From The Pocket Muse
Imagine a coat.
Imagine the pocket of a coat.
Imagine what's in the pocket...
Jane slowly opened the door of the closet. Thoughts of her little Matthew flooded her mind as her eyes found themselves on her black wool jacket. She could see his toe-blond hair, his crystal clear blue eyes, and hear his infectious laughter. Oh, how she longed to have her little boy back. It was hard to believe a year had passed.
She hadn't worn the jacket since the accident. She considered throwing it away, but with Chris being laid off, money was tight, and she knew another coat like that would be at least one-hundred dollars. They just didn't have money like that anymore. Now that the Holidays were here, she thought she could muster the courage to throw it on and go to Mass. Jane slipped the heavy coat over her frail shoulders and silently asked God to help her be strong and get through the next few days.
Jane told her parents she would meet them at St. Malachy's for midnight Mass. Normally, they would pick her up and she would ride with them. Tonight, she wanted this time for herself. She wanted to ride in silence and think of her little boy.
The parking lot was almost full, she found a place to park in the rear of the church. The December air had a bite that almost took her breath away. She tucked her head down and quickly walked to the entrance of the church. Once inside, she shook off the cold air, took her gloves off, and zipped them into her purse.
With her heart aching, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets. She felt a stabbing pain in her right middle finger. "What on earth is in my pocket?" Jane thought to herself. She pulled her hand out of her pocket and examined the puncture wound on her finger. The blood had started to peek through the skin. "Great. I know I don't have a band-aid in my purse," Jane thought as she stuck her finger in her mouth to lick her wound clean.
She carefully put her hand back in her pocket to find what had caused her this inconvenience. The object was the size of a pea. She slowly pulled it out of her pocket. Jane's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Matthew," she whispered, "how could I have forgotten?"
Jane examined the tiny tooth in her hand. How could she have forgotten Matthew's first tooth? He had proudly pushed the tooth out with his tongue as they were walking to the car on that icy December day. She had hurriedly put it into her pocket, and planned to slip it under his pillow that night. That night never came for Matthew. He was killed instantly when the man in the black pick-up truck smashed into the backseat of their car.
Jane gently placed the tooth in her left pocket, gingerly slid her hand around it and gave it a little squeeze, and joined her parents at the back of the church.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The Silent Sister
Pocket Muse Prompt: Write something in the voice of someone who has, until now, been silent.
I didn't exactly write this from the voice of someone... Instead, I tried to convey someone being the voice of someone who has always been silent.
"Sigh. Why does he have to behave like this every Sunday?" Cynthia thought to herself, as her younger brother Aaron was wailing and fighting with their mother in the front seat of their mini-van.
"But Mooommmmmm, you said I could bring my ninja turtles into church!" Aaron argued. "You always say I can do something, and then I can't! I don't want to go into church if I can't bring them!" he yelled at his mother.
"Ugh. Aaron, it's 10:58. Mass starts in TWO minutes you ARE coming into church with Cynthia and I, without your ninja turtles," Brenda said in her most motherly voice. It had been three days since she really had spent any time with Cynthia and Aaron. Working doubles at the hospital brings the money in, but it certainly had created a wedge with her and Aaron's relationship. Greg tries the best he can as a stay at home dad, but he just doesn't share the same discipline philosophy as herself.
"I am NOT going in. I'm staying right here WITH my ninja turtles," Aaron persisted.
Brenda looked at the clock. 11:00 on the dot. She hated to do it to Cynthia, but she had to.
"Cynthia, honey, you go ahead inside, and Aaron and I will be right along. You can sit with Jack and Sharon and their family, or with Ashley, Harold, and Emma. Just walk up the center aisle, honey, and look for them. I know you can do it," Brenda said with confidence.
Without a word, Cynthia got up and nervously struggled to slide open the heavy mini-van door. The door rolled open and she hopped out. Cynthia turned around and attempted to slide the door closed. The door was in need of repair, and she could never get it shut. She gave it one gallant pull. Nothing. The door wouldn't budge.
