I Forgot How to Read--Or So I Had Thought

In one week I begin fall semester classes toward my media specialist license.
In two weeks I return to a new year of full time teaching.
Today's post is the first of the two week countdown. 
I hope to establish some sort of routine, and a greater focus for this blog.
For the two weeks, I shall see where things go.
To many musings!

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I forgot how to read.
Or, so I had thought until I took an Intro to Children's Literature class in graduate school while I pursued my elementary education teaching degree.

Looking back, I remember the day in kindergarten when Mrs. Brewer entered the class, conversed with my teacher and then announced the names of the children who would join her in her classroom to learn to read.
"Choose me! Choose me!" I pleaded silently again and again until my name, Tammi, at the time, was spoken.
That was when my memory of my love of reading and learning truly began. (Although I have never forgotten when Mr. Dooley, the principal that year, took children to the courtyard during kindergarten open house night, showed us the duck eggs, and nest, and then read Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.)

By second grade I was teaching my preschool-aged sister to read. I used the flashcards (which I still have) and the folded storybooks of Tad, Jill, and Lad (which I also still have). I knew I wanted to become a teacher some day. Besides my own reading, my classroom teacher, Miss J., who I felt blessed to have for first, second and third grade, knew how to read to children. (I'll say more about this in a future post.) She introduced me to the books of Bill Peet, the poetry and silliness of Shel Silverstein and Dennis Lee, and the books of Judy Blume--particularly Freckle Juice and the class favorite, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing.

These led me to read more and more. I discovered Carolyn Haywood's Betsy books (which I recently discovered remain in print), more Judy Blume--my all time favorite book became Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself  and after 21 reads, it became my mission to memorize the book (which I never accomplished, but I made a good start). 
I later discovered the spookiness and magic of Lois Duncan, the sweetness of the Sweet Valley High series, and many more wonderful books.

Somehow, as reading literature became more a part of English classes, this triggered an anxiety for me that carried into college.

• Do I have enough time to get through the reading? 
• What parts should I focus upon?  
• What if I focus on the wrong parts and can't remember the right things for the test? 

I think the last question was my greatest fear. As a result, I seemed to lose the ability to read for enjoyment. I struggled to complete any book without seeking help from "Mr. Cliff". (I was able to read some book, but many I could not.) Today I still say that despite earning a bachelor's degree in creative writing and literature, I graduated literary illiterate. I felt there was no way I could ever consider teaching an English class. I know that I do know more now, and have stronger reading skills, but concentrating to get through an "adult" book, continues to be a challenge.

Forward to grad school and Intro to Children's Literature. Reading assignments included picture books and middle grade books. No tests. Only discussions and written reflections. Suddenly, I had the ability to complete the reading of a book again. Suddenly, my love for reading had returned.

Don't ask me what the last adult book was that I completed in whole.
I do have no problem telling you the last children's book I completed.
As of today:

• Picture book--Flora and the Flamingo by Molly Idle (Unfortunately the library copy had some missing flaps to show "before" images. Despite this, upon first "read" (as this is a wordless picture book), the pink (and my daughter loves pink) illustrations of a girl and a flamingo developing a connection and dancing together is lovely and sweet. I am working on figuring out how best to "read" wordless books aloud when I share a book with my daughter. I  encourage her to tell me a story to accompany the pictures. No luck yet. If we talk about pictures together and I ask guiding questions, we can tell the stories together. It just feels like something is missing, as compared to when I can read a story aloud. I am open to suggestions for enriching the experience of sharing wordless picture books.)
• Transition book--Bink & Gollie by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee (I just read this to my daughter tonight.She and I both agree she is like Bink. I loved this first book and was able to easily suspend disbelief in regards to the two children appearing to live on their own without adult supervision. I think the first compromise made by the two girls, related to socks and pancakes, is my favorite part.)
• Middle Grade book--Nest by Esther Ehrlich (I hope to write a longer review later. In a nutshell I can say, despite this book seeming long at times, the visual language, real characters (characters who questioned their own feelings, and struggled both internally and externally), love of family even when challenges seemed unbearable, connection to nature and birds, and the simpler life connected to games such as watching "water worms" race down the window during a rainfall made me nostalgic for the happier and simpler times of my own youth. Chirp, the main character, possessed a kindness and sensitivity toward a friend who desperately needed caring.)
• Young Adult--The Living by Matt de la Peña (I had trouble putting down this plot-driven disturbing and frightening story. The story included the catastrophe of ”the big one” (earthquake) hitting the west coast of the U.S., a pandemic, corporate corruption, a tsunami, a job on a cruise ship, and a protagonist who would be content with life had it remained adventure-free in his southern California town near the Mexican border. I think what disturbed me is that the plot did not seem totally implausible (although I don't know if the natural events, scientifically, could happen as they did). What I appreciated, when comparing this book to other stories I have read is that I didn't find myself saying things such as, “Come on! Give me a break!” as one horrible event happened after another. In some stories such ongoing occurrences of catastrophes seem overdone and unlikely. De la Peña managed to tie everything together in a way that seemed possible. I feel this book could be easily “sold” to teens in high school and possibly upper middle school who enjoy suspenseful realistic fiction involving danger, a mystery, and a relatable teenage main character who values family, likes girls, comes from a low income home and community, and is a survivor. On a side note, I just picked up the sequel, The Hunted at the library yesterday.)

There is no shame in reading a children's book as an adult.
As an adult in public.
Really.
This is just one girl's opinion.
~Tamara