I sat there watching the fish swim in place, barely noticing Augustine’s excited screams. Amazing that a 19th month old toddler pointing, yelling, and even wanting so badly to hit the glass did not shake the fish. They barely moved. And Augustine stood in total awe, oblivious to the world around her.
The fish seemed content. They had clean water, a few rocks, a few fish friends and obviously enough to eat. And yet, they were clearly too large for their tank. There was nowhere to hide, no trees except for the fake ones painted on the back wall. No places to go except hovering right in the middle staring out at a retirement homes’ front entrance. A completely average life for most goldfish I presume.
What if our classrooms are much like that fish tank?
What if that is how we teach out students?
What if we give them enough to just thrive, to be complacent, to be just fine? What if we provide our students with just the necessities in our curriculum and care? We will surely see them grow. They will not wither away. But will we notice when they become too large for our tanks? When they long for more than the artificial experiences we are providing for them? Will we notice when their dreams outgrow the space that we share, the needs we fulfill? And not only will we notice, but what will we do with that knowledge? What will we do to tear down a wall? Give them the world so that the very tanks we keep them in don’t set them on a path toward creativity suffocation?
Sometimes I think that I am doing a just fine job, and I don’t take the time to step away from our room, from the tank to speak, and look at it from an outsiders perspective. It is hard to do when you are the caretaker of a classroom community because you think that you are doing everything you should be doing. Yet the dreams of our students are sometimes so big that we have to unleash them on the world, because if we don’t the dreams will die. We have to be able to create spaces where our students can continue to thrive, not just survive, not just hovering in the middle of the only space they have.
What of our students don’t know that there is more to the world than what we offer them? Then how can we ever expect them to want to change the world?
Who ever thought a too large goldfish would remind me of that?
For years it seems the headlines have been yelling at us in education. The videos have been posted telling us that school is broken, that we have lost creativity, that students hate school and we, the educators, are to blame. For years, we have heard the rallying cry to save education and we have tried. We have pushed ourselves, we have dreamed, we have created, we have failed, and we have gotten back up. Every day we are trying to change education.
So although we may not be perfect. Although we may not be there yet; we are changing the narrative of education that surrounds us. We are changing the way students feel about school. We are changing the way education is viewed. We may not be perfect, but we are trying.
So before we focus on all of the negative, because we are all good at that, focus on all of the positive things that surround us. Focus on the people that come to work every single day and give it their best. Focus on the students who tell you their truth so we can make a change. Focus on all of the people who are making a difference. Scream those stories from the rooftops. Share those stories on Facebook. When people tell you that school is broken, speak up! Because we are not all broken. Not all students hate school. Not all schools kill creativity Some do, we are not perfect, but at least most of are trying to make a change. So celebrate that.
I don’t remember reading much nonfiction as a child, perhaps I was too caught up in being a kid to notice. I read biographies for a long time, but nonfiction picture books were not on my playlist. Not so anymore. The nonfiction picture books that are available to our students now are amazing and every year a few more settle into our library and hearts. Here are the top ten favorites in our classroom library.
When Donalyn Miller recommends a picture book, I pay attention. Tricky Vic – the Man Who Sold the Eiffel Towerby Greg Pizzoli is a masterpiece. A page-turning read that makes you shake your head in wonder. This is a picture book for all ages.
Kelly Milner Halls can do no wrong in my eyes and her book In Search of Sasquatch is a favorite read in our classroom library. The reporting style of the book, the pictures, and the flow of the text makes this a book that students come back to again and again. Check out all of her other nonfiction texts too, you will be glad you did.
Loved by many, any of Elise Gravel’s Disgusting Creatures series such as The Worm is sure to suck readers in. With its whimsical illustrations surrounded by the facts about these animals, readers don’t even know how much they are learning as they devour the pages.
I don’t think it is possible to have a top 10 nonfiction picture book list without Ivan: The Remarkable True Story of the Shopping Mall Gorillaby Katherine Applegate. This beautiful book and story makes me cry every time I read it, but it is worth every sniveled tears. This is also one of the most lost picture books in my classroom, I hope it finds much love in its new homes.
Anything by Seymour Simon deserves to be on this list, but Gorillasis one of our favorites. With its stunning photography and accessible text, it provides my students with enough information to make them feel knowledgeable, as well as the desire to keep reading more. Seymour Simon is a legend within the nonfiction universe, rightfully so.
I have mentioned Bad News for Outlaws: The Remarkable Life of Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshall by Micheaux Nelson on many picture book lists and there is definitely a reason for that. This book provides students with a different historical narrative about the 1800’s than most. Students cannot believe the story is true and it is often discussed for a long time after.
I remember reading the newspaper articles about George, and yet when Galapagos George by Jean Craighead George showed up at my house I still read it aloud to Thea not putting two and two together. George does not have a happy ending, which I knew, but had forgotten about. The shocked look on Thea’s face as I got to the end told me I should have probably prepped her, however, the tale itself is hauntingly beautiful and completely worth the shock.