"Cynthia, just leave it, sweetie, mommy will get it," said Brenda, as she looked over her shoulder at Cynthia.
Smoothing her hair back with her trembling fingers, Cynthia raced up walkway towards the entrance of the church. When she was nervous, she could never just walk. Her feet moved faster than her brain. Her feet move so fast they hardly touch the ground. She knew from the many doctor's visits, that this was just one way that her brain worked differently than everyone else's. She tried to slow down, she just couldn't.
What if Fr. Joel has already started Mass? Are people going to turn around and stare at me? What if Jack and Sharon aren't there? Who am I going to sit with? These questions flew through Cynthia's mind as she approached the large, wooden church doors.
It took all of her strength to pull open the heavy wooden door. Silence. A wave of relief swept over Cynthia as she stepped into back of the church. The door closed with a loud thump behind her. She tip-toed up to the second set of wooden doors and peered through the crack. Church was pretty empty today. She could just walk in and nobody would even notice her.
"Here I go," she said to herself as she pushed the door open. She pranced swiftly up the center aisle, her feet barely touching the floor. "I don't see Jack and Sharon! Where are Ashley and Harold? Where do I sit?" Cynthia panicked, then she saw Mr. Rausch. "We always sit in front of him," she said to herself as she quickly jumped into the pew. "I made it, I made it!" she thought. "Did anyone just see what I did?" Cynthia looked around for familiar faces.
Thump. Boom. Crash. Cynthia heard the noise before anyone else did. Then the loud whispering voices.
"No."
"Yes."
"I don't want to."
"Come On, RIGHT NOW, Aaron."
"Oh, no," Cynthia thought to herself. Here they come. And sure enough, Brenda and Aaron made their grand entrance. Brenda had a grip on Aaron like you wouldn't believe. He was struggling to get away from her all the way up the aisle.
"Get over!" Aaron yelled in his whisper voice to his sister. "I want to sit there!"
Without a fuss, Cynthia slid over and let Aaron and her mother sit on the end of the pew. Just once Cynthia would like to sit there. She loved to watch Fr. Joel and the alter servers on the alter. She dreamed of being an alter server with her friend Molly one day.
During Mass, Cynthia tried to pretend she was sitting somewhere else in the church. Aaron was up to his same old tricks again. The ninja turtles distracted her and a few others when Aaron would make them battle. Under the pew, over the pew, jumping on his mother's back, Aaron wouldn't sit still. At communion Aaron stayed behind and slithered like a snake back and forth in the pew. Cynthia was horrified, but kept her eyes off her brother and on Fr. Joel and the alter. She silently prayed for Aaron to stop acting so foolish. She wondered how many people were watching her brother act so ridiculous. She could hardly concentrate on Mass, she couldn't imagine what it was like for the people behind them.
Mass was officially over, and she could hardly wait for her favorite part. Fr. Joel and the alter servers process down the aisle, and he gives her a high five. Cynthia quietly moved herself closer to the aisle so she could stick her hand out. "Here they come, here they come," she said to herself with excitement. Fr. Joel gave her his big smile, put his hand up, and gave Aaron the big high five.
Cynthia was crushed. Aaron hadn't been attentive all through Mass. She was the one who came in on time. She was the one who sat so quietly. She was the one who went to communion, yet he was the one who got Fr. Joel's high five. It just wasn't fair.
All of a sudden, Cynthia heard a gruff voice behind her talking to her mom and Aaron.
"Now, let me tell you something, young man," Cynthia turned around to see Mr. Rausch speaking. "Your sister here, she knows respect. She came in just as quiet as a cricket. She sat by herself and waited for you to have your little tantrum," Cynthia could not believe her ears. Was someone speaking up for her?
