As a former educator, and someone for whom the idea of re-entering the teaching profession at some point, in some capacity, hasn’t bolted its lock, I spend – and have spent – hours of my life thinking about how to get students to become interested in reading.
It would be easy to point fingers as the starting point. Standardized testing and Common Core State and National Standards, in my opinion, have ruined not only a teacher’s autonomy in a classroom, but have also jeopardized our students ability to fall in love with something as fundamental as a work of fiction or non-fiction.
I read an article recently about the differences in what we eat and what our grandparents ate and why their generation had less food allergies than the children of today and the gist of the article suggested that, in their day, what they ate was a product of what was available. It’s not uncommon for us to find fruit and vegetables in the supermarket that normally had to be “in season” for our grandparents to get. There was less of a choice. You ate what was in front of you.
Likewise, our parents, grandparents and generations backward didn’t have to options available to them in form of entertainment. There wasn’t the internet or computers or hundreds of channels (there weren’t even dozens of channels); Moving back generations, there weren’t televisions. To be whisked away to a far away land, to be entertained, one of the things people chose to do was read.
And, teachers, as was their job, introduced new books to the students each year. Books were a novelty. Imagine getting a new iPad every school year?
We spend so much time messing with the infrastructure and spending millions of dollars to reform education and perform studies on what we can do to foster the love of reading in our students, all of whom can go home and find a dozen different activities, many of which don’t necessitate him or her to do anything (unlike, say, reading a book where you are almost required to be an active presence). Netflix doesn’t ask for anything in return. Just watch and listen.
We’ve gone from classic novels to contemporary novels, fiction to non-fiction. Very little has seemed to work. I have two thoughts:
1.) We’re reading the wrong books: Somewhere, in some darkened, cigarette-smoke-filled teacher’s lounge, a group of educators decided which books were “classics” and needed to be read by everyone: Dickens, Brontë, Shakespeare, Orwell, et. al.
Many of these books are, indeed, wonderfully written and timeless novels with themes and subject matters that should relate to our students, but they don’t. Why? Because they speak an entirely different language. It’s hard to follow, social mores are different, society is different than in those novels. And, while the themes, too, are timeless, there are many books written in the past twenty years that address the same topics, written by people younger, written in a language our students understand.
We get stuck in this thinking that kids should read what we would read if we were them, or what we believe they should be reading. This is, fundamentally, wrong. We reserve the right, as should our students, to put down books we find uninteresting in favor of another book (or activity) we find interesting.
And English teachers love to cite evidence that reading classics is good for our students. Of course it is. But so is music, so is art, so is physical education. And we’re taking that away from our students constantly. Spare the students to guilt trip about “what colleges are looking for.” (The answer, truly, is “tuition checks and positive professor reviews.”)
I don’t support burning these classics or locking them away in a closet somewhere. They should be readily available to those who would like to read them, at whatever age, but they should no longer be a part of the curriculum in our public schools. I’m in the large minority in this belief, under the “we have to challenge our students” argument, led mostly by dinosaurs in English departments across the country. Yes, we must challenge students, but, first, they must have a foundation of skills in reading.
2.) Teach literature chronologically backward: If an alien ship came from outer space and asked the human race to explain basketball, we wouldn’t start from James Naismith’s 1891 phys. ed class in Springfield, Massachusetts. We’d start now, with the Miami Heat and Lebron James and we’d work backward to Michael Jordan then to Magic and Larry then to Wilt and Russell.
(Note: I argue the same teaching style for history. What’s happening now? Then move back. Here’s why this happened. And that happened because of this. Don’t politicians work the same arguments anyway?)
We should show our students examples of great contemporary literature, from literary novels to airplane reading. We show them Jonathan Safran Foer to Nicholas Sparks, the complete spectrum. Then, we can offer solutions to their reading. Well, if you like Foer, then try … If you like Sparks then try … and go backwards. Teach them the classics in college, or, at least senior year in high school.
