100 When I Was Growing Up Stories
Prompt # 10 Books
“Make it a rule never to give a child a book you would not read yourself.”
― George Bernard Shaw
I’m surprised that I grew up loving to read.
I went to first grade feeling excited because I was going to learn to read just like my older siblings. And then I met Dick, Jane, and Sally.
See Jane go.
See Sally go.
See Dick go.
See Spot and Puff go.
Reading those words made me want to “See Laurel go home from school and play.”
In second grade, we spent more time doing phonic worksheets than reading. Mrs. Cutting (aptly named) tried her best to teach us our short vowels in the reading circle. She went around the group, pointing to a picture on the worksheet and asking us to answer her question about the short vowel. When you answered correctly, you were excused to return to your desk.
Along with some of the other kids, I struggled to answer her questions regarding short vowels. Mrs. Cutting would yell at us when we didn’t answer correctly. I really wanted to leave that circle, but I struggled to connect the sounds with the letters. So I memorized the other student’s correct answers. Finally, when she pointed to a picture to which I remembered the answer, I got it right and was allowed to return to my desk.
Learning to read by shame and intimidation is not ideal. I hated second grade.
Luckily in third grade, with a calm and capable teacher, I learned to read with a degree of understanding and fluency. And I actually liked going to school. As a result, I went into fourth grade as a reasonably confident reader.
My enthusiasm was quickly dashed by a big box that sat looming in the back of the classroom. The SRA (Science Research Associates) box contained thousands of color-coded folded cards with a “story” and comprehension questions.
The cards were arranged in sequential order. First, you were assigned a place to start in the box based on your reading level. Then, all school year, you would go to the box, pick the next card in the series, read the story and answer the questions. This was repeated every single day until you reached the end of the box or (thankfully) the school year ended.
I was often bored by the content on the SRA cards. But, on the other hand, when I was intrigued by a “story” and wanted to learn more, no information was available in that blasted box or in my classroom. We had no school library and few books aside from our school books.
I am a person who likes choices. I’m sure that it was true of my fourth-grade self. There were no chapter books on a bookshelf in our classroom and no free choice reading time. You read whatever card came out of the box.
Also, there was no class discussion after reading one of the color-coded cards. Frankly, I don’t recall that the SRA cards provided a lot of gist for discussion. Still, it would have been a welcome change from a class where students were rarely allowed to talk or express their ideas about what they had read.
Growing up, I loved it when I was read to by an adult. Unfortunately, our teacher only read one book aloud to our class that year. It was Charlotte’s Web. Thank you, E.B. White. I am eternally grateful for Charlotte and Wilbur’s bright light in a gloomy classroom.
I will spare you my memories of grueling hours trying to figure out how to diagram a sentence in junior high school. I never could grasp the concept of how (or why) to diagram a sentence.
I did survive primary and secondary school, and I enjoyed my college years. I do appreciate my teachers’ time and effort in helping me become literate. However, the equally essential yet missing piece of my elementary school education were teachers that modeled love and appreciation for books.
Fortunately, I had a dad who would lose himself in a book. I learned to wait until he was engrossed in a book to ask permission to do something he might not allow. Luckily, this tactic would often yield a distracted “Yes” response.
More importantly, I had a mom who would pile my siblings and me into the car and drive us to the town library. In this small brick building with its earthy, musky smell, I discovered the sheer delight of the printed word.
With Love & Energy by the Pond,
Laurel
PS: This story isn’t intended to be a comment on methodologies for teaching children to read. A variety of approaches are needed to fit students’ individual learning styles. This is simply a retelling of my personal, educational experience.