"In case you were not aware, this is the House of the Lord. The Lord's house is one to be respected. We DO NOT jump on the pews. I've just about had it with you, young man," Mr. Rausch said, "If you can't behave sitting with your mother, you can sit with me next Sunday."
Brenda had tears in her eyes and apologized to Mr. Rausch for her son's behavior. It took everything Cynthia had to keep her face from breaking into a large grin. As Cynthia, Aaron, and Brenda walked slowly out of the church, Cynthia snapped her head around to find Mr. Rausch, as if to say thank you. She caught his eye, and Mr. Rausch smiled and winked at her.
I didn't exactly write this from the voice of someone... Instead, I tried to convey someone being the voice of someone who has always been silent.
"Sigh. Why does he have to behave like this every Sunday?" Cynthia thought to herself, as her younger brother Aaron was wailing and fighting with their mother in the front seat of their mini-van.
"But Mooommmmmm, you said I could bring my ninja turtles into church!" Aaron argued. "You always say I can do something, and then I can't! I don't want to go into church if I can't bring them!" he yelled at his mother.
"Ugh. Aaron, it's 10:58. Mass starts in TWO minutes you ARE coming into church with Cynthia and I, without your ninja turtles," Brenda said in her most motherly voice. It had been three days since she really had spent any time with Cynthia and Aaron. Working doubles at the hospital brings the money in, but it certainly had created a wedge with her and Aaron's relationship. Greg tries the best he can as a stay at home dad, but he just doesn't share the same discipline philosophy as herself.
"I am NOT going in. I'm staying right here WITH my ninja turtles," Aaron persisted.
Brenda looked at the clock. 11:00 on the dot. She hated to do it to Cynthia, but she had to.
"Cynthia, honey, you go ahead inside, and Aaron and I will be right along. You can sit with Jack and Sharon and their family, or with Ashley, Harold, and Emma. Just walk up the center aisle, honey, and look for them. I know you can do it," Brenda said with confidence.
Without a word, Cynthia got up and nervously struggled to slide open the heavy mini-van door. The door rolled open and she hopped out. Cynthia turned around and attempted to slide the door closed. The door was in need of repair, and she could never get it shut. She gave it one gallant pull. Nothing. The door wouldn't budge.
"Cynthia, just leave it, sweetie, mommy will get it," said Brenda, as she looked over her shoulder at Cynthia.
Smoothing her hair back with her trembling fingers, Cynthia raced up walkway towards the entrance of the church. When she was nervous, she could never just walk. Her feet moved faster than her brain. Her feet move so fast they hardly touch the ground. She knew from the many doctor's visits, that this was just one way that her brain worked differently than everyone else's. She tried to slow down, she just couldn't.
What if Fr. Joel has already started Mass? Are people going to turn around and stare at me? What if Jack and Sharon aren't there? Who am I going to sit with? These questions flew through Cynthia's mind as she approached the large, wooden church doors.
It took all of her strength to pull open the heavy wooden door. Silence. A wave of relief swept over Cynthia as she stepped into back of the church. The door closed with a loud thump behind her. She tip-toed up to the second set of wooden doors and peered through the crack. Church was pretty empty today. She could just walk in and nobody would even notice her.
"Here I go," she said to herself as she pushed the door open. She pranced swiftly up the center aisle, her feet barely touching the floor. "I don't see Jack and Sharon! Where are Ashley and Harold? Where do I sit?" Cynthia panicked, then she saw Mr. Rausch. "We always sit in front of him," she said to herself as she quickly jumped into the pew. "I made it, I made it!" she thought. "Did anyone just see what I did?" Cynthia looked around for familiar faces.
Thump. Boom. Crash. Cynthia heard the noise before anyone else did. Then the loud whispering voices.
"No."
"Yes."
"I don't want to."
"Come On, RIGHT NOW, Aaron."
"Oh, no," Cynthia thought to herself. Here they come. And sure enough, Brenda and Aaron made their grand entrance. Brenda had a grip on Aaron like you wouldn't believe. He was struggling to get away from her all the way up the aisle.