Every time I receive one of these Did You Know books by Laura Lyn DiSiena and Hannah Eliot I cannot wait to read them aloud to my own kids and then get them into the classrooms. these whimsical fact-bursting books are for kids of all ages and is sure to leave even the most knowledgeable reader in awe.
Manfish by Jennifer Berne tells the childhood story of Jacques Costeau. I love filling my students in on this ocean explorer, and the illustrations are gorgeous. A simple tale told about one of the great explorers of our time.
And for spot number 10, I can’t pick, so here are a few more of my favorite reads.
You can usually spot a new teacher a mile away. There is just something about the way they talk about the upcoming year, how they hold themselves, and even the very air that surrounds them. So much joy, so much enthusiasm, mixed with a certain air of fear. Right now seems to be the time where people start talking about all the mistakes new teachers make their first year and pass on advice to them whether they need it or not. Yet, every year I learn so much from the new teachers I meet. Every year they teach lessons to me.
Be enthusiastic. The joy that comes with teaching your very first year is one we should chase after every year. We should love teaching, not take it for granted, not get caught up in the misery of all of the outside things that make teaching difficult. Let’s all be excited that we have a job and that we will get to do what we love so much for another year.
Ask questions. New teachers know that they don’t have all of the answers so they ask a lot of questions. As a veteran teacher, I sometimes think that I should know all of the answer so I feel stupid asking many questions. Yet teaching is about learning and we stop learning when we stop asking questions. Ask away and don’t be embarresed if you don’t know something, embrace that you are learning.
Know their students names. My first year of teaching I spent hours memorizing names with faces so that on the first day of school I knew all of my students by name. This small gesture of respect went a long way in building classroom community. As a middle school teacher, I have a lot more names to memorize – I think I am up to 136 students this year – and yet I have started looking at their pictures already. I want to know all of their names by the end of the first week, no later.
Say”Why not?” a lot. First year teachers tend to question many things we see as established norms, and sometimes I think veteran teachers, myself included, can get a little bit offended when something we hold near and dear is questioned. Yet it is in this questioning that we start to discuss new ideas, we find inspiration, and we change the way we teach. we should all be asking “Why not?” a lot more than we are.
Stay true to our noble intentions. I became a teacher to help students become better people, yet within my first few years, I lost sight of that. New teachers joining our profession may seem idealistic or delusional to some, yet within their dreams is something we should all be chasing; the belief that what we do matters. The belief that we can make a difference. That we can create schools that students actually want to be a part of.
Make connections. As a new teacher you don’t know that many people so all year you are trying to find your tribe. yet, often, we settle into our patterns of who we speak to and shut ourselves off from the rest of our community when instead we should be continuing to make connections as often as possible. why can’t you know all of the people in your school? Why not reach out across your district? While it is nice to have people that know you well, make sure you make connections with new people as well. You never know who will become a part of your tribe.
If you are a new teacher reading this, welcome, this is truly the best job in the world. May you love it this much or more each year you teach. And if you are a veteran like me; I hope your year is filled with wonder, with laughs, and with joy. We are lucky to be teachers, even if the world sometimes seems to be against us.
To struggle means to contend with an adversary or opposing force. To struggle means to advance with violent effort. To struggle means to cope with an inability to perform well. Despite its relationship with these definitions, the term “struggling reader” has become one of the favored way to label our learners as we discuss their needs. A term that means to advance with violent effort is somehow now associated with developing as a reader, and I cringe every time I hear it.
It is not that I don’t see children fighting with words when they are learning to read. I see the tremendous effort. I see the hard work that goes into becoming a reader. And I see my older students still fight, sometimes word for word, as they process the text. They are in a struggle at times, yes. But they are not struggling readers. They are not battling an epic foe that will take them down somehow, because I can’t allow them to identify that way. I can’t allow that definition to define them in my own eyes. they are so much more than struggling readers.
When we allow a term like this to permeate our instruction, to permeate the conversations we have about students, we are viewing the children we teach only through one lens. We allow this term to overtake any other information we have on the child and the effort that they put into learning. When we label someone as struggling, we have, in essence, given them a box to place themselves in and for the rest of their lives they can choose to stay within that box knowing that no matter what they do, they will never stop struggling. That label becomes part of their identity. In our own minds as teachers, we also create a neat box to put them in as we plan our lessons and our own assumptions about what they can or cannot do taints their future path.
When we tell a child they are developing rather than struggling, then there is hope. Then there is a chance for them to think that some day whatever they struggle with will not be as hard for them. That they are developing their skills and working through the process. And yes, that process may take years and years, but that there will be success, however small, and that this learning journey is one they will be on for the rest of their lives. We don’t give them that chance for hope when we call them struggling readers.
