give my students that same thing, reading because they love it, then that’s something I can be proud of.

On Blowing Up the Rosetta Stone...

Imagine seeing your Egyptologist father standing in the British Museum, chanting in front of the Rosetta stone, and within seconds bits of the Rosetta stone begin flying everywhere. Your father suddenly becomes encased in a coffin which disappears into an opening in the floor.  You may very well wonder, “How did this happen?” and “What do I do now?”  Such were the questions in Carter’s and Sadie’s minds as they lived this experience in the beginning chapters of The Red Pyramid, by Rick Riordan. 

Such may be the questions in educators’ minds as state after state adopts the Common Core Standards for Literacy, changing our curricular landscape as we knew it.  “How did this happen?”  How did we so quickly adopt national standards which were never field-tested?  Who is/are the author(s) of these standards, and what are their experiences in the classrooms with students, if any?  Despite these haunting questions, if your state has adopted the Common Core Standards, they are now, for you, the law of the land.  The next question to ponder is “What do we do now?”

One of the new parameters laid out in Common Core Standards is a shift in the balance of fiction and nonfiction texts used.  In elementary grades, the balance is to be 60% fiction and 40% nonfiction, possibly an increase in the amount of nonfiction customarily read by elementary students.  The arguments I have heard for this shift are that we need to prepare students for the real world, and in the real world, adults read much more nonfiction in their careers and in their daily lives.  While that may very well be true for most adults, I take issue with what seems to be an underlying belief that reading more nonfiction at younger ages is a better way to help students become ready for their adult literate lives. 

What is the value of fiction?  I remember our middle son crying at age 6 when I finished reading Winnie-The-Pooh for bedtime stories.  He wasn’t ready to leave the Hundred Acre Wood and the friends he’d made there.  Our daughter read voraciously, begging me to read every chapter book she read, wanting, I presume, a shared experience.  Our youngest son began reading the Harry Potter books at age 9, and continued to read and reread them as they were released.  Last summer, at age 20, upon seeing the movie version of the final book, he left the theater with a tinge of sadness.  “That was the epic story during my childhood,” he said.  “And now it’s over.” 

As part of our bedtime routine from early on, on as into upper elementary and beginning middle school years, I read stories aloud to my children, or they listened to stories on tape.  They learned of great peril and great strength by listening to Jim Weiss (audio books) read the story of Odysseus.  They understood the meaning of facing a Herculean task by hearing the Greek myths.  They met Baba Yaga, forming vivid mental images of her flying through the air with her mortar and pestle, and of her hut on chicken legs in the dark wood.  They read chapter book after chapter book on their own, relating to problems similar to their own, and empathizing with problems they hadn’t personally encountered.  They tried out roles, imagining themselves in situations they would never experience in our small Midwestern town.  They became fluent readers; their vocabularies grew and grew.  

Where are they now?  Our oldest is pursuing a doctorate in Learning Sciences at Northwestern University.  I daresay she’s reading the nonfiction in her life quite well.  Our middle child completed a degree in Philosophy, and I would wager he has competently read more nonfiction, and more complex nonfiction, than I will ever read.  Our youngest is a sophomore in college, successfully reading volumes of nonfiction. 

Reading fiction allows us to learn who we are, how we fit into our culture, and how our culture fits in with the rest of the world.  Reading fiction allows us to understand others and their reasons for why they behave the way they do.  Reading fiction allows us to escape into a world totally different from our own, giving us short time-outs from the responsibilities of our daily lives. 

Do students need to learn how to read nonfiction in the elementary grades?  Yes. Do we need to provide nonfictional texts in classrooms so students can indulge themselves in their interests?  Yes.  But let’s not forget the power of story. 

"To me, you will be unique in all the world."

"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."
"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added:
"What does that mean--'tame'?"
                                                              **********
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox.  It means to establish ties."
"'To establish ties'?"
"Just that," said the fox.  "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys.  And I have no need of you.  And you, on your part, have no need of me.  To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes.  But if you tame me, then we shall need each other.  To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."
                                                   *The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint Exupery

On June 18, 2011, twelve boys and girls, ages 7-19, publically told their fathers why they were unique to them, in all the world.  These twelve children were the winners of the Twins-sponsored Minnesota Father of the Year contest.  I was lucky enough to be one of the teachers of a student receiving the award, and was able to attend the ceremony.

Through the essays, we heard that for some, the parents and children had "established ties" from birth, and those ties have continued to grow stronger and stronger. For others, the ties had been strained, sometimes even broken for a while, and the parents and children were working hard to reestablish them, keep them, or strengthen them. Heartfelt messages of comfort and security, pain and patience, love, understanding, and acceptance filled the rotunda of the Minnesota State Capitol as each essay was read by the student author, telling the father why he was to the child, unique in all the world, and why they had need of each other.  The listeners' eyes often brimmed with tears.

"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," replied the fox.  "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass.  I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing.  Words are the source of misunderstandings.  But you will sit a little closer to me, every day..."

