Reading Painbow.
I don't remember much about my childhood, except my reading ability. Apparently, I could read from quite an early age. This ability was thanks in no small part to my mother, who read to me every night from the ages of zero to eight. My night stand contained every conceivable children's book published and republished from 1986 to 1994. One would think I'd grow up with a healthy appreciation for books and reading in general. That impersonal person would be wrong.
I'm not exactly sure where the disconnect came in at, but sometime around the time that mom stopped reading to me, her mother got it in her head that I was stagnating literaturally. Reflecting now, perhaps this wasn't an unjustified position. To be fair, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy reading or anything, but honestly, giving an eight year old a choice at the library between a book and a VHS tape, containing some cheaply made and easily forgotten cartoon, on them isn't a hard choice for the child.
One weekend, I came back from my grandmothers with four books my granny expected me to read completely. They were hardcover, 100 pages each, certainly longer than anything I'd read before. They were also the most boring, vapid, and patronizing books I'd ever read. Their infamy is legend. Those who have not read the Fun with Dick and Jane series are missing a vital element in their childhoods, the element where they give up on reading once and for all.
I've had diseases I'd prefer to have all over again than to read another sentence of that garbage. No children were fooled. These books were not written to improve our reading abilities, indeed far from it. These books had been written by the demons of illiteracy, an ancient secret society who wants to make everyone as poorly educated as Kanye West. When I was done, my dear grandmother, a woman with obviously lower standards than myself, decided I should read a more advanced book.
On her shelf at her home were a complete collection of the greatest works of 19th century literature, designed specifically for gullible old people. I think I was around ten, this time, and she wanted me to read one book off of the shelf, then another, until they'd all been read at least once. This is where I talk about how these great classics inspired an interest in learning that lasted with me until my adulthood, except that this didn't happen. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, while a great book in its own right, is not a book my ten year old self honestly could understand or comprehend. Thusly, when I explained to my grandmother that I didn't read it all, didn't understand what I did read, and didn't really want to read anymore, she finally gave up.
This is where my story ends, never mind that I'm an English Education major, or that I'm trying to write a book as well. I listen to the silence come back from my ghost reader. Oh, very well, truth is, this is only the midpoint of my story.
Despite my grandmother's failure, I couldn't stay away from the literature bug. A few things in life are more important than one's past aversion to an entire art form, but love is a very powerful emotion, that can twist perspective 180°. My best friend and girl of my dreams at the time was Erin Walker, she loved happiness and sunshine and rainbows and... Harry Potter. I'm not exactly sure why I thought this would do much for me, but I figured, “What the hell. I'll read the book to get in her good graces.”
I found the subject material, frankly, absurd, to be honest, but I couldn't stop. Not because I didn't think my goal worth reading to attain, but because something was happening. When I read, I saw pictures in my mind. I knew the characters' faces, and could see them interacting, and their setting. Keep in mind there was no movie at this time, I was just using my imagination. I realized, whether I admitted it to myself or not, that this was more than an adolescent Get Kissed Quick scheme, this was something much bigger.
That didn't mean I enjoyed reading, not for a while, but the seeds had been sewn. The gardener who nurtured them was Mrs. Garvin. Mrs Garvin had a reputation as being the least fun teacher in the school; but somehow, that didn't stop her from making quite a difference in my life. While I can't point to anything in particular that she did to ease me on, it was at the end of the year, when we read Great Expectations, that I came to truly appreciate what Mrs. Garvin had done. So, when I found out she'd be retiring after that year, at the academic banquet, I approached her after everything was said and done. “Mrs. Garvin,” I said, “You might not be aware, but I can't thank you enough for what you've given me. I actually like reading now.” Mrs. Garvin's eyes lit up, and the crooked teeth of her mouth shown in the stadium lighting of the cafeteria. She thanked me for my words, and told me that was what made her job worthwhile.
While it would be many years before I had a well developed appreciation for literature, that's how I started. In no small part, my experiences in my youth contributed to my becoming a teacher in the first place. If I were worried about literacy, I might recommend Fun with Dick and Jane. Since I'm more concerned of an appreciation for literature, I hope I can emulate Mrs. Garvin as much as possible. Maybe, if I'm lucky, when my time comes to retire or move on and become a famous movie-producing, skydiving, book-writing extraordinaire, one of my students will tell me that I've given them something new, exciting, and life changing.