The aim is to get students to read but we’ve spent so much time pushing Shakespeare on them, we’ve spent so much time throwing Whitman at them. If I were trying to get into rock music and you put me on to Buddy Holly first instead of Jack White, I’d lose interest quickly. This is what we’re doing to our students. Education reform shouldn’t be about new ways to teach old ideas.
One last, amazing, thought. Let them choose. Give them options, but let them choose. We want our students to become members of society? We want them to move out of our schools and into college or into the workforce and be productive members of society? Then we have to give them the freedom of choice. All of us who classify ourselves as readers walk into a bookstore and pick up books based on our interests. We have to have the faith in our students that they’ll do the same. Expect the same at home, where possible. Give them incentives to do so.
Remember, we needed incentive to eat our vegetables, too.
Sober new year. Dry January. Whatever they’re calling it. I didn’t really know it was a thing until recently when I stumbled across this article from the UK. I decided one night in December that I’d take off drinking alcohol and coffee (both of which I was drinking way to much off that month) from New Years Day until my birthday, which is a little more than midway through January. Just a couple weeks off, clean out my system, get back into a “normal” drinking routine thereafter.
Now, the article I linked suggested that staying sober (or attempting to) is akin to hiding your alcoholism. That is, if you have to consciously abstain, you have a problem. Maybe.
From Thanksgiving until New Years Day, gluttony is an issue. We eat too much. We revel too much. We drink too much. We sit down for extended meals, pour an extra glass of wine (or beer), we eat piles of desserts (as someone who isn’t much of a dessert eater, this is a great change of eating habits). The married amongst us also know that we do this at different homes, for different meals, on consecutive days. My wife and I had, I think, three to four sit-down Turkey dinners during the course of the holiday season.
We head off to holiday parties with their specialty drinks and hors d’oeuvres . Basically, for people like me, who generally eats healthily and drinks frequently, but sparingly (sure, I’ll drink 5-6 nights a week, but it’ll be a single beer or a glass of wine with dinner many of those nights). Even on the weekends, it’s not uncommon for 3-4 beers to be the absolute max. Our meals are balanced and well-portioned.
But come the holidays, this all goes out the proverbial window. This makes me partially thankful that I don’t have a sweet tooth, and, thus, don’t start the gluttony at Halloween.
My sober January isn’t really a sober January at all. In total, I was looking for 17 days of sobriety/no coffee. As a craft beer writer, how can I not celebrate with a good beer? However, I didn’t realize how often I was given the opportunity to drink and I’ve already been off the wagon. Last night, we were invited to a food/beer pairing dinner, a free event in Boston with fantastic food and beer that’s generally not available locally. How could we pass that up? A free meal? A night off from cooking? The beer samples were small and I probably had – at best – two beers in total volume. But my streak was broken. I’d gone six days.
And, of course, I’ve been commissioned to write a story on local micro-distilleries and the interview was set up for this coming Friday, so there’s another day down the drain. It’s going to be hard to write a story about whiskey if I haven’t tasted it.
So dry January officially lasted six days and I’ll just take “regular” days off. Since technically, I was “working” at the beer dinner and I’ll be “working” this week at the distillery, maybe those days don’t count. I was trying, after all, to just cleanse the system a bit, not quit entirely.
That I can cook an elegant dinner or watch the Patriots play the Colts on Saturday night and not be tempted to have a beer or a glass of bourbon is truly what I’m trying to accomplish here. The point is, I think, that we all, to some degree, get out of our eating and drinking routine during the holidays. We do too much of both. It takes a little abstaining to get back into a normal weekly routine.
The article says, “If you are worried about the amount you have been drinking, the answer is not to swear of drink for a month.” What are they implying? But we’re also eating healthier, more-balanced, better-portioned meals. Isn’t that the point? Instead of an extra helping of stuffing and gravy, we’re ensuring we’re eating a vegetable with dinner each night. In the same way, I’m opting for a large glass of water post dinner instead of an 11% barley wine. It’s the healthier option.
It’s about eliminating the unnecessary imbibing that took place excessively over the last six weeks.
Dry January is in full swing for most people, including me (who’s doing Dry Half-January), unless, of course, something that involves drinking comes up.