"Take A Look," You Said. "It's In A BOOK," You Said.

[bloodyrosemccoy]

Freethinker's Day
Birthday - President William McKinley (25th President)
Anniversary - Seeing Eye (guide dogs)
Admission Day (Kansas)

 

When I was in school, developing one’s reading skills was, to put it mildly, encouraged. From first grade onward, we were greeted everywhere with posters of celebrities holding books—everyone from Alec Baldwin to Xena: Warrior Princess was there to inform us reading was a very useful skill.  Our teachers demanded constant book reports, and every week we would have Library Time. Scholastic ran rampant through our schools like a horde of Vikings through a thatched village, leaving in its wake catalogs, a weird little newspaper, and periodic book fairs. Reading made you smart, everyone told us.  It is cool to read!  For god’s sake, put down those video games and—are you listening?  Please? Animorphs has a plot and cuddly animals and everything! Goosebumps is scary! Well, you like that Power Rangers show, can you at least read a novelization of the episodes?  Okay, just read the blurb under this photo of the rabbit.  Anything? Dammit, kids these days are dumb as blocks.

 

And then there was Read-Aloud Class Time.

 

Now, to understand why I hated Read-Aloud Time so much, you have to understand that all this seemed a little redundant to me, because I was that reading kid. The one in the corner reading while the rest of the class harassed the substitute teacher. The one with the book under my desk during the instructional videos. The one who found a corner of the playground and read through recess.  The one who spent the recesses of sixth grade shelving books in the school library, and then settling down with a book.* To me, book reports were an unnecessary nuisance, taking up time that I could have spent reading another book.

 

And Read-Aloud Time was a nightmare.

 

You may have had something similar in your school.  It went like this: each student had a copy of their Reading Comprehension Book, full of sometimes great and sometimes deadly boring stories designed to impart some literary goodness while honing our sharp skills, and with questions at the end like “Why do you think Reynolds waited until Mom had her back turned before he stole all the cookies she had baked for Mrs. Cratchit?”** That was simple enough—it was yet another of those incomprehensible school things people made you do, and it wasn’t very hard.

 

But the catch to Read-Aloud Time was that you got these books out, and then everyone in the class took turns reading the story aloud.

 

Were you a fast reader in school? Do you remember—do you have any idea—how mind numbingly boring that was?  I didn’t mind that others weren’t as fast readers as I was, but reading aloud forced everyone to go at the pace of the slow readers.  And I frankly would get bored and lose track of the story.

 

So I read ahead. I would often finish the story while the rest of the class was on page two.  I would have understood it all, and it wouldn’t have been at the interminable pace we went at.  But the whole time I was reading, while one of the eight or so Ryans in the class was struggling over the word “through,” I lived in fear. Because I never knew when the teacher would call on me to read the next paragraph.

 

Oh, I tried to pay attention. I kept my finger on the page everyone was on, and frequently paused to listen and see which paragraph they were on.  But inevitably, at some point during Read-Aloud Time, the following conversation would occur:

 

Teacher: Amelia, will you read next?

Amelia: … Uh, hang on.

Amelia: … *goes back to the page they were on*

Teacher: Perhaps somebody who has been paying attention would like to help Amelia out? (Optional) Amelia, I’m going to put your name on the board.

 

And she would, punishing me by embarrassment for “not paying attention” when I was simply reading fast. I tried a few times to protest that I’d been reading ahead, but that got me no sympathy at all. My teacher simply told me to try to stay with the rest of the class, and reiterated that I should pay attention.

 

I could never quite get over that last part.

 

What did I learn in school? I learned that grownups are hypocrites.  And jerks. And they don’t actually value good behavior or reading skills, because when I would finish an assignment before everyone else, I quickly learned that sitting back quietly and pulling out my book would be rewarded with the teacher finding me more busywork while the rest of the class finished the assignment. I got in trouble for being fast.***  And I once wound up in the school psychiatrist’s office because my teachers decided I read too much.

 

And I couldn’t do anything about it, because they knew what was best for me.

 

Something about the injustice of it keeps the anger quietly festering in me until this day.  It’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder how kids stay sane with grownups running the world.

 

 

*It was a legitimate excuse to get out of recess.  I spent years trying to convince my teachers that it was freaking cold and slushy outside and I wanted to stay inside and read, and nobody would let me until I found that the nice librarian didn’t know it was The Rules that I had to go out and get fresh air and socialize with the kids, and let me shelve the books or put contact paper on the new ones and then read until the bell rang. Once again, we see that reading was apparently not as valued as everyone said it was.

 

**If it were a math story problem about cookies it would have also involved two people named Ahmed and Yoshimi.

 

***I’m a pretty fast reader, but I’d just like to point out here that I’m definitely not on par with gondolinchick01, the Human Scanner.  She looks at a page and she’s read it. It’s creepy. I bet she had some run-ins when she was still in public school.

Comments

[padparadscha.livejournal.com]

Did you ever get tempted to shout "IT'S 'WHICH' YOU OAF!" after what felt like five minutes of struggling?

Or, if you liked the kid, did you kinda whisper the word at them and hope they'd hear you telepathically or something?

[ellixis.livejournal.com]

Oh god yes. Occasionally I muttered the word under my breath and tried really hard to magically implant it in their heads. Sadly, that never really worked.