What I Want My First-grade Daughter to Read

9.26.2013



My sole memory of my entire first-grade year was the morning I peed in my pants during the Pledge of Allegiance. 

Told to wait by a teacher swapping recipes with another teacher and taught far too well at home to believe my six-year-old self would survive running out of the room on my own volition, I stood there, wiggling and waiting for permission. Tears welled up in my eyes as the intercom blared into the room a loud voice with rehearsed pauses until halfway through her words, it happened in such a quick and uncontrollable way that it was almost as if it were happening to another girl in another body. And once begun, it could not be stopped, and I found myself standing there in pants and shoes soaked to the core, my head filling with horror as I stepped back to the teacher once more to report what had happened. Her response was, “Well, why would you do that?”
           
When I think back on these moments, I realize how much I’m harboring still, how sick to my stomach some memories still make me, and how Jesus couldn’t possibly have meant I have to forgive someone so willfully stupid and unkind.

And when I hear about how far behind in science and math American students are compared to those in other countries who have taken the STEM lead, my reaction is only that I want to let them have it. Science and math are the least of my concerns most days. Maybe we could teach mercy for a while. Yes, maybe the whole year of kindergarten could be counting, letter recognition, and empathy. Then, first grade could be addition, phonics, courtesy, and charity. We could pepper in lessons like how to use scissors and social cues like the acceptable length of a hug, but really the focus should be how to interact civilly with one another, how to pay attention to others’ needs before our own, and how to be better than a person who would choose to embarrass a six year old in front of her peers and default to shame instead of love.
           
This year I do not have a first-grade daughter, but I have before, and I will again. I will also have a first-grade son, and I will have friends and relatives whose lives will be full of first-grade years for years to come. As much as I would like to return to my own first-grade self with my assertive, adult voice and my clear head that holds down a job and pays bills and plays house in such believably grown-up ways, I cannot. She who was me is fixed in time and destined to have had that day for all her days. It’s just done. And that’s that.
            
But here’s a letter to read to my first-grade self, when she comes around again.

My daughter, my spicy pumpkin, my pocketful of glory and goodness—

Here’s what I want you to hear and to know about life this year. Hear and know it well. It is just for you.

Humans care too much about size. This is bad news for you because you are small. This is okay, though, because we all start small. The problem is, once people get big, their brains get foggy, and all the big-people thoughts take up space, so they forget what it was like to be small and what it was like to be you. 

You need to know that although you're small, you are powerful, like superpower powerful, and always far more powerful than you realize. (You don’t need to tell people that, of course. When you tell people your superpowers, you become less powerful.)

I think the reason small people don’t realize they’re powerful is that they confuse power with strength, but what makes you powerful is your mind, not your body. A small person’s mind the best combination of a muscle and a machine. It is a muscle because the more you use it, the better it gets. It’s also a machine, though, because it doesn’t have to rest. Your mind will keep going and going, even when you sleep, so dream and dream well.

I want you to know that your dreams are important to me—even more important than my own. They matter, and I care about them because you matter, and I care about you.  Two of the most important things people do are listen and talk. As much as I want you to listen to me, I want you to talk to me, too. Know that you have an incredible brain and an incredible heart. Always use both.

Even though you are small, you have eyes that see farther than some other people’s eyes. If you see a person who needs love, love them and do it quickly. Never question whether you should; the answer is yes and always. Use your arms to catch people, to help people, and to hug people. Use your feet to go where your heart says you must. Use your brain to watch your step. Use every last bit of yourself to be there for others when they need you. Help. Give. Love. This is what we're called to do.

I do not care what grades you bring home. You will not impress me with a report card, a trophy, or a ribbon. You do not owe me explanations. I have loved you always. I will love you always, no matter your size, no matter your strength. And that’s the end of it.

If someone should ever give you different instructions about the way you should live, simply smile, give them a muffin, and go read a book. I want you to think for yourself, stand up for others, and do good in the world. I want you to know how to love. If you learn nothing else, learn to love and be patient with those who haven’t learned how yet.

Love,
Your Fantastic Mother

When I began homeschooling three years ago, I was stunned when during our school day my daughter would ask me whether she could go to the bathroom. I brought that day to a full stop and tried to teach her one thing: If someone believes they can tell you when you may or may not go to the bathroom, you’ve given that person too much power.




