A Flashlight for Non-Readers
In first grade, Maggie stopped loving books.
The language arts program used skill-and-drill instruction followed by multiple-choice testing to determine progress. No matter how often Cliff and I presented our case on her behalf, the teacher didn’t care to offer options.
We knew being turned off to reading would be a major stumbling block for the rest of her life unless we helped her overcome it. We had to re-connect her to the book magic she’d once known with her own picture books.
So on Saturdays, Cliff let her wander the branch library shelves without regard to reading levels, unlike the school's legislation. She found books that interested her. She brought home the same three rock books for months, starting her own rock collection. We never quizzed her on geologic terms. We never organized the piles.
They were hers to experience however she chose.
We read to her. Every. Single. Night.
One of Maggie’s favorite TV shows was Scooby Doo. She noticed a story needed a problem for characters to solve. She learned how characters interacted to catch the villain.
She and I wrote our own episodes. Maggie brainstormed mysteries, usually centered around a favorite thing that could go missing. We rummaged through closets to gather props and costumes. Rehearsals happened in our kitchen because its open floor plan provided space for our Siberian husky, who played Scooby, to run with us from clue to clue. Cliff applauded our performances.
In second grade, she remained mired in weekly soul-crushing reading assessments, making literature a force-fed academic operation.
I told her how I used to hide when my mother sent me outside to play. I'd slip out with a book and a snack and hide in the backseat of our car to read. Maggie thought it was funny but a great idea. I placed Kate DiCamillo's Because of Winn Dixie in the back of our SUV in the carport. I told her I couldn't read it because I was afraid the dog might die. She volunteered to find out for me. I supplied pillows and snacks. I sent out a flashlight because evenings were coming early. She spent hours reading by beamed brilliance, eagerly delivering plot reports during dinner. At the end, she assured me the dog didn't die, adding, "Read it. You'll like it, Mom."
Even better news? She took more novels to her backseat reading fort.
When we moved to Minnesota, where DiCamillo lives, Maggie and I attended her author events. Our daughter experienced the real person who wrote the novel that turned a corner for her. Far more than a charming story, it carried her to a new level of confidence. Her world bloomed.
She's been reading ever since.
Sometimes schools and teachers get it wrong. They funnel students through the system, insisting perfect scores are the ultimate goal of reading. If you're lucky enough to have a square child who fails to fit their round hole, consider yourself blessed.
Support that young heart with inventive measures.
Point toward the magic that defies the A or B or C response.
Because a child's dynamic future is greater than any numerical score.
Find a flashlight.