The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox.  "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy.  I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances.  At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about.  I shall show you how happy I am!  But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you...One must observe the proper rites..."

"What is a rite?"  asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox.  "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours..."

The annual Father of the Year Essay Contest is a rite, designed by the National Center for Fathering, headquartered in Kansas City, MO.  It provides an official way for students to tell their stories and to celebrate those fathers who are actively involved in parenting their children.

This year in Minnesota, over 7000 essays were submitted.  Over 7000 children voluntarily reflected on their relationships with their fathers.  They thought of what their fathers meant to them.  They thought about their parts in the relationships; and then they told their stories.

In schools we teach children how to read, and we also provide the rituals for students to think about what they read.  In schools, we teach children how to write, and in doing so, teach them the rituals of reflecting on their lives, on the world around them, and on our global society so they write thoughtfully and intelligently.  The rites of reading, thinking, reflecting, and writing can enhance relationships because while they are intellectual activities, they take us into our hearts.  Rituals and rites give us structures so we can learn and express what we find there.

This June, I learned much about the National Center for Fathering, a wonderful organization.  I learned that this year, over 7000 children went through the ritual of writing a personal essay.  Over 7000 fathers heard their children's stories.  More than 14,000 relationships grew just a little bit stronger.

This experience deeply affirmed my beliefs in the value of a quality literacy program.

When our children read meaningful books with well-developed characters who change and grow through realistic relationships; and when we teach them how to notice and think and talk about the deeper meanings of the stories they read, they vicariously learn how to handle relationships in their own lives.

When children are taught every day to think, reflect, and write in meaningful ways about that they read and what they experience in life, they become reflective people who care.

A quality literacy program that facilitates the teaching of higher level thinking can be a powerful vehicle for shaping people who not only can read and write, but who do read and write, and who think reflectively about their relationships and about what happens around them.

Story Note:  In The Mailbox, by Audrey Shafer (Yearling, 2006), two very different people discover how much they have need of each other.  Twelve-year-old Gabe goes to live with his Uncle Vernon after spending time in the foster care system.  Uncle Vernon, a Vietnam veteran, dies suddenly, his death undiscovered by all but Gabe, leaving Gabe paralyzed with uncertainty.  Gabe receives anonymous letters which help him to understand his uncle and how he was affected by war.  Gabe's perceptive teacher, Mr. Boehm, becomes the link between Gabe and the mysterious letter writer, helping them to understand how they have, through their need, helped each other.  (Fountas & Pinnell level Z)

*The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint Exupery. Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich. 1943, 1971.

The Father of the Year essay contest is only one small piece of the mission and goals of the National Center for Fathering.  On their website, www.fathers.com, you can read about their research, training, programs, and resources through which they reach one million dads annually.

Not So Ready for Summer Vacation

At 1:30 on the last Friday of the school year, the remaining three parents reluctantly left our end-of-year Literacy Celebration.  Students had their Personal Galleries displaying their choice pieces of writing to disassemble, their favorite books on display to re-shelve, and cookie crumbs to wipe from the refreshment table.  After all the excitement of the day, I expected the rest of the afternoon to consist of those housekeeping details.  We'd celebrated a year's worth of reading, writing, and thinking, and to be honest, I was intellectually exhausted and expected the same of the students.  However, I was wrong.

"Is our lit circle group going to meet now?" asked one girl.  "We're ready.  We've all finished.  Can we talk about it now?"

Four of my girls had absolutely fallen in love with the fictional book The Summer of Riley, by Eve Bunting.  They wanted one final group discussion, so we quickly cleaned up the room; and I invited the "Riley" group to meet me at the table and asked the other children to begin reading their independent reading books, which they did.

The girls' conversation flowed, and I was suddenly intellectually engaged.  My role became one of providing affirmation of their own feelings as they related to William's feelings of loss from the death of his grandfather, his parents' divorce, and the pending loss of his dog Riley.  All the girls in the group had experienced at least one of those losses, some very recently.  Their words were passionate, and they longed for healing for William and for themselves.  They wondered why Riley behaved the way he did.  What was his history?

The story The Summer of Riley helped these girls understand their life stories in a very therapeutic way.

They wanted to talk--to continue along the path we had been traveling all year long...reading, thinking, and discussing meaningful books in meaningful ways.

Children need affirmation of their lives.  They need to understand their stories, and other people's stories can help them.  A literacy program which allows for student choice of books, ample class time for reading, and an emotionally safe and intellectually stimulating environment for discussing the books sets the stage for this to happen.

Story Note:  The same type of catharsis through story is attained by 12 year old Abilene Tucker, the main character in Moon Over Manifest, by Clare Vanderpool.  Unable to care for her, Abilene's father sends her to stay with a friend of his in his home town in Kansas during the summer of 1936.  Through the stories of Miss Sadie, the Hungarian "gypsy", Abilene pieces together her father's past, thereby gaining the understanding needed to heal past wounds.

Moon Over Manifest, by Clare Vanderpool.  New York:  Delacorte Press, 2010.  John Newbery Winner, NY Times Bestseller.