The Kind of People Who Ban Books

9.25.2013

My daughter is twelve, which means the good folks at Barnes and Noble believe she loves paranormal romance novels and books with vampires in them so much so that 80% of the shelves in their teen section carry one, the other, or some combination of the two. Consequently, it has been increasingly and incredibly difficult the past two years to find books that are richly written and also age-appropriate. I have been grateful to friends and colleagues who pass titles my way when they run across something Daina-appropriate, which means sex-free, deep, and delicious--although that sounds like I'm describing a nun cookie . . . which, according to the Google gods, exist.



As a literature professor and bibliophile, my philosophy has always been read anything, read everything. And I was fortunate to grow up in a house where this was possible. My father's attitude was always "better you than me" since he prided himself in having gotten so far in life having never read any complete books and never understood my penchant for them. 

I am grateful to my mother for several things. Most obviously were that she and books were always present in the house and that she made book-reading a part of our daily routine in such a strong way that it seemed odd to go to homes where there were not books on shelves, beside and below beds, and stowed away in secret corners of rooms and closets. 


There are, however, the less obvious, too, those quiet—or not so quiet—and brave acts parents do in defense of their children. Some cannot be put here, but should there ever be an occasion where you want both me and coffee in the room at the same time, we will sit in sworn secrecy, and I will tell you strange stories of books other adults had taken from me "for my own good" and replaced with things other girls loved. I'll then tell you of other books sneaked back onto my shelves and even those which needed to be turned around with the spines facing the back of the bookshelves in case company came. 


These experiences helped me to understand reading as both risk and reward, to read the act of reading some books as forbidden and subversive and necessary. In retrospect, I look at my mother and her love of language and realize how generous and strong she was to let me wander through the stacks as I did, to let me wade in the words and find my own way.


I'm realizing this now as I'm faced with deciding how far and how deep my own daughter's reading should go. Although our cable-free, cloth-diapering, homeschooling selves live like a band of hippy peace, light, and lovers somedays, the mother in me is at odds with the read anything, read everything philosophy I'd held for so long. 


The truth is I don't want her to read anything, read everything. But the reasons aren't sex, drugs, or rock and roll like some might expect. For me, it's a matter of light and dark. I believe too much in the power of words to affect a person for me to be comfortable with her indulging in too much dark. I see elements of her I recognize and know as mine, and I don't want her to dwell too long in depth for fear of her drowning in it. 


But I do want her to wade. She deserves the mother I had, the kind who sneaks books on her shelf and apologizes for the hands that would slap her reaching ones away. 


I found this piece of  a Gwendolyn Brooks poem when rereading her Selected Poems yesterday. I adore the kindred feelings here between mother and child, that shared nature which makes us reach unafraid, bold and ready for the new, whatever may come.






This week is Banned Books Week. Go and read something delicious. 


We Give Books

9.19.2013

One of my favorite websites is WeGiveBooks.org. The site provides free access to children's picture books online, and for every book you finish reading on the site, the organization gives one print book to a charity that promotes literacy.

    

The site offers a mix of digital copies of classics and newer books you can read right on the site with your laptop or mobile device. A lot of our kids are on iThings anyway these days. Just route them to the site and click on Read to get started! 


The first book I read and gave was Goodnight iPad



Happy reading! And happy giving!


Julie Kate's Top 20 Books for Teens

9.16.2013


When Daina runs out of books to read, I consult one of the smartest gals I know: Julie Kate Brooks, dear friend, fellow lover of Firehouse Subs and anything at Target, and daughter of a couple fantastic colleagues of mine. She shares my love of books, and every time we have a conversation about what Daina just has to read next, I want to bottle up her recommendations and pass them along to others. 




The Little Literati gives me a perfect chance to share the book love, so I asked JK if she would be a guest blogger and share her top 10 or 20 favorite books. And why share 10 when you can share 20? Here they are! Happy reading!