In fact, why label them at all? Why not just call all of our readers just that; readers? Almost every child reads in some way. I see it in my own children when they pick up a book and point to the pictures, too young to process that there are words on the page as well. I see it in Thea, my 6 year-old, who is reading from memory and developing systems to figure out words. I see it in my 7th graders that slowly work through a page of text, exhausted by the end of it. They are readers. And yet, their path toward becoming better readers may be one that has obstacles, may be one filled with struggles, but that does not mean that they are the ones struggling at all times. That does not mean that one label will define who they are human beings, and nor should we let it. But that change starts with the very language we use to speak about our students. That change starts with us.
“This is not a “girl” book even if the cover makes you think it is, boys can love it too…”And I stop myself. And I cringe inwardly. And I want to rewind time for just 10 seconds and tell myself to stop. A “girl” book? What in the world is that? And since when did I label our classroom books by gender?
The stereotypes of reading seems to be a beast in itself. We feed the beast whenever we pass on hearsay as fact. We feed the beast whenever we fall victim to one of these stereotypical sayings without actually questioning it. Through our casual conversation we teach our students that there are books for girls and books for boys. We teach our students that a strong reader looks one way, while a struggling reader (God, I hate that term) is something else. We say these things as if they are the truth and then are surprised when our students adopt the very identities we create.
So what are the biggest myths that I know I have fed in my classroom?
Thank you Debbie Ridpath Ohi for this image
“This is a girl/boy book.” I have said this many times as I try to book talk a book. I say it when I think the boys, in particular, will not give a book a fair chance because of its cover. I say it when I think the girls will find a book to be too violent, to have too much action. And every time I say it, I am teaching these kids that certain books are only meant for certain genders. What I forget is that I read all sorts of books. That I, as a female reader, like a good violent book. That I gravitate more toward “boy” books than “girl” books. So why do I continue to pass this on to my students? It stops now.
“This is an easy read.” Another common statement I have made while book talking. What I mean by it is that for most students the text will not prove difficult to understand, yet I know now that ease of reading looks very different from student to student. That what I may think is easy, even when I pretend to be a 7th grader, is not easy at all. That even if a book is short does not make it easy. Even if a book has a manageable story line does not make it easy. That “easy” means different things to different readers and therefore does not provide a good explanation to anyone. It stops now.
“He/she is a low or high reader.” Our obsession with classifying students based on their data does not help our students, it only helps the adults when we are discussing them. There is an urge in education to group kids according to data points so that rather than take the time to discuss each student, we can discuss them as a group. Yet the terms “low” or “high” make no sense when discussing readers. They make sense when we are discussing data points, but is that really all our students are? How many of us have taught students who were amazing readers, yet scored low on a test? What would we call them? We need to discuss students using their names and their actual qualities, not these shortened quantifiable terms that only box them in further. It stops now.
“Most boys don’t really like to read.” I don’t know how many years of teaching boys I need to finally stop saying this. Many boys like to read – period – but when we say that most don’t, we are telling them that what they love is not a masculine thing to do. That boys loving reading is something strange and different. If we want this to come true, we should just keep repeating this over and over. Our male readers will soon enough get the message that reading is for girls. It stops now.
“The older they get, the less they love books.” I used to believe this, until I started teaching middle school. Then I realized that it is not because students want to read less as they get older, they read less because we have less time for independent reading, and we dictate more of their reading life. Homework builds up as do other responsibilities outside of school. Compare a 5th grader who has 30 minutes of independent reading most days to my 7th graders that get a luxurious 10 minutes – who do you think reads more in a year? Also, I wonder if anyone would want to keep reading if they did not get time for it in school or had choice over what they read for several years? Sometimes I think it nearly a miracle that students’ love of reading can survive what we do to them in some educational settings. It stops now.
“But they are not really reading…” I used to be the hawk of independent reading, watching every kid and making sure that for the entire time their eyes were on the text. If they stopped I was there quickly to redirect. Independent reading time was for independent reading and by golly would I make sure that they used every single second of it. Yet I don’t read like that myself. When I love a book, I pause and wonder. When I love a book, I often look up to take a break, to settle my thoughts. When I love a book, my mind does not wander but I still fidget. That doesn’t need a redirection, that doesn’t need a conversation, that simply needs to be allowed to happen so I can get back to reading. Our students are not robots, we should not treat them as such. Re-direct when a child really needs it, not the moment they come up for air. It stops now.
“They are too old for read alouds…picture books…choral reading…Diary of Wimpy Kid…” Or whatever other thing we think our students are too old for. No child is too old for a read aloud. No child is too old for picture books. No child is too old for choral reading. No child is too old for books like Diary Of A Wimpy Kid. Perhaps if we spent more time showcasing how much fun reading really is, kids would actually believe us. It stops now.
The myths we allow ourselves to believe about reading will continue to shape the reading lives of those we teach. We have to stop ourselves from harming the reading experience. We have to take control of what we say, what we do, and what we think because our students are the ones being affected. We have a tremendous power to destroy the very reading identity we say we want to develop. It stops now. It stops with us.
Pernille Ripp 