The Right to Write

Tonight I sit at my computer attempting to write words about being a teacher. Ideas. Suggestions. Solutions. Strategies. And yet, I just came off of a day steeped in chaos, struggles, and mistakes.

In the first two hours of my day I asked myself what must have been 100 questions, second-guesses, and challenges. Here are just few:

• Did I receipt these field trip forms?
• He hit again. What should I say to help reset the morning?
• This student has been absent for over a week. He looks so tired. How can I help him adjust this morning?
• She's refusing to join in Morning Meeting greeting. What should I say to model compassion but set high expectations for how we treat each other?
• Why does she do this?
• How can I be proactive tomorrow? And how can I remember to remember to be proactive tomorrow? 
• How can I better engage students during the writing mini-lesson? 
• She's still forgetting spaces between her words. What should we try today?
• She's refusing to join the group again. What should I do?
• They are arguing about who is touching who. I'm trying to teach a phonics lesson. Should I stop? Ignore it?

How can I sit down at the end of a day like this and write? Write about my ideas, my suggestions, my solutions and strategies. Do I even have any? Some days, like today, my shelves seem rather bare.

Self doubt creeps in. Who am I to write about being a teacher?

A teacher. That's who.

I've been there. I am there. I'm going back there tomorrow.
I can share my mistakes. I can share what I learn from what goes wrong, and I can share when it goes a little better the next time. I can't share perfection. And I can't wait for perfection to share.

And I don't just give. I take. I take and take and take. I take from the other teachers making mistakes, asking questions, second guessing choices, and re-conceiving challenges. And I don't ask for perfection from them.

I've made a deal with myself that I will be forgiving. Forgiving of my own faults and flaws. I will put myself out there because I want to be in community with my fellow teachers. I love us so much. I love what we are doing. What we believe we can achieve, even if we all know we set our sights unrealistically high. 

Tonight I'll write even though it was a messy day. I'll write even though my mini-lesson didn't land. I'll write even though we had to put a lot of work into showing kindness. I'll write even though one student's challenges seemed too big for the love I could give in one day.
I'll write. And I'll come back tomorrow.

Because I don't have to be perfectly right to write.
 

When Nonreaders Read

What makes a reader? 

When does one cross over from nonreader to reader? Earn the badge of honor?

What if there was no such thing as a nonreader?

What if, and stay with me here, holding a book is all it takes to make one A READER. Upside-down.
Closed. Chewed on a little. One’s first interaction with a book is the moment she becomes a reader.

We know from research that learning through shared reading experiences starts when parents read to
their children. These experiences, even before children are speaking, are developing vocabulary,
building background knowledge, and crafting “book” knowledge, such as how a book is held, how to
turn the pages, etc. Most importantly, early shared reading experiences provide a child with a reading
role model and condition her to associate reading with pleasure. As Jim Trelease wrote in
Why Read Aloud to Children, “We read aloud to children for the same reasons we talk with them: to
reassure; entertain; bond; inform; arouse curiosity; and inspire.” 

Why then are we as teachers cautious about putting books in the hands of those deemed as
“non-readers”? When the truth of the matter is that building positive experiences with books is crucial
to the development of all readers. "If a child seldom experiences the “pleasures” of reading and increasingly meets its “unpleasures,” the natural reaction will be withdrawal" (Trelease,
Why Read Aloud to Children).

Everyday our whole Kindergarten class spends 15 minutes on Read by Myself. This is in addition to
the time spent on Read by Myself during workshop. This is a shared, all-in, everyone-reads time with
a collection of self-selected books. 

No levels. 

No assigned books.

No computer interventions.

And if you walked around my kindergarten classroom during Read to Myself and just watched,
you’d be at a loss as to who’s in the Level A or Level H Guided Reading group. All you’d see is
readers. Readers sitting in plastic mini-rockers. Readers sprawled out on their bellies. Readers
curled up in a giant papasan. Books are open. Pages are being turned. Some whispered voices
and not-so-whispered voices punctuate the quiet as children point out interesting pictures, trade
books, or call out about an exciting part. You would notice some students tracing text with their fingers
and others carefully observing the pictures. You’ll notice some not-so carefully observing the pictures,
too. 

And they are all readers.

Everyone one of these children is experiencing a book as a reader. I think it’s important that we teachers don’t let our definition of reader and, by proxy, nonreader label our students and their reading practices. Allowing every student time to read, whatever that looks like, is key to developing into full-fledged read-the-words reader by building positive experiences with books for every student.