Reading is Power

I walked into my former employer's middle school, where I happily taught for 5 years before I moved out of my element into high school journalism, full well knowing that it was not only a tricky job, as most high school journalism teaching jobs are, but also because the high school was affectionately known as "the shark tank."  Here I was leaving the friendly waters of my confines of teaching gifted kids and working with reading teachers in a coaching model - where I had it safe, where I had it good, and where I could balance my life a bit.

I took this job so that I could stretch myself, be stimulated, and grow as a teacher.  Little did I realize how I would be begging for approval, all over myself - from my family, my ex husband, my kids, my principals (and there were many) and the parents of my students.  I was reminded of this, when, in my trepidation thinking about entering that building, and hanging my head low so I wouldn't be recognized.  But alas, I could not hide my face, my mannerisms, or who I was.  One by one, as dismissal was proceeding, and I walked with my eyes focused on the cracks of the sidewalk, on every blade of grass I passed by, my former colleagues greeted me with a smile, a wave, a greeting and hugs.  

At first, I looked up at them as if to earn back their approval, but as I looked in their eyes, I realized I already had it.

And as I walked into the cafeteria, and greeted reading specialists from all over the County, some

familiar, some not so familiar, I realized I was back in my element.  I was fortunate enough to listen to Yaris and Burkins about the very same philosophy of teaching reading that I espouse - let the kids do the work.  It shouldn't be the teacher doing the rain dance around them while the kids point and have their hands out waiting for the spoons of information and "right" answers we feed them in order to think we're making a difference.  Their books, "Reading Wellness," and "How to Say Less so Kids Say More," are great reminders of the metacognition that has to go on in kids' heads when they read.  Self-efficacy is more than half the battle with struggling readers.  

So, I became enthused and invigorated and renewed by what I heard, and although most of the crowd were elementary reading specialists, I realize the value of their advice applied to not only beginning readers, but those in middle school who word call, and those in high school stretching to understand "Beowulf" and Shakespeare, and those in middle age who still struggle with life in general.

And then they closed their talk with the reference to the blog entry about P.D. Eastman's book "Go, Dog, Go."  Now, that brought me to my own a-ha moment, my revelation, my own metacognition about my struggle.

Not only was that story so bittersweet to me in my reminiscent mood that I was already entrenched in -- because it was one of the only stories, if not THE only story, that my youngest son, Jack, would have me read to him - over, and over, and over, and over again --  but because of the underlying message that I never got, even though I reread and reread and reread this book umpteen times.  By the time he was in 1st grade, I was "Go, Dog, Go"'ed out.  I told myself if I never saw that book again, it would be too soon.

But no - I didn't see the female dog, begging for attention, so desperately seeking approval from one lone male dog, who lorded his superiority over her, and so crassly and carelessly, without filter,

dismissed her.  I didn't see her outrageous attempts for attention, her desperate cries to be worthy, to call out and seek recognition and validation.  Until.....Yaris and Burkins brought that blog post up in closing.  

You see, you can be 5, and you can be breaking the words apart, segmenting and blending, but not understand what you are reading, and you can be 8, and concentrating so hard on the words that you miss the picture that is giving you the clues as to the meaning, and you can be 13 and looking to your teacher to ask, "Is this good?  Is this right?" and you can definitely be 16 and completely skipping the

reading instead turning to Cliff's Notes for the abridged version because you just don't "get" it.  Or you can be 52 and realizing for the first time that you don't need to wear some crazy version of a party hat to fit in and that any male dog that treats you like crap shouldn't faze you.  Or for that matter, any dog at all. 

So, you go, girl.  You wear ANY hat you want, and don't you beg for attention, don't you beg for approval. You are in and of itself the epitome of just enough.  

Reading is power.  Rereading is more power.  Even when you're 52.

Resuming the Blogging Life

After many years away from my blog, I've decided to return.  Why?  You might ask.....

Well, the title of my blog says it all.  It was a phrase from my most favorite (yes, I used the superlative form) book in the whole wide world.  It spoke to me as an impressionable sophomore being taught, at that time, by a not-so-aging hippie English teacher (you know who you are, lady, and you were so, so, so influential in this woman's life) who seemed to have Bob Dylan hanging off her lips and the fresh draggings of the Woodstock earth off her bell bottoms.  I thought she could be my sister; she was the ying to my own mother's yang.  Combined with many other influential women of the English Department of Crystal Lake Central High School, who complemented her free spirit thumbing-in-the-face-of-the-man laissez faire teaching of Salinger and Fitzgerald, and even Flowers for Algernon, I learned to care about people.  I learned that language and communication was the way to heal people.

And so here I am again, trying to make this a consistent habit.  I never seem to be good at "habits."  Either the habit gets the best of me, or I don't get the best of it.  I guess it's my prolonged day-dreaming, my ADHD as my critics would define it, that keeps me from consistency.  For me, in my own little world, I just like to try new things.  I get bored.  I get listless.  I get wanderlust.  For everything - sometimes even people.  In any case, I'm trying to get grounded. I'm trying to stick to a few things and get better at them, instead of being a "Jill of all trades."

One thing I think I am really good at is being the catcher in the rye.  I'm so good at it that it's even come to hurt me, to haunt me, and to rule my own existence.  I can't help it.  I was raised by an adult child of an alcoholic and a dry drunk.  I'm not so new at addictive relationships.  Heck, domestic violence was the modus operandi by which I grew up.

So I tried always to be the champion of the underdog, the "mother hen" of everyone.  I don't think I was bossy, but I became so in my later life, in attempts to grasp at control, and in attempts to remain in control of my own life.  Some way, I got pinned with being an angry person, which if anyone truly knew me understood that was just a mask for my wall I put up that was supposed to communicate, "Don't tread on me."

I hope to write about my story, my life and my yearnings here.  And I hope to communicate to heal.  You might read angry ramblings of my disappointments, my failed relationships, my wounds of inner childhood, but you also might read my blabbering of my successes, my aha moments, my winning the war against myself, and the thrill of victory of my own accomplishments.

I'm just a regular person, but I've had some irregular situations happen to me.  Rather than wallow in the bowl of the pits of cherries, I'm taking control and decorating my bowl the way I like it.  Yeah, there might be some pits.  But I'm going to clean them off, paint them with my colors, and make them to shine like the sun and hold them up for everyone to see.

I hope you learn something. I hope I can inspire you.  And I hope that this will continue to heal me in hearing my words.  Hopefully, I'll can really be my own catcher in the rye.

And while I've been "around the [proverbial] block a few times," the Pollyanna me, the Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm me, the me that wants to love and catch everyone, resists using the winning strategy.  Maybe, just maybe, yes, I do still want to keep all of my kings in the back row.  One thing is for sure, I'm not a phoney.  And yes, maybe by telling the Interwebz, I'm not really telling anyone, so I don't start to miss anyone but my true self.