Gladly Would He Read, and Teach

I love to read. I read all the time. As I sit typing this out, there are currently two different books on my night stand along with a Kindle that is full of the cheapest mystery thrillers one can buy from Amazon. Part of this love of reading is getting lost in a story. I cannot listen to books on tape as I drive for fear of missing a turn or getting into an accident. In fact, when I did try this many years ago, I was listening to a John Grisham novel on my way home from work only to miss my exit and find myself some 30 miles west of home.

The point of this opening story is to convey how much I love reading and listening to stories aloud. I also love to read aloud. I read to my children when they were younger. My personal favorite to read was The Witches by Roald Dahl; their favorite story was Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss.  My youngest daughter in particular loved this story and could not wait for me to come to her first grade class to read it aloud for her classmates. I would read to them in various voices and act out the hilarious antics created by the good doctor to their amusement. I have also been asked on numerous occasions to read at choral and band concerts here at Fenton. Back in 2014, I dressed in 19th century sleepwear in order to read T’was the Night Before Christmas at the holiday band concert. When my daughter struggled with Romeo and Juliet, I suggested we read it aloud at home. She read Juliet and I read Romeo. My wife could not contain her laughter nor need to document the event on Facebook. Yet, I maintained that there are advantages to having an English teacher as a dad. I was later validated when my daughter got an “A” on Romeo and Juliet test.

Again, I love to read. However, this was not always the case. In my primary years of education, I was identified as a struggling reader. When I became much older, my mother and sisters explained to me that my first grade teacher said that I was not keeping up with my peers and felt I never would reach the grade level reading standards. Although I did not know it at the time, this is when my father starting to read aloud to me on a daily basis. My father, who never graduated from high school himself, was an avid reader of nonfiction and newspapers. At night, he would read aloud to me while I sat on his lap about the happenings in the world as well as in our area from the local newspaper. Occasionally, he would read to me from biographies we had checked out of our public library. He would make the words come to life- reading the trials and tribulations of great historical figures such as Lewis and Clark, Abraham Lincoln, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

My father was also a subscriber to Reader’s Digest, the general interest magazine that most of us thumb through while waiting at the doctor or dentist office. This little literary treasure was my personal favorite. When the monthly edition arrived, I could not wait for my father to read to me from it. My father would read the fiction selections; the horrible jokes that I thought were hilarious at the time and could not wait to share with my friends the next day. But my absolute favorite section from this literary magazine was the “Drama in Real Life” stories. Stories of real people found in the most perilous of circumstances, certain to face and meet death, yet somehow finding a way to push or pull their way out of the grasp of certain tragedy. I still remember one selection in particular about a man on a camping trip who was attacked by a bear. The title might have been “Eaten Alive!” “Bear Attack!” or “In the Jaws of Death!” with the exclamation point intentionally included. I remember my father reading to me in his low baritone voice, the suspense and utter fear that gripped me until the end when the man was found and rescued. I did not sleep that night for fear of a bear coming into our house and taking my head in its powerful jaws. I also remember my mother admonishing my father for frightening me and saying he was not to read to me ever again from the magazine. After much pleading and begging, she acquiesced to my pleas in time for me to hear about a man surviving a shark attack.

It is a good thing that my father read aloud to me and instilled a love of reading that I carry with me today. Due to his diligence, I apparently caught up to my peers. By the time I reached junior high, I was in accelerated classes and once in high school I took AP English classes and never even knew that there was a time that I “struggled” as a reader. It is the greatest gift he ever gave me. As I write this, it occurs to me that I never thanked him for it. I so wish he was here so I can.

When I reflect on my most fond memories as a child, these are the moments I treasure. Looking back, I also realize that this was my only exposure to read aloud as a first grader. My first grade teacher did not have the class circle up on the floor for story time like some of my peers in other first grade classes. My first grade teacher apparently believed in independent, silent reading time. Now that I am older and I can reflect on this, it is no wonder to me that I really did not enjoy school. In many ways, it is a miracle that I became a teacher myself.

When I stop to think about my journey as a teacher these past 24 years, it all makes sense to me now that my father’s actions of reading aloud to me is truly what shaped my reasoning, maybe even my philosophy as a teacher of literature. I wanted to become an English and drama teacher so that I could make stories come to life in the “theatre of the mind” of my students and thereby have them enjoy the act of reading and enjoy the feeling of being part of a community of readers who all share a story. I want my students to feel the joy and excitement I do when lost in a story.