Reading
As an English teacher, reading is an essential aspect of my day. The irony of it all, though, is that as a child I hated to read. I can easily empathize with many of my students who voice their disgust for what seems like tedious minutes or hours with nothing but letters and words forcing themselves upon the reader. Reading in school never much interested me. Now, I could spend all day reading from various books or articles.
My older brother was an avid reader during my formative years. Reading came naturally to him and I always thought that was his gift, not attainable for me. While he was reading C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia in grade school, I was content with Clifford Goes to Hollywood until middle school. The truth is, Clifford is still an enjoyable read.
Of Mice and Men was the first novel I read completely. I didn't get it. So, for the better part of high school I fake read as Tovani puts it in I Read it, but I don't Get it. I became adept at listening to discussions or asking the right question. The reality is, I wrote my way through Enlgish classes.
The second novel I really read was The Great Gatsby. I recall that most of my peers hated Gatsby and the style Fitzerald used. I became enthralled by the story to the point of reading the entire book. I had found my turning point, my connection to the world of literature. The reality of characters became my reality if only briefly. The hurts and joys became mine. I went to the Congo with Conrad. I travelled the roads of South Africa with Paton. Reading, letters and words put together, connected my thoughts to my heart and ultimately to the world around.
When a student moans, "This sucks, McNamar," I can both empathize with them and drop with sadness at their lack of vision. I know that Shakespeare is difficult and that the classics can be as dry as the paper they are written on. I know that words can be difficult and meaning missed. But in all of that, I believe ever so desperately in the power of words to heal us; to stir our hearts; to create compassion--to make us human. How wonderful would it be to give to my students just a taste, a spoonful of reading medicine, to birth new life into the act and art of reading.
My older brother was an avid reader during my formative years. Reading came naturally to him and I always thought that was his gift, not attainable for me. While he was reading C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia in grade school, I was content with Clifford Goes to Hollywood until middle school. The truth is, Clifford is still an enjoyable read.
Of Mice and Men was the first novel I read completely. I didn't get it. So, for the better part of high school I fake read as Tovani puts it in I Read it, but I don't Get it. I became adept at listening to discussions or asking the right question. The reality is, I wrote my way through Enlgish classes.
The second novel I really read was The Great Gatsby. I recall that most of my peers hated Gatsby and the style Fitzerald used. I became enthralled by the story to the point of reading the entire book. I had found my turning point, my connection to the world of literature. The reality of characters became my reality if only briefly. The hurts and joys became mine. I went to the Congo with Conrad. I travelled the roads of South Africa with Paton. Reading, letters and words put together, connected my thoughts to my heart and ultimately to the world around.
When a student moans, "This sucks, McNamar," I can both empathize with them and drop with sadness at their lack of vision. I know that Shakespeare is difficult and that the classics can be as dry as the paper they are written on. I know that words can be difficult and meaning missed. But in all of that, I believe ever so desperately in the power of words to heal us; to stir our hearts; to create compassion--to make us human. How wonderful would it be to give to my students just a taste, a spoonful of reading medicine, to birth new life into the act and art of reading.
posted by Mr. McNamar at 1:44 PM
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