Title
Author
Favorite Quote
Basically
Little Women
Louisa May Alcott
“I like good strong words that mean something.” 
Five fantastic females. Plus, a wonderful movie adaptation.
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
Sherman Alexie
“I grabbed my book and opened it up. I wanted to smell it. Heck, I wanted to kiss it. Yes, kiss it. That's right, I am a book kisser. Maybe that's kind of perverted or maybe it's just romantic and highly intelligent.” 
Hilarious. Heart-breaking. Pictures.
Emma
Jane Austen
“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” 
Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Austen
“You have bewitched me, body and soul.”
They hate each other. They love each other. What’s it gonna be Liz and Darcy?
O Pioneers!
Willa Cather
“A pioneer should have imagination, should be able to enjoy the idea of things more than the things themselves.” 
You gotta be tough to survive on the Plains.
The Twelve
Justin Cronin
“Because that's what heaven is...it's opening the door of a house in twilight and everyone you love is there.” 
A wonderfully scary post-apocalyptic world. Lots of characters. Make a diagram. 
Columbine
Dave Cullen
“When I fell out the window, I knew somebody would catch me. That's what I need to tell you: that I knew the loving world was there all the time.”
A possible explanation. A triumph for the survivors.
The House of the Scorpion
Nancy Farmer
“He has his good side and his bad side. Very dark indeed is his majesty when he wants to be. When he was young, he made a choice, like a tree does when it decides to grow one way or the other. He grew large and green until he shadowed over the whole forest, but most of his branches are twisted.” 
Clones. Drug wars. Romance. All of the genres rolled into one great read.
Bossy Pants
Tina Fey
“To say I’m an overrated troll, when you have never even seen me guard a bridge, is patently unfair.” 
When you need a laugh.
The Fault in Our Stars
John Green
“My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.” 
I simultaneously hate and love John Green for creating the character of Augustus Waters.
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Khaled Hosseini
“One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.”
Powerful. Survival. Friendship.
The World According to Garp
John Irving
“In the world according to Garp, we are all terminal cases.” 
You thought your life was weird?
The Phantom Tollbooth
Norton Juster
“You can swim all day in the Sea of Knowledge and not get wet.” 
Favorite book to read aloud.
To Kill a Mockingbird
Harper Lee
“Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.” 
Coming of age. The South. Justice.
How to Be a Woman
Caitlin Moran
“What part of 'liberation for women' is not for you? Is it freedom to vote? The right not to be owned by the man you marry? The campaign for equal pay? 'Vogue' by Madonna? Jeans? Did all that good shit GET ON YOUR NERVES? Or were you just DRUNK AT THE TIME OF THE SURVEY?” 
Makes me proud to be a feminist.
Long Day’s Journey Into Night
Eugene O’Neill
“For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on towards nowhere for no good reason.” 
Watch a family break down before your very eyes.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
JK Rowling
“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love.” 
A great conclusion to a classic series.
The Thirteenth Tale
Diane Setterfield
“Once upon a time there was a fairy godmother, but the rest of the time there was none. This story is about one of those other times.” 
A story within a story. Best to read when raining.
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
Mary Ann Shaffer
“Men are more interesting in books than they are in real life.”
Letters. World War II. Love.
The Glass Castle
Jeannette Walls
“It’s the Joshua tree’s struggle that gives it its beauty.”
Crazy parents. Interesting life. Not a history book about castles.

Julie Kate Brooks is a seventeen-year-old nursing major at Florida State University. She spends most of her time in class or at the library, and though she is very young, she hates staying out past 11:00 pm. In addition to becoming a nurse, she would like to travel the world with a rag-tag team of….doesn’t really matter. Just as long as they are described as “rag-tag.”

Photo Credit: Plumb Photography




Confessions of a Slow Reader

9.15.2013

My twelve-year-old daughter is a fast reader. A suspiciously fast reader. She reads so fast that it makes me a suspicious mother: "You couldn't have finished. Did you read the whole thing? Even this paragraph?" I pop quiz her to prove her supposed skimming insufficient, and I can never do it, which leads me to believe that she isn't skimming at all. What would be skimming for me is reading--real, actual, word-for-word reading for her, and she gets it--completely and fully--even the first time. 

She is an anomaly, so I never include the example of her in my class lectures. For one, this one-read approach doesn't work for most, so I teach a cold-read/warm-read approach to my students to encourage at least two passes through a work before commenting on it. And two, I'm jealous of her. 


I am a good reader, but I'm supposed to be. I've been a voracious reader since childhood, and over the course of eleven years of college work, I earned multiple degrees, including a doctorate in literature--ahem, reading. Also, I am a writer, and I've become that by reading and studying all the books a library card can buy. I should be a good reader. I paid good money to other good readers to teach me to become one. Despite this, I will say that my daughter is, hands down and every day of the week, a better reader than I am, and I'll confess that I'm not sure how she does it. 


