No one reads anymore. Kids are the worst offenders. Right? But why? I mean, I liked to read when I was a kid…so, what happened? For six years, I was fortunate enough to work for a non-profit scholarship program in San Francisco. My teaching background was in reading remediation. I had grown accustomed to working with kids who were dealing with severe learning issues. Autistic kids. Kids with Central Auditory Processing Disorder. Kids with deep comprehension issues. I loved the challenge. It was a big change to work with kids who did not suffer from any diagnosable condition. These kids shared one common trait…they came from the poorest parts of San Francisco, the deepest recesses of the ghetto, and most of them read at about a second grade level. This is a problem if you are attending an exclusive Catholic High School.
So, that was the deal. The organization I worked for provided scholarships and money for uniforms. They exposed the students to cultural events such as art shows and plays. The program was still in its relative infancy when I was hired. There were boys and girls. They were all either African American or Latino. And, don’t get me wrong, some of them did well in school (mainly the girls), but many of them were slipping through the cracks. My job was to fill those cracks.
We started out at the boys’ school exclusively. Me, and two other teachers. I was in charge, but I’m not really a “boss man” type. What this basically meant is that I worked longer hours and was accountable for the students’ progress. It was a team effort. Soon, it was just me and my good friend Pat. We had many things in common. We were both musicians (he was far more successful in this regard than I…but I won’t name-drop). We were both liberal. We were both amazed that after escaping high school once, we found ourselves back in a high school every day…bell shattering our lingering hangover dreams at 7:45 sharp. And not just any high school…one with crucifixes on the walls.
I am extremely tolerant of other people’s religious and philosophical views. Believe what you want. That is what I always told my students. My friends were shocked that I was working in a place where all the kids wore uniforms and went to mass. In actuality, it was pretty damn cool. I may be an agnostic, but religion fascinates me. And, unlike in a public school, we could talk about it all we wanted. And we did, respectfully, many times.
The reason I am writing this has nothing to do with religion, though. I am merely trying to convey how bizarre it was that Pat and I found ourselves in this situation. It was odd, but it was an amazing opportunity. We were not curriculum bound. We read the books we wanted to. We taught using the Socratic method. We did not teach so much as we discussed and guided. We huddled inside my tiny office, four chairs around an oval table with a blue thrift store lamp in the center, two kids and two misfit former rockers, all with chips of some kind on their shoulders – it was quite the social experiment.
At first, I tried to stick pretty close to the multi-sensory methodologies I was trained in, but these were unique students. This was a whole new ball game. Many of them were highly intelligent – they just had literally never read a book. They lived in rundown apartment complexes where people turned their TV’s up to drown out the gunfire. They were born to parents addicted to crack. They were raising their younger siblings. Cousins were shot one a fairly regular basis. Hell, one of my favorite students was born in jail, his parents locked up for murder. They did not have lunch. I started bringing extra peanut butter sandwiches. Suffice to say, it was an adventure. Every day.
There are a million anecdotes I could tell. I had students who refused to believe that we were white – they honestly believed that all white people were affluent and, to this day, they won’t admit that I am “really white”. Pat’s and my thrift store clothes were quite a shock. We liked hip hop. We talked shit. We had tattoos.We didn’t act like white people were supposed to act. It was funny. It was also emotionally intense. There was plenty of drama, and I called Child Protective Services and the police far more than anyone should have to. There were days I laughed so hard I woke up sore. There were days I left school so angry that I had to meditate before I dared get on my motorcycle.
But those stories are best told over a cup of coffee. What got me thinking about all this was the recent discussions I have had about why kids don’t read. Because I know why. It’s obvious. Schools suck the beauty and fun out of reading and make it a chore. Plain and simple. The students I worked with were terrified of reading. They hated it. They knew they weren’t good at it and they were embarrassed. But two on two, in my office, that didn’t matter. They may have feared their English classes, but it didn’t take them long to appreciate the eighty minutes a day we got to spend together.
We read. I taught writing workshops. But most of all we talked. Honestly. No holds barred (within reason). And Pat and I listened. And, slowly but surely, the kids started to listen, too. Suddenly, there were two “white” dudes fascinated by what they had to say. And by gum, if they didn’t say some interesting shit, too. Suddenly, we were reading in a whole new way. We read Vonnegut and Kafka. We read Papillon. We read short stories and beat poetry. We listened to underground hip hop and Bob Dylan. We talked about Lenny Bruce. We read Junot Diaz. We read what resonated with the kids and, if it wasn’t working, we picked a new book. No harm, no foul. No expectations except that everyone keep an open mind and leave their pride at the door. The two old white dudes included.