"Get over!" Aaron yelled in his whisper voice to his sister. "I want to sit there!"
Without a fuss, Cynthia slid over and let Aaron and her mother sit on the end of the pew. Just once Cynthia would like to sit there. She loved to watch Fr. Joel and the alter servers on the alter. She dreamed of being an alter server with her friend Molly one day.
During Mass, Cynthia tried to pretend she was sitting somewhere else in the church. Aaron was up to his same old tricks again. The ninja turtles distracted her and a few others when Aaron would make them battle. Under the pew, over the pew, jumping on his mother's back, Aaron wouldn't sit still. At communion Aaron stayed behind and slithered like a snake back and forth in the pew. Cynthia was horrified, but kept her eyes off her brother and on Fr. Joel and the alter. She silently prayed for Aaron to stop acting so foolish. She wondered how many people were watching her brother act so ridiculous. She could hardly concentrate on Mass, she couldn't imagine what it was like for the people behind them.
Mass was officially over, and she could hardly wait for her favorite part. Fr. Joel and the alter servers process down the aisle, and he gives her a high five. Cynthia quietly moved herself closer to the aisle so she could stick her hand out. "Here they come, here they come," she said to herself with excitement. Fr. Joel gave her his big smile, put his hand up, and gave Aaron the big high five.
Cynthia was crushed. Aaron hadn't been attentive all through Mass. She was the one who came in on time. She was the one who sat so quietly. She was the one who went to communion, yet he was the one who got Fr. Joel's high five. It just wasn't fair.
All of a sudden, Cynthia heard a gruff voice behind her talking to her mom and Aaron.
"Now, let me tell you something, young man," Cynthia turned around to see Mr. Rausch speaking. "Your sister here, she knows respect. She came in just as quiet as a cricket. She sat by herself and waited for you to have your little tantrum," Cynthia could not believe her ears. Was someone speaking up for her?
"In case you were not aware, this is the House of the Lord. The Lord's house is one to be respected. We DO NOT jump on the pews. I've just about had it with you, young man," Mr. Rausch said, "If you can't behave sitting with your mother, you can sit with me next Sunday."
Brenda had tears in her eyes and apologized to Mr. Rausch for her son's behavior. It took everything Cynthia had to keep her face from breaking into a large grin. As Cynthia, Aaron, and Brenda walked slowly out of the church, Cynthia snapped her head around to find Mr. Rausch, as if to say thank you. She caught his eye, and Mr. Rausch smiled and winked at her.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Arbo Family ABCs...
You know the game...The ABC category list. As a child, I would play this game for hours on long car rides with my younger brother and sisters. We had the ABC game for every category imaginable. So, one rainy/snowy afternoon this is what Lige and I came up with for products, companies and businesses we proudly support.
Aveeno (their skin-care products are the best!)
Bounty paper towel--select a size!
Courtyard Cafe--(A restaurant in Houlton we absolutely love!)
Dove soap
Ellis Family Market
Fuji Restaurant--(the only place we've found in Maine that has Korean food!)
Giffords Ice Cream--(Moose Tracks, please!)
Houlton Dairy Farms
Ichiban Restaurant (we love Japanese food!)
Jeep
Katahdin Elementary School (best place to work!)
L.L. Bean
Maine Maven (a great local business in Orono!)
New Balance Shoes (Made in the U.S.A.!)
Oracle (the payroll company that cuts Lige's checks)
Paddy Murphy's (a great Irish pub in Bangor)
Q-Tips (keep those ears clean!)
Randy Lincoln Insurance
St. Benedict Church, Benedicta ME (womb to tomb!)
Traveler's Restaurant (to get our French toast fix)
Uncle Henry's
Verizon Wireless--(we almost get service way out here in the woods!)
Wyman's blueberries and raspberries
Xtra laundry detergent
Yamaha
Zumba! Zumba! Zumba!
