My Life of Literacy

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My Life of Literacy

• The Story of an Addiction

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According to my mother, it was an inauspicious
beginning, but I cant remember when reading
wasnt an important part of my life. Much to my
disappointment, my mother informed me in a recent
e-mail that I probably didnt read before
entering first grade and that I read the typical
Dick and Jane books at school where there were
three reading groups.
The good news, although my mothers memory on
this has dimmed, is that I was in the top reading
group and never had any problems.
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My earliest school memory portrays what turned
out to be typical of my school experiences in
reading. Because I was a better reader than most
of my classmates, I was rarely part of a reading
group. In first grade I remember that the class
was reading a book about a robin, but the teacher
told me that I didnt need to be part of the
reading group. Instead, she said that I should
put my head on my
desk and nap. Thus, the memory that comes
back to me today is of my small, red, round,
corduroy pillow with the big, covered button in
the middle and surreptitiously listening to the
story while my fellow students read aloud.
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The seeds of my addiction probably sprouted
around third grade when I was enthralled with
The Weekly Reader. What fascinating news I
could discover each week! About that same time,
without realizing that I was fueling my fledgling
addition, I began to purchase my own books
through the Scholastic Book Club. I read Nancy
Drew mysteries which contributed to my need (I
dont think it was a compulsion at this point in
my life) to read every book in a series.
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The Groovy 60's
During my junior high and high school years, I
became part of self-guided and self-assessing
English and phase elective English, considered
experimental programs in the late 1960s.
Fortunately, my good reading habits and the
wisdom of my English teacher mother helped me
continue to read and to choose my reading
material wisely, but for those less fortunate
these experimental English programs tended to be
failures. For the average student, reading was
not enjoyable nor a priority, and they chose
classes where little reading occurred.
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I, also, tend to view the public library like I
view the reading education many students received
when I was growing up. I hated the Danville
Public Library. Trudging up twenty marble steps
and entering a dark, cavernous room with a huge
mahogany desk in its center, only to be eyed by
the evil Mrs. Tunis
discouraged any desire I had to read the books
that came from that place. One of my worst
memories is when Mrs. Tunis substituted in my
fourth grade class. I just knew we wouldnt be
allowed to make any noise at all! Because I was
fortunate to come from an enriched home
environment where reading was valued, I
successfully navigated the undemanding coursework
of my twelve years of public school. At home I
had the advantage of college-educated parents, a
mother who taught high school English, and a
grandmother who doted on me. My grandmother read
aloud to me on demand.
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Being spoiled, all I had to do was ask Mammy to
read me a story and she accommodated me. My
favorite, in fact, was her least favorite. I
loved the alliteration of The Teeny-Tiny Woman.
She lived in her teen-tiny house with her
teeny-tiny dog, and I loved to hear my
grandmother repeat the words teeny-tiny over
and over again. She also held up my first piece
of writing as a masterpiece. We were reading a
rebus book about Slappy the Duck, and I was so
inspired by the tale that I wrote my own version
without the pictures. She still has the yellowed
copy written on that wide-ruled we used when
learning to write.
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Mammy gave me McGuffeys Third Eclectic Reader
and, by then, I was reading mostly to myself, so
I set out to read all the stories (not the
poems). My favorite was Lesson LXXI, or How
Willie Got Out of the Shaft. I thought it was
the most ingenious solution ever and that Caper,
Willies dog, had to be even smarter than Lassie.
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My mother, the genetic link to my predilection
and eventual obsession, also read aloud to me,
but her favorite readings were generally on a
higher plane than The Teeny-Tiny Woman. My most
vivid memory of her reading aloud to me is Robert
Frosts The Death of the Hired Man. It is a
narrative poem and contains the famous line
Home is the place where, when you have to go
there, they have to take you in. I recall how
emotional my mother became as she read it. At
that moment, particularly, I felt the power of
the written word.
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Her biggest contribution, however, to my reading
experiences was her suggestions for my reading.
Since she taught high school, I was always
reading material meant for older students. Like
many high school English teachers, she didnt
believe in censorship of her high school
students or me. I vividly recall my first
experience with censorship. As we prepared for
vacation the year I was in the seventh grade, I
chose an adult book from the bestseller list to
take along with me. The book was entitled The
Godfather. My mother, according to her beliefs,
didnt forbid me to read the book however, she
warned me that I probably wouldnt like it.
WellI learned a lesson. It was too much for me.