The writing workshops were pure bliss. Some of the kids wrote with atrocious grammar. Some wrote bizarre epic poems. But their voices were pure. The did not have the baggage of trying to live up to their favorite authors. They didn’t have any. And they had shit to say. Important shit. Spine numbing shit.
We read and talked and bonded for eighty minutes a day with no set agenda except to improve. Something. I had kids test at the grade school level and then four months later put up scores above college level. I had kids that finished Cannery Row and couldn’t wait to start Sweet Thursday (their second book). Sometimes we flew through the books. Sometimes we would spend almost the whole semester on one book. We did not have to finish and move on to the next book. I did not have to keep a grade book, and grades quickly became irrelevant. We took so many diversions and got off on so many tangents that sometimes the students would ask me, “aren’t we supposed to be reading?” And I would tell them, “yes, but more importantly you are supposed to be learning.” Learning to think critically. To have the courage to present your own ideas. To talk to an adult…one who isn’t going to judge you. To take a break from the bullshit being shoved down your throats.
Sometimes I walked past freshman English classes and eavesdropped. I heard old, bitter teachers who assigned chapters of The Catcher in the Rye and then passed out worksheets and demanded silence. It was heartbreaking. Of course the kids, especially my kids, hated reading. It was mindless torture. They did not connect to the text in any way, and no one was showing them the way in. But in my office, our office, literature and writing came alive and the students couldn’t wait to come to class.
As writers, we lament the lack of readers – especially young readers. All they do is play video games…our common refrain. And it is true. But it is not the students’ fault. They are being let down by the system. Standardized testing and Xeroxed pages have taken the beauty of reading and turned it into mindless drudgery. There is another way. I’ve seen it. I’ve done it. It works. And you can be part of the solution. You just have to stop saying, ‘damn kids don’t read’ and get down in the trenches. As the cliché goes, if you aren’t part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. And don’t pander. My kids loved The Outsiders, but they loved Romeo & Juliet, too. Hell, they adored it. Love and gangs. That was their life. They got it.
We are writers. And we need readers. We are readers ourselves, and we appreciate the wonder that lies within the pages of a well written book. But that is because we had good teachers, or a predisposition to seeking literary escape, or parents who actually read instead of telling us we should read while their Tivo was on pause…we had something that saved us from the torture of workbooks. Don’t complain about the fact that kids don’t like reading. Show them that it can be fun. Buy your niece a Kindle and an Amazon gift card next Christmas instead of giving her a sweater.
You want to know why kids hate reading? “On page 34, what does Holden say to (whoever)…(cite your quotations).” In my classroom, we did not pass out Xeroxed copies designed to see if (da da DUM!) the kids had done their reading. We learned about humanity. We learned about the beauty of words. We were readers. And yes, it often felt like Dead Poets Society. Yes, there were many days I was convinced I was about to lose my job. Many days I wondered if I had finally crossed the line. But it was worth it. Those kids still call me and send me emails from college. They still want to talk about the things they think, the things they write, and the things they read. They want to be engaged, and they don’t want to be talked down to. And for a semester or two, they got a chance to learn the way people should learn: by discovery and epiphany, not by ignoring the chorus of flickering fluorescent bulbs that hummed above them while they filled out bubbles on a worksheet that was older than they were. The students often told me how lucky they felt to be a part of what we were doing. I knew exactly how they felt.
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JD Mader is the author of ‘Joe Cafe’ and a Contributing Author to IU. You can find more of JD’s writing on his blog: www.jdmader.com.
19 thoughts on “Dead Poets and Video Games”
Bro, you have outdone yourself with this one. Bravo! This is *exactly* what I've been saying and thinking for, like, twenty or more years now. I also worked with a similar population of kids, many of them hurt and damaged by the lives they found themselves in, but many—most?—almost vibrating with a need to express this shit. Not jaded yet, you know? I always wished we had some kind of program similar to yours, so we could get these kids off the street and settled and belonging somewhere that could tap into the incredible reserves of creativity they were holding inside, that sometimes made the explode.
Only caveat? I would *include* video games in the curriculum, let everyone explore the differences between written worlds and visual ones.
Wow, you got my gears turning again, dude.
Thanks man, I thought you'd like this one. 😉
My son has a nook that's goes everywhere with him and is being read if he has a moment. Just last week he asked me for a mini card to expand the memory in it. The key to getting kids to read starts at home, with parents who push it. My son's 12 now, and has to be in bed at 9:30, but can stay up, in bad, reading as long as he likes….some nights he falls asleep very late and is hard to wake up for school, but it's so worth it.
