He half-hardheartedly looked over the book choices lying on the massive dining table and finally asked with no conviction, “Do you have any books about dinosaurs?”
I was there helping Project Armchair’s newest volunteer recruit, Annette, settle in and the domestic violence shelter was positively HUMMING with activity. The director had stated that she would let mothers and kids know we were there to read, and next thing I knew, kids of all ages were pouring into the commons area like a swarm of bees on a spring day.
Annette was handling it all like a champ, so I turned my attention to the eager children. Other kids were pawing through the choices with gusto but not my new young friend. “What grade are you in?” I asked him. Teasing answers out of him I learned he was in the second grade and only seemed to like dinosaur books, which I didn’t happen to have on hand that day. Avoiding eye contact with me he added, “I don’t like to read.”
An eager 5-year-old with lunch still evident on her beaming face pulled me to the sofa and handed me her book of choice. I read above the din, pointed out features of the illustrations, drew her into predictions and all the magical tools that reading teachers use to increase engagement and learning. But I kept glancing at the underwhelmed second grader still loitering around the table of books and wondered how I might also pull him into the joy of a story.
When I concluded, The Last Stop on Market Street by Matt de la Pena, I made my way back to the boy and sat beside him. “Did you find one yet that I could read with you?” I asked with a smile. “Dr. Seuss.” He said without enthusiasm or looking at me. “The blue one,” gesturing to the pile. “Cat in the Hat?” I asked with a grin. “That’s a good one!” He waited for me to begin reading with about as much joy as a death row inmate consuming his last meal.
Looking at that sad face with a storm of emotions lying just underneath a placid exterior I asked quietly so that only he could hear, “Is reading hard for you?” He nodded with eyes fixed on the ground. A barely perceptible nod. I gently nudged his arm and said, “Hey. Look at me.” I needed to know he would hear my next words. That he would look into my soul and feel the weight of their import. When his eyes found mine, I assured him, “reading IS hard. It’s like learning another language, which isn’t easy for anyone to do. It takes work. It doesn’t mean that you can’t learn or that you’re not smart enough, it just means that you are going to have work hard and not give up. You can do it!”
He stared at me without blinking for a long moment and something happened behind the placid face and eyes. I saw it. A spark of… hope? I opened the cover to Cat in the Hat and began reading, discerning his reading level in that super power way that all reading teachers possess. Making a game of omitting words I was sure he could confidently insert; he began to read along with me. “Sit, sit, sit, sit,” he nearly shouted at the page.
Before I knew it, he was regaling me with a shockingly impressive repertoire of knowledge about extinct animals and sea creatures as we invited our friend Mr. Google to show us images and sounds, laughing like we were old friends.
This is our mission every time our volunteers read to homeless or hospitalized children. Use literacy to help kids in crisis forget for a small moment that their lives are in tatters and the world too big for their small shoulders. Every child needs to hear once in a while, “You can do it!” Victims of violence all the more.
To my teacher friends, please remember this when they sit in your classrooms and struggle to read, or subtract, or cope with seemingly minor incidences, or share what they did during the weekend during circle time. There is a storm inside that they can’t emotionally or mentally process, let alone verbalize.
Just love them and tell them now and then that they can do it. You will help them get there.
