The Joy of Reading

If you are reading this, you have the ability to read. Sounds kind of silly right? It means you were raised in an environment that put an emphasis on the importance to being able to read, whether that occurred in school, in the home, or both. Have you ever considered yourself lucky to have had this, have you ever taken it for granted? If you haven’t, take a moment to appreciate this. No seriously, take a moment to think about how different your life would be if you didn’t have the ability to read or write.

About a month ago, I was talking with one of my sixth graders about something that I have talked about with many other students: was he able to read. This is the same student whom I spoke of in my past posting about hunger. He is a quiet and reserved sixteen year old orphan from the Congo. His dad died in the mid 90s in war and his mother died when he was 10 years old. After her death, he lived on the streets for three years before a “white man” took him to South Africa. He often times talks about how he misses his mother, how it’s hard being a foreigner living in the orphanage, how his inability to read makes him feel “shameful.”

Despite having this same conversation with many other students, he did something no other student had done: he asked me if I could write down some words for him so he could practice. I told him I would be more than happy to, and later in the day when he inquired about it again, I knew he was serious. So, that night I went home, got a notebook, and wrote him a letter. My intent was to write to him and have him write back to me, so that not only was he practicing reading but also he was practicing writing. We did this back and forth a couple times, but he seemed to be struggling with it. That’s when I came to a harsh reality. He can’t read. He actually can’t read. No matter how many times I wrote him letters or what I said in them, it wasn’t going to teach him to read because he simply couldn’t read them. This hit me hard. I was rattled, but I decided to change my approach and this time asked him to stay after school with me so we could do some more focused work. He agreed, and over the past few weeks we have spent many hours after school learning to read, from the ground up. I quickly realized he’s at a kindergarten level, which means we started with letter sounds, some of the most common words, and soon will be starting with combined letter sounds (like “ch” and “sh”). He’s made incredible improvements that we’re both excited about. I’m only here for two more months though, which something we’re both aware of.  I know he won’t be reading Shakespeare before I leave, but I hope I am able to provide him with a sense of dignity and confidence that he so desperately desired before.

Think about what you were doing at sixteen. Learning to drive? Gradually pushing away from your parents? I can assure you that he’d love to have parents to push away from; he’d love to think about learning to drive or all the other silly things sixteen year olds think about. Instead, he’s just trying to learn to read so he can be “normal.” Now, go back to your thoughts on what your life would have been like if you couldn’t read and realize that this is his reality. Take a few moments to think about that.