I'm not exactly sure where the disconnect came in at, but sometime around the time that mom stopped reading to me, her mother got it in her head that I was stagnating literaturally. Reflecting now, perhaps this wasn't an unjustified position. To be fair, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy reading or anything, but honestly, giving an eight year old a choice at the library between a book and a VHS tape, containing some cheaply made and easily forgotten cartoon, on them isn't a hard choice for the child.
One weekend, I came back from my grandmothers with four books my granny expected me to read completely. They were hardcover, 100 pages each, certainly longer than anything I'd read before. They were also the most boring, vapid, and patronizing books I'd ever read. Their infamy is legend. Those who have not read the Fun with Dick and Jane series are missing a vital element in their childhoods, the element where they give up on reading once and for all.
I've had diseases I'd prefer to have all over again than to read another sentence of that garbage. No children were fooled. These books were not written to improve our reading abilities, indeed far from it. These books had been written by the demons of illiteracy, an ancient secret society who wants to make everyone as poorly educated as Kanye West. When I was done, my dear grandmother, a woman with obviously lower standards than myself, decided I should read a more advanced book.
On her shelf at her home were a complete collection of the greatest works of 19th century literature, designed specifically for gullible old people. I think I was around ten, this time, and she wanted me to read one book off of the shelf, then another, until they'd all been read at least once. This is where I talk about how these great classics inspired an interest in learning that lasted with me until my adulthood, except that this didn't happen. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, while a great book in its own right, is not a book my ten year old self honestly could understand or comprehend. Thusly, when I explained to my grandmother that I didn't read it all, didn't understand what I did read, and didn't really want to read anymore, she finally gave up.
This is where my story ends, never mind that I'm an English Education major, or that I'm trying to write a book as well. I listen to the silence come back from my ghost reader. Oh, very well, truth is, this is only the midpoint of my story.
Despite my grandmother's failure, I couldn't stay away from the literature bug. A few things in life are more important than one's past aversion to an entire art form, but love is a very powerful emotion, that can twist perspective 180°. My best friend and girl of my dreams at the time was Erin Walker, she loved happiness and sunshine and rainbows and... Harry Potter. I'm not exactly sure why I thought this would do much for me, but I figured, “What the hell. I'll read the book to get in her good graces.”
I found the subject material, frankly, absurd, to be honest, but I couldn't stop. Not because I didn't think my goal worth reading to attain, but because something was happening. When I read, I saw pictures in my mind. I knew the characters' faces, and could see them interacting, and their setting. Keep in mind there was no movie at this time, I was just using my imagination. I realized, whether I admitted it to myself or not, that this was more than an adolescent Get Kissed Quick scheme, this was something much bigger.
That didn't mean I enjoyed reading, not for a while, but the seeds had been sewn. The gardener who nurtured them was Mrs. Garvin. Mrs Garvin had a reputation as being the least fun teacher in the school; but somehow, that didn't stop her from making quite a difference in my life. While I can't point to anything in particular that she did to ease me on, it was at the end of the year, when we read Great Expectations, that I came to truly appreciate what Mrs. Garvin had done. So, when I found out she'd be retiring after that year, at the academic banquet, I approached her after everything was said and done. “Mrs. Garvin,” I said, “You might not be aware, but I can't thank you enough for what you've given me. I actually like reading now.” Mrs. Garvin's eyes lit up, and the crooked teeth of her mouth shown in the stadium lighting of the cafeteria. She thanked me for my words, and told me that was what made her job worthwhile.
While it would be many years before I had a well developed appreciation for literature, that's how I started. In no small part, my experiences in my youth contributed to my becoming a teacher in the first place. If I were worried about literacy, I might recommend Fun with Dick and Jane. Since I'm more concerned of an appreciation for literature, I hope I can emulate Mrs. Garvin as much as possible. Maybe, if I'm lucky, when my time comes to retire or move on and become a famous movie-producing, skydiving, book-writing extraordinaire, one of my students will tell me that I've given them something new, exciting, and life changing.