Aveeno (their skin-care products are the best!)
Bounty paper towel--select a size!
Courtyard Cafe--(A restaurant in Houlton we absolutely love!)
Dove soap
Ellis Family Market
Fuji Restaurant--(the only place we've found in Maine that has Korean food!)
Giffords Ice Cream--(Moose Tracks, please!)
Houlton Dairy Farms
Ichiban Restaurant (we love Japanese food!)
Jeep
Katahdin Elementary School (best place to work!)
L.L. Bean
Maine Maven (a great local business in Orono!)
New Balance Shoes (Made in the U.S.A.!)
Oracle (the payroll company that cuts Lige's checks)
Paddy Murphy's (a great Irish pub in Bangor)
Q-Tips (keep those ears clean!)
Randy Lincoln Insurance
St. Benedict Church, Benedicta ME (womb to tomb!)
Traveler's Restaurant (to get our French toast fix)
Uncle Henry's
Verizon Wireless--(we almost get service way out here in the woods!)
Wyman's blueberries and raspberries
Xtra laundry detergent
Yamaha
Zumba! Zumba! Zumba!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Writing from another's perspective...
This is what I've learned, writer's write about what they know. This is what I know, most of my writing is from my perspective based on events from my life. This is what I'm trying, it's not about me. I've made a list of possible different perspectives...
From the Pocket Muse
Most Good Stories Are About Trouble
An elderly widow who has trouble getting from point A to point B
A seven year old boy who has trouble being understood
A six year old boy who has trouble talking
- A seven year old boy from a tangled, troubled home
- A pregnant teenager
- An elderly widow
- A single father
- A single mother battling cancer
- A young, successful woman hiding a drug addiction
- A successful middle-aged man hiding his alcoholism
- A veteran of the Iraqi war trying to fit back into American society
- A six year old boy who is at war with himself
- A new mother
From the Pocket Muse
Most Good Stories Are About Trouble
- Trouble getting from point A to point B
- Trouble being understood
- Trouble understanding
- Trouble doing something
- Trouble having something done to you
- Trouble talking
- Trouble listening
- Trouble within
- Trouble without
- Trouble being human
An elderly widow who has trouble getting from point A to point B
A seven year old boy who has trouble being understood
A six year old boy who has trouble talking
A Friendly Dinner
Another prompt from the Pocket Muse...
The last thing dad told me as I bounded out the door this morning was that my slingshot was not for killing animals. I knew that. No killing animals. This was the spit-palm promise Dad and I made when he bought me my 500 Sling-Back Cardinal for my birthday last week. So, the first day out with the new girl, the last thing I wanted to do was to go back on my word.
It was quiet in the woods. The dew still clung to the green carpet of moss beneath my feet, and the sun was just peeking through the leaves as I tip-toed along to our hunting camp. As I meandered along our beaten path, I could feel the three stones rattling around begging to be let out of the darkness of my jean's pocket.
I pulled the first rounded-to-perfection stone out of my pocket. I slowly, carefully placed the stone into the rubber elastic of the slingshot. I was pinching the stone so hard, I thought for sure my hand would start bleeding. I slid my fist and forearm up underneath the metal brace. I knew I could fire that stone into the hole of that old rotting maple.
Just as I was about to let 'er fly into the tree's abyss, I saw it. That old thing must have been older than dad. I knew there was no way I could hit it, but I just wanted to practice getting something lined up in my sight. I slowly pulled my arm up, squinted my left eye, and put it in my sight. I don't know what happened, I swear. The next thing I knew, the rabbit was squealing and wailing and crying like a baby. I've never been so scared in my whole life! I shoved my 500 Sling-Back Cardinal in my back pocket, covered my ears with my hands, and ran like hell back to the house.
