Every day I watch young children doggedly struggle as they learn to read. I notice the children who come to the library to work with a tutor, gamely giving it their best shot, most likely worrying about their own brains, doubting their abilities, and anxious about disappointing their teachers and parents. It is the ultimate exercise in deferred gratification, for it will be years before they can read nourishing, satisfying literature on their own. I honor these kids with all my heart.
I love the eloquence with which John Steinbeck described this process (and thanks to Jonathan Hunt for the post):
Some people there are who, being grown, forget the horrible task of learning to read. It is perhaps the greatest single effort that the human undertakes, and he must do it as a child. An adult is rarely successful in the undertaking–the reduction of experience to a set of symbols. For a thousand thousand years these humans have existed and they have only learned this trick–this magic–in the final ten thousand of the thousand thousand.
I do not know how usual my experience is, but I have seen in my children the appalled agony of trying to learn to read. They, at least, have my experience.
I remember that words–written or printed–were devils, and books, because they gave me great pain, were my enemies.
Books were printed demons–the tongs and thumbscrews of outrageous persecution. And then, one day, my aunt gave me a book and fatuously ignored my resentment. I stared at the black print with hatred, and then, gradually, the pages opened and let me in. The magic happened. The Bible and Shakespeare and Pilgrim's Progress belonged to everyone. But this was mine–it was a cut version of the Caxton Morte d’Arthur of Thomas Malory . . . Perhaps a passionate love of the English language opened to me from this one book.
Almost every 10-12 year old who comes to my library can name a book (or two or three) that turned them into a reader. Ask a kid. For me? Maybe All-of-A-Kind Family. Or The Little House series. Or Nancy Drew. Anyone? Anyone?A few titles that we have in the library for parents of young readers:
Proust and the Squid: The Story and Science of the Reading Brain by Maryanne Wolf.
Explores how the intellectual evolution of man was forever altered when, just a few thousand years ago, the human brain evolved enough to learn how to read and understand written words.
Overcoming Dyslexia: A New and Complete Science-Based Program for Reading Problems at Any Level by Sally Shaywitz.
The Struggling Reader: Interventions That Work by David Cooper.
And now, from the Older Brains at Work department this week:
Harold, age 6: I want a book about werewolves or vampires.
Me: Let's search the catalog for vampires.
Harold: Yeah, I want one, that one, you know, that has vampires from Philadelphia.
Me: Oh. Philadelphia. Um. Right. It's in Pennsylvania... which sounds like... ta da! TRANSYLVANIA!
(And he left happily clutching the book in his sweaty little hand.)
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LOL! Good for Harold--good for you. Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea for a children's book: The Vampire from Philadelpia. For me, The Boxcar Children, which I borrowed from the tiny little public library in Clinton,Mississippi, circa 1964 when I was in the second grade, I think, was the first book that turned me on to reading. The "Black Stallion" series was another favorite. Thank goodness for libraries...
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