I read two words that I knew had something to do
with sex, but I was too meek to ask my mother.
It wasnt until a few years later that I learned
their meaning. I laugh at that experience now,
but what I learned from the experience is that a
little guidance, rather than censorship, is a
good thing.
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I was successful, for a brief time, in overcoming
my reading addiction when I was in college. Its
not that I didnt read, but college courses and
the study of ancient Spanish paleography left me
exhausted for any pleasure reading. The severest
withdrawal symptom I experienced was lethargy and
depression. After graduate school I believed
myself to be older and wiser, and, therefore,
able to avoid my earlier, youthful addictive
behavior.
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Just like an alcoholic, I promised myself that
one little book (a light romance novel, lets
say) wouldnt hurt me. Soon, and stronger than
before, the addiction came raging back. By this
time I was the worst sort of addictI was
dealing. My two young children provided fresh
venues for my appetite. I, too, read aloud to my
children. I was disappointed that such works as
Petes Dragon were their favorites. Montessori
methods also encouraged my daughter to read. In
fact, she was reading at about the age of four.
As she began to read all the Newbery Medal
winners and turn her bedroom into a
sophisticated, alphabetized, and catalogued home
library, I knew with certainty that the addiction
passed through the female line in families.
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As my addiction grew stronger, I haunted used
bookstores, mailed and received books from my
mother who was living in Arizona, and traveled to
that mecca of all bookstores, JosephBeth. Since
Ive been living in Bowling Green, Ive had to
settle for Barnes and Noble and shopping at
Amazon.com. Recently Barnes and Noble sent me a
calendar worth twenty dollars because of all my
book purchases in the last six-month period. I
was afraid to inquire how much that might be!
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My greatest regret to this point in my life is
that I havent kept track of
of books Ive read.
the number
I would probably be appalled, but maybe knowing
that number would provide the antidote to my
addiction. On the other hand, it might encourage
me to try out for the
Guinness Book of World Records
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My addiction does have its advantages. In the
last six months, Ive traveled to India, China,
and Japan and from the past to the future.
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Ive learned about geishas, whaling in early
nineteenth century America, the reign of Indira
Gandhi, poverty, modern prisons, being black,
being gay, family relationships, and abuse of
power.
Reading enables me to experience places Ive
never been, meet people long dead, and consider
ideas and values different from my own.
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Lest the reader think that I am addicted only to
novels and other longer works, I read magazines
like Atlantic Monthly and Southern Living on a
regular basis. I always carry a book in my purse
and believe the computer was invented so that I
can read newspapers from around the world. Not
only do I read foreign newspapers for their
unique perspective on various world issues, but I
also read them to practice my second language. I
could be known as the Great Sharer because when
the opportunity to recommend and lend a book
comes along, I freely offer my opinions and books
to my students, my colleagues, my family, and my
children and their friends.
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Over the years I have been able to keep my
addiction separate from my professional life
because other, more important pursuits than
reading for pleasure occur in many schools. With
students in my classroom, however, my beliefs
about reading have led to both success and
failure as well as points in between. I consider
my greatest success a class of ninth graders who
enjoyed my reading aloud to them. That year our
favorite book, The Education of Little Tree, made
us laugh and cry. In fact I became so tearful
when Little Tree was taken away from his home
that another student had to read for me. As
those students went on to other grades and
classes and we passed each other in the hallways,
many of them would recall our reading adventures,
especially Little Tree.
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My greatest failure came as a surprise to me.
Several years ago I taught a Reading for Pleasure
class, and I believed this class would be an
unmitigated success. Students were always
complaining (and sometimes rightfully so) that
they couldnt read what they wanted. The teacher
required them to read certain works. In this
class where they would be surrounded by rich
reading materials and where they could read what
they wanted, I knew they would read and read and
read. I coerced the library into letting us have
a variety of magazines and newspapers, and I had
raided my daughters bedroom library of about 150
books. To my bitter disappointment, I read more
than any student in the class.
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Reading has given me powerthe power to speak, to
write, and to understand. Reading has led me to
joy and sorrowthe joy of teaching and sharing
reading with others and sorrow for those who
havent found the power reading holds. Many
people believe that money is power, but I believe
that literacy is power. What would our world be
like if those who dont have the power of
literacy could get it?