Everything would have been fine if it hadn't been for that damn Mr. Murphy. Wouldn't ya know, he was in the woods this morning. He arrived with a big pot of rabbit stew for dinner tonight. He told dad it would have been a sure waste to not have me enjoy my first kill. Mr. Murphy told dad he's never seen anyone so accurate with a slingshot before.
Mr. Murphy stayed for dinner, Dad insisted. It was the quietest dinner I've ever had. I quickly excused myself from the table and came up here as fast as I could without appearing rude or unappreciative. They're still down there talking. I got a pretty good idea that's the last time I'll be using my slingshot for a while.
Write about trouble from resulting from a good deed.
It was quiet in the woods. The dew still clung to the green carpet of moss beneath my feet, and the sun was just peeking through the leaves as I tip-toed along to our hunting camp. As I meandered along our beaten path, I could feel the three stones rattling around begging to be let out of the darkness of my jean's pocket.
I pulled the first rounded-to-perfection stone out of my pocket. I slowly, carefully placed the stone into the rubber elastic of the slingshot. I was pinching the stone so hard, I thought for sure my hand would start bleeding. I slid my fist and forearm up underneath the metal brace. I knew I could fire that stone into the hole of that old rotting maple.
Just as I was about to let 'er fly into the tree's abyss, I saw it. That old thing must have been older than dad. I knew there was no way I could hit it, but I just wanted to practice getting something lined up in my sight. I slowly pulled my arm up, squinted my left eye, and put it in my sight. I don't know what happened, I swear. The next thing I knew, the rabbit was squealing and wailing and crying like a baby. I've never been so scared in my whole life! I shoved my 500 Sling-Back Cardinal in my back pocket, covered my ears with my hands, and ran like hell back to the house.
Everything would have been fine if it hadn't been for that damn Mr. Murphy. Wouldn't ya know, he was in the woods this morning. He arrived with a big pot of rabbit stew for dinner tonight. He told dad it would have been a sure waste to not have me enjoy my first kill. Mr. Murphy told dad he's never seen anyone so accurate with a slingshot before.
Mr. Murphy stayed for dinner, Dad insisted. It was the quietest dinner I've ever had. I quickly excused myself from the table and came up here as fast as I could without appearing rude or unappreciative. They're still down there talking. I got a pretty good idea that's the last time I'll be using my slingshot for a while.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Quotes I like...
...about writing assessment from the NCTE
Quality assessment is a process of inquiry.
It is not enough for assessment to serve the well-being of students “on average”; we must aim for assessment to serve, not harm, each and every student.
First and foremost, assessment must encourage students to become engaged in literacy learning, to reflect on their own reading and writing in productive ways, and to set respective literacy goals.
Thus, assessment should emphasize what students can do rather than what they cannot do.
Information about students’ confusions, counterproductive strategies, and limitations, too, can help students and teachers reflect on and learn about students’ reading and writing, as long as it is provided in the context of clear descriptions of what they can do.
Unless teachers can recognize the significance of aspects of a student’s performance—a particular kind of error or behavior, for example—they will be unable to adjust instruction accordingly. They must know what signs to attend to in children’s literate behavior. This requires a deep knowledge of the skills and processes of reading and writing and a sound understanding of their own literacy practices. Therefore, it is important that teachers themselves be readers and writers who understand these processes from the inside out.
Because of the need for this level of expertise and because the quality of formative assessment has a strong effect on the quality of instruction, improving teachers’ assessment expertise requires ongoing professional development, coaching, and access to professional learning communities. Nurturing such communities must be a priority for improving assessment.
In reality, our understanding of language asserts that it is not possible to construct an unbiased test of literacy.