I agree with one caveat (touche antrobus)…I don't even think you need to push it. Your son reads because you model the behaviour. My parents never pushed me to read. It was just what my family *did*. Thanks for stopping by. And keep that Nook filled. 😉
When I was ion grade seven we had a teacher just out of college. We were in a two room school, grades 5 to 8 in my room, mostly old order Mennonites who were not supposed to stay in school past their 14th birthday. Mr Coulter read to us for 30 minutes every day, our heads on the desk if we wanted … or not. The book he chose was Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. To this day it is my favourite of all time. It made me interested in social issues, history and characters.
I idolized that man. That was in 1961. But he was too good, didn't follow the rules of the system, and left teaching after only 4 years. What a loss. I have tried to locate him to tell him what an influence he had on me but have not found him. Wish I could.
Truly great piece, Dan. You sound like my Mr. Coulter.
Thanks Yvonne. I had a teacher like that, too. You just reminded me. 3rd grade. Where the Red Fern Grows. Read the whole thing and we all bawled. The problem is that you can break teachers roughly into two groups. Those that care and put up with the poverty. And those who want to boss a bunch of kids around. The latter are the majority unfortunately. As I have said many times, it is easy to be a shitty teacher and really hard to be a good one.
It is so hard being that kind of teacher that it burns you out. I was supposed to teach 'other languages' to kids who could hardly read in their own. So I wove in and out of the curriculum and tried to spark their interest in stuff you and I grew up with, but that they had never even suspected existed. "Alice in Wonderland is a book?" "Robinson Crusoe is a book?!"
Hopefully you touch one or two, just as you were touched. Listening to this I realize the privilege of growing up on a small Mediterranean island in a house stuffed with books.
My kids read more than me – one reads fiction, the other non, one in hardcopy, the other on a screen. They devour whatever's next, prompted by the fact they grew up in a house with 4000 books in 5 languages.
In the grand scheme of things, Australian kids now read more than ever before – interactive games are tantamount to a novel.
Agreed on all counts. I think it is going to be interesting to see what 'reading' actually means in ten years. We are definitely living in interesting times.
And you're right about the burn out. Unless you have done it, it is hard to know just how much a good teacher gives of themselves.
There are no words for how much I love this post (which I guess is bad, since I'm a writer, but…evs).
My not-quite-12-year-old neice asked her folks for a Kindle for Christmas, and I couldn't help feeling both proud and excited. I started recommending books left and right – and learning that she likes a lot of really good books.
Just a few years back my other neice (now 17) showed an interest in reading for the first time in her life. It started with wanting to know what the Twilight hype was all about (ick) but has since evolved (thankfully). When she showed that interest, it was up to me (and my partner in crime, my bff) to make sure she had access to books. She still claims she doesn't like to read, but then she'll turn right around and tell you all about the latest Nicholas Sparks book she's read and how much she loved it. And every time she talks about a book, I have the satisfaction of knowing I did something to help her become a reader.
Nothing like your amazing experiences, but I guess every little bit helps. 🙂
First, thank you. Share the post with the world. We need to wake people up. Second, keep up the GOOD WORK! 🙂
Thanks Dan. I enjoyed every word of it. Teaching begins at home for most of us, and I'm very fortunate to have been raised by parents with a book collection that can only be described as hoarding.
With four children of my own, I've tried to pass my love of reading to them. Child #3… her first word was book. 😉
I applaud anyone that is willing to get down in the trenches and say screw the syllabus. Reading should be fun (period) – Sounds like your groups were a fun place to be.
Thanks Rush! Much obliged brother. First word 'book'! That's awesome. Even better than Dadda (my daughter's).
I was fortunate, too. I had a book in hand since I can remember. Then when I was 11 or so, my Dad suggested I read A Clockwork Orange. It's been full blast since then. 😉
Oddly, my boy's first words were "Inuvik" and "Agrifair", but his first actual name was "Eddie Vedder", lol.
That's too funny. 🙂
I don't know, JD, I think J.K. Rowling might argue with you.
Good point. She managed to connect with young readers. Which is why she could buy and sell us all. 🙂
That's true … but remember a rising tide lifts all boats … that's why pro golfers don't begrudge Tiger Woods' success … so if Ms Rowling has been successful getting youngsters to read, it's good for us all.
Fantastic post, Dan. I was one of the kids who never liked reading even though my mother read to me when I was little and I had books around me. But when I passed into my twenties, I started reading and have never stopped. I could not count the number of books I have read, and there have been times when I have had 5-10 books on the go at the same time. I have no idea what caused the change. Or maybe I do. In school we 'had' to read. Once out of school it was no longer a 'must do' chore. I now had a choice. And I didn't have to pull the stories apart to figure out what the author meant, nor did I have to produce a report of what I had read. And I didn't have to write exams about them either. It had become something to enjoy.
Yup. I always tell my daughter…you can take the fun out of anything if you force someone to do it. Even eating cake!
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