My earliest memories of reading bring me all the way back to kindergarten free-reading time. Mrs. Pradel placed a bin of picture books in the center of every table. Each book was filled with a similar narrative about a dog or a frog sledding, making sure to rhyme whenever possible to reinforce the basic English sounds. But, the experience was different for me. I was not given a dog, a frog, or a sled. By some metric unknown to me, I was a “gifted” reader and I was given the “cooler” books. Ones about medieval themed Legos, ones about superheroes, and for some reason irrelevant to reading, ones about finding Waldo. I was proud, but it was short-lived.
Naturally, our seats changed throughout the school year and my gifted bin was always left behind. When kids lunged for my different books, I was even more proud. But their desires also came to be bittersweet. As they started to read my books, they were no longer my books. The exclusivity that my kindergarten teacher gave me made my five year-old self love reading, but now it was starting to fade. How was I gifted if anyone else could read my books? As the illusion of talent started to leave my mind, so did my love of reading.
My next memories take me to Mrs. Wisinski’s room in the first grade. We were broken up into reading groups, supposedly by reading speed. In a familiar lie, I was put in the highest reading group. Meeting every so often, we were meant to all read the same book at the same time. I looked around and I was surrounded by the very people that stole my “gifted” books in the grade before. But, I was always the last to finish. I was far from gifted.
From then on, I always opted for graphic novels during class trips to the elementary school library. Absorbed by a mix of frustration and impatience, I consistently found refuge in the false satisfaction of completing a novel that was made up of over 80% pictures.
Soon enough my relationship with reading was reduced to a survival skill. My dose of literature was only delivered in assignment form, and I preferred it that way. Eventually, I just stopped reading outside of academic mandate. “What is your favorite book?” became an impossible question, and I had no regrets.
But, there are times where I catch myself wondering if things could have been different. Maybe if my family fed me books in place of math problems, I would have found my place in literature. Maybe if I read about dogs, frogs, and sleds, I would find an appreciation for reading. Maybe if I found books before I found technology I would seek comfort in a book rather than an iPhone.
It seems a little silly to let an institutional miscategorization of my 5 year old self let my relationship with literature go down the drain, but its effects are thoroughly ingrained into my mind. I only read for academic reasons and because of it my comprehension often falls short. It seems like all English teachers want me to do is “dig deeper” even when it feels like there’s nothing left to dig.
But, there are times where I enjoy the books I read for school. Sometimes the pages blend together and I lose track of time. Sometimes I find something at the bookstore that catches my attention. Sometimes I get jealous of those that go through a book a day, wondering what knowledge I’m missing out on. I am not a reader. But in these extremely rare moments, I like to think there’s still hope for me.
Book boxes were never used in my elementary school, instead we had book groups. However, the only assignment I can remember with relation to reading was similar to a science fair style presentation, except instead of an experiment I focused on a book I had read in my free time. Those assignments which required me to read outside of class, as well as enforcement from my parents, built the foundation for my reading experience. In fact, I think that the purpose of elementary school english should not just be to build grammatical understanding, but also to develop a love of reading. Your story seems to have been echoed throughout these blog posts, with most people losing their passion for reading when faced with other opportunities, even if they are academic like math. But a contributing factor to that is being given books like Where’s Waldo that don’t prompt enthusiasm to read whatsoever. As elementary reading curriculum develops, I hope it finds a way to build up young readers rather than tear them away from reading.
As someone who doesn’t read very often for entertainment myself, I often wonder the same thing. What am I really missing out on that I cannot learn elsewhere? Though our mindsets were different, competition seems to be what drove us both. For me, it was falling behind that pushed me harder, whereas for you, it seems to be being ahead that pushed you to keep going. I completely understand the feeling of having something that’s yours, feeling that sense of ownership and superiority, and it all slipping away from you. It can be very unmotivating and I’m sorry that caused your dislike for reading. I hope that you can someday find your way back to your love for reading and you are able to learn something profound that you didn’t know before.
Matthew,
Your piece was very well written! I think it’s interesting how such an early experience so drastically shaped your feelings towards reading later in life. I was especially interested in your experience as a classified “gifted reader” – I was also often put into this category in my elementary school classrooms, and I can agree that labeling children like this and creating that kind of competition understandably alters one’s mindset towards the task at hand. I also agree with your statement that reading could have been a better experience for you – I think if influential people in your life had approached you with reading in a different way, you would likely have a completely different take on it now. One’s nurture, environment, and resources play a huge role when it comes to reading. However, I also believe that it’s never too late to change. I hope that eventually, you can read in a way in which literature brings you joy.
I love how your relationship with reading isn’t fully reconciled yet, and that’s totally okay. The illusion of being gifted is something I think everyone in our class can relate to, as being told at such a young age that you are advanced only to grow up and see that no matter how good you are at something, there is always someone to do it better is a terrible influence on kids. Regardless, I enjoyed hearing of your excursions into graphic novels, as it make complete sense to try anything to feel the pride of being gifted again. I’m in agreement that I haven’t read for leisure in some time, but just like you said, I hope it’s not to late to turn over a new leaf and see what types of literature give me joy.
Matthew, I believe I lived a similar tale later in my life, in the fifth grade rather than kindergarten for you. We all were to be silent, working on the miscellaneous worksheet assigned to us while one student at a time was called alphabetically by our teacher sitting at the back of the room at a C curved table and a row of books lined across the center of it. The reading test consisted of progressively advancing short novel to short novel, as our teacher analyzed our pace, word pronunciation, and comprehension of the texts. My last name being T and towards the end of the alphabet, the suspense grew until my turn and I did surprisingly well scoring an X and the further down the alphabet the more challenging the reading level became. Myself and two other students were also labeled as “gifted readers” until we plateaued and our class gradually got closer to our grades in advance “gifted” reading level. I lost my satisfaction of reading those harder books and aimed for only better.
You had quite the reading journey and obstacles along the way that your reading became a thing of survival. There is always hope for you as a reader, just pick up a book and commit. Thanks for sharing your reading journey.