A teacher who knows a great deal about the range of techniques readers and writers use will be able to provide students and other audiences with specific, focused feedback about learning. Indeed, students learn things about themselves and about literacy from teachers’ feedback that no standardized test can supply
We must depend less on one-shot assessment practices and place more value on assessments of ongoing classroom performance, assuming that classroom curricula develop the full complexity of literate learning.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Questions to Consider
Yesterday I had the amazing opportunity to listen to Dr. Mary Lose's research symposium:
Considering the Relationship of Student Self-Selected Reading in Middle School and High School on Student Achievement Outcomes in Literacy
Below are a few questions she posed to the audience. I encourage anyone who reads these questions to truly try to answer them (whether you are an educator or not). Because, dear friends, even if you are not an educator, you are a tax payer. You're paying for the education of our youth. If we do not know the answers to these questions, we need to start asking questions.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you asked me these same questions about children in grades K-3, I could answer in the blink of an eye. Yesterday, I realized that I need to know the answer of the questions posed above. We get kiddos loving books in grades K-3, and then by ninth and tenth grade a majority of children hate to read.
In one study, 151 6th and 9th graders were interviewed and it was found only 12 students were readers outside of school. Another study (National Endowments for the Arts 2007) reported half of 18-24 year-olds never read a single book for pleasure and just 30% of 13 year-olds read 'almost every day for fun'.
Steven Wolk, an associate professor at Northeastern Illinois University, found that when looking at what students are required to read in 2010, it might as well be 1960. Do you remember the 3-4 books you read in high school? Did they happen to be one of these books?
Considering the Relationship of Student Self-Selected Reading in Middle School and High School on Student Achievement Outcomes in Literacy
Before I launch into this post, consider this question:
What are 3-4 books you read in high school?
Below are a few questions she posed to the audience. I encourage anyone who reads these questions to truly try to answer them (whether you are an educator or not). Because, dear friends, even if you are not an educator, you are a tax payer. You're paying for the education of our youth. If we do not know the answers to these questions, we need to start asking questions.
- How many of your students in grades 7-12 read on level, at what levels?
- Do you have assessment data that show which students are not reading at level? (For teachers: do you know their names?)
- How many students read (and enjoy reading) at the secondary (7-12) level?
- Do the secondary teachers (at your school) know how to teach reading?
- How many secondary English Language Arts teachers teach...
- ...using whole class novels?
- ...using a variety of reading material and genres?
- ...materials organized by theme?
- Do secondary students read self selected reading material every day?
- How long are they able to spend reading this self selected material?
- Where are the reading materials located? (In the school library? In classrooms?)
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If you asked me these same questions about children in grades K-3, I could answer in the blink of an eye. Yesterday, I realized that I need to know the answer of the questions posed above. We get kiddos loving books in grades K-3, and then by ninth and tenth grade a majority of children hate to read.
In one study, 151 6th and 9th graders were interviewed and it was found only 12 students were readers outside of school. Another study (National Endowments for the Arts 2007) reported half of 18-24 year-olds never read a single book for pleasure and just 30% of 13 year-olds read 'almost every day for fun'.
Steven Wolk, an associate professor at Northeastern Illinois University, found that when looking at what students are required to read in 2010, it might as well be 1960. Do you remember the 3-4 books you read in high school? Did they happen to be one of these books?
The Great Gatsby
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Catcher in the Rye
Lord of the Flies
Romeo and Juliet
The Adventure of Huckleberry Finn
Macbeth
Of Mice and Men
Hamlet
1984
Things They Carried
Students of today are reading the same texts as their parents as well as their grandparents. Do you see why kids may be turned off to reading?
What if we let students choose what they read? GASP!?! "What about the curriculum?" you ask. Well, it may be time to revamp the curriculum. If we continue with what we've always done, we'll continue to get the results we've always got. What if students were taught to think critically about texts using universal questions and themes, yet they were able to self-select the texts. If you haven't read these young-adult books, I highly recommend you check them out.
This trilogy is even being made into a movie!
Other titles that will surely be a hit with teens (especially boys) are:
I guess the bottom line is...
We need shake things up a bit.
We need to let students self-select materials.
We need to start meeting our students where they are at.
We need to help students become critically literate.
We need innovative leaders to make this happen.
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