All the rules we're supposed to teach, she breaks. She can read in a loud and crowded room with no lighting in an uncomfortable chair while hungry and busy, and the book still seems to read itself to her. She can sneak in a page at a time and be able to tell you exactly the scene where she left off--and what she knows will happen next because she's probably read the book five times before. If you ask her what she's reading, she usually says several titles. She's reading them all at once. 




I am a comparatively slow reader. Okay, not comparatively. I'm just a slow reader. I have to work to start and work to finish books. I get distracted, and I get impatient. I even get bored sometimes. It's hard to keep my eyes on the page sometimes, or if my eyes are on the page, my mind won't follow. Other times, my body works with my autopilot mind, and they believe they're reading, and then my fingers follow their cue and begin to turn the page when a third part of me jolts awake wondering when we all paid attention last. As I flip back through the pages, looking for familiar territory, I get more and more frustrated at myself, wondering how it was possible to be present yet so completely unaware of my location. 


For someone like me who is considered to be a literate person, I have too many false starts. I have to read aloud to get started sometimes, at least for a few pages. I need to hear the voice--or I need to hear Morgan Freeman's voice, and so I'll imagine he's reading to me. For some time after I watched Stranger Than Fiction, I heard Emma Thompson reading to me, which was lovely. Who doesn't completely adore Emma Thompson? 


Surely, I'm not alone. Surely, there are others who keep British voices in their heads narrating in a precise formality because their natural inner reader is a gum-smacking, hair-brushing tween who can't be trusted to finish a chapter. And surely, there are some of you whose eyes begin to burn at the sight of ink because a book is about the only thing that won't cry or set the house on fire if you fall asleep instead of keeping watch over it. 


I've developed a "special set of skills" (insert Liam Neeson voice here) to cope with my grandmother-tortoise-covered-in-molasses reading speed. My key is to slow down even more. It sounds counterintuitive, and it is, but it's the same tactic I teach for writing, and it fixes the brain block in so many marvelous ways. 



  • When possible, and especially for short passages, read them twice. The cold read happens first to see what the reading is about and what's happening--in general. The warm read is for noticing and making sense of details. The second reading experience is the faster of the two, despite being the deeper of the two, because you have the context for those details.
  • Read with a pen in hand. I mark everything of potential import when I read: lines of dialogue, words I don't know that I might need to learn, recurring themes and symbols, and the entrance and exit of characters. My heavy marking habit lends itself to better rereading, as well. I love going back for a second reading to see what I'd thought the first time around. 
  • Read aloud sometimes. As much as it is an adult life skill to be able to read silently without moving your lips, there is something very beautiful and engaging about reading aloud, whether to someone or to yourself. I am sure this is the poet in me, but I love the way reading aloud slows me down and forces me to dwell on each phrase and sentence. It keeps me from hurrying, keeps me from drifting, and keeps me present.
  • Read sitting up or standing up. I started reading the first book I fell in love with, The Catcher in the Rye, leaning against my bedroom closet door. By the end of the first chapter, I slid down the door and sat on the floor. I didn't get up until I finished the whole thing. I wrote the whole last chapter of my dissertation standing at my kitchen counter with a laptop and the bright florescent lights shining on my notes. Location and movement matter. 
  • Stop reading in your leftover time. Give your best to get your best.


These tricks help. They really do. I've gotten to be faster at reading because I've tricked my body and my brain into being more focused, into being more present. I still know I'm not my daughter though. I've learned to tune out my personal bores, like football games and sci-fi movies, but I haven't mastered being able to read in the middle of the night or under the table at a restaurant with a fork in the other hand because I just have to finish a book. 


I haven't gotten into the habit of bringing a backup book light in case my first-string book light breaks or dies, and I don't pack spare batteries for both for a worst case scenario. My purse carries one book at a time, not four, and I don't have another five on the stand by my bed because I'm working on those, too. You are as likely to point out a book on my shelves that I have not read as those you will point out which I have read. Daina's shelves are done: the books have been read, reread, and revered. They look new, but it's because she guards their spines. 


I want to learn from her, but I'm afraid it's something unteachable and tethered to her bones. The cells just keep on blooming and multiplying, and the words keep on calling her name. I want to hear them, but I've learned to stop studying and just marvel at the reader she's become. 


I noticed a few months ago she stopped using bookmarks. "I don't need them anymore," she said. "I just know where I am." 




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