My
grad student and I were asked to test kids in grades 3-5 at an
elementary school that “served” mostly poor kids. Easily 50% of the kids
left for middle school unable to read; i.e., they were illiterate. In
this field, they are called “struggling readers.” In an honest
profession, they would be called “Kids whom we have failed miserably.”
The
new principal--a fine, smart, tough woman--wanted to use a remedial reading
program that is one of most effective there is—Corrective Reading, published by
SRA/McGraw-Hill. You give the kids a quick (and reliable) placement test
to determine the level at which they should begin.
Frances
and I had no idea how badly these kids could read. [I was new to this
field. I mean, how hard is it to teach reading? Five
basic skills.]
I
was testing in the school library. In comes this little Black kid. Real thin. Skin stretched tight over his cheek
bones. A beautiful little boy. Like an ebony carving. Wearing a Cub
Scout uniform—blue with gold lettering. Frayed
at cuffs and collar. But spotless and starched.
His Momma loves him. I could see him as my own boy.
I
say, “Howdy, Pal. [We shake hands.] This isn’t a test. It’s just to
see HOW you read so we can get books that are right for you. Here.
Read this. [paragraph in a testing book] Try not
to make mistakes. Okay? Start whenever you want.”
So,
he puts his index finger under the first word. I think, “Great. He
knows how to do this!” And he starts.
“K…K…Ki…Kite (the word is Kit)…mmm mad
(made) a bowat (boat). She mad the bowat of thin (tin). The noise (nose) of the bowat was vvv
vvv very tin…The bowat
wants (went) ver ver very
fast…
He’s trying
hard. His proud look fades. He’s sweating. He looks at me for
help. I say, “You’re doing fine.” [I feel as if I’m telling someone
with terminal cancer that it will be fine. I feel like it’s MY
fault. Like I’m bringing the hammer down on his fine
little innocent soul.]
He
finishes. It took him 3 minutes and he made at least 30 errors.
This is lower than low.
He
says, “I’m stupid ain’t I.” I almost
choke. My throat closed long ago. My eyes are swelling.
“No,
you’re smart as a whip. I bet you know all kinds of things. You are
one sharp kid.”
Frances
and I test all the kids and make lists of students for the Corrective Reading
groups.
I
don’t know what happened to Scout. He was in fifth grade and I tested him
in April. They didn't do Corrective Reading in middle school, where he's
headed in two months.
I
found out that his teachers—like most in this county—come from the ed school where I work. They have no idea how to teach
reading. But think they do. It’s not their fault. How can they
criticize their own reading professors’ faddish, airy, untested "reading
methods" that not only don't work, but actually TEACH kids to be dyslexic
and illiterate?
You can’t just go
to work year after year and act like this isn’t happening--the systematic
destruction of children right under their parents’ noses.
You can’t consider
yourself a moral person and at the same time allow the field of education to
replace well-designed instruction on tough and important material (what it
takes to sustain a democracy, how to read accurately and with deep
comprehension) with superficial coverage of dumbed-down
subjects.
You can’t spend
your life in silence, smiling in a collegial (brain-dead) way, while a thousand
schools of education celebrate themselves for being “stewards of America’s
children” as they turn out new teachers whose heads are filled with nonsense
(“pedagogy”) and who have no idea how--exactly and effectively--to teach
anything.
This website is my
small effort to make things better for kids and teachers by providing the tools
for excellent instruction.