Can we please stop repeating this "fact" about reading?

A foundation in my county has done all sorts of great work to improve the quality of life for local citizens. Thus I hesitate to criticize any of their efforts, which I think are mostly well-intended. But when I came across this promotional piece about the foundation's efforts to increase "kindergarten readiness" among local children, I must admit I was gobsmacked.

I could write a very long post about all the claims in the piece that make me uneasy, but instead I will focus on one statement that I find particularly dishonest:

"Until third grade, children are reading to learn to read. From there on, they are reading to get information."

To be clear, this statement is not original. It can be found, in slightly different form here and here, among other places. You can probably find some document from your local school district that makes this claim. It has become a predictable component of the "kindergarten readiness" speech parroted by school administrators, grant program overseers, and testing company representatives.

But it's not true, and more of us need to stand up and say so.

For my children, and for every other child I've known, reading has emerged from a complex mix of motivations. To say that beginning readers are reading solely to "learn to read" is reductive and insulting. It does, however, explain why so many schoolish beginning texts are incredibly boring. Why would content matter if learning to "decode" is all that beginning readers care about?

Do you know what my eldest son carried off to bed every night during the couple of months he crossed that magic bridge from not reading to reading? Transformers graphic novels intended for older children, and the Kentucky State Driver Manual. Why was he willing to expend effort, night after night, on these books? He wasn't attending school; no one was pressuring him to learn to read. He expended effort because he was interested in Transformers story lines, and fascinated by the hidden meanings of road signs, especially the unusual ones. In other words, he was reading to get information, even though he was five years old and, if schooled, would have been in kindergarten.

My daughter is nine, and homeschooled like her brothers. If she were in school, she would be in the third grade, and by now supposedly "reading to get information." But, in fact, her reading skills continue to improve the more she reads. Like her older brother, who has been reading for five years, she is learning how to read (better) as she reads, picking up new words as well as a more complex understanding of how structure, tone, punctuation, figurative language--the whole kit and kaboodle--create meaning.

And what about all the other reasons that people--children and adults alike--read? What about reading to escape our present difficulties, reading to be entertained, and reading to be inspired? No sane educator would disagree that people, including children, read for these purposes. So what does the current educational establishment really mean when it proposes an imaginary change in reading intent that occurs precisely before third grade?

It means that starting with third grade, you are expected to be a fluent reader as defined by the current educational establishment. It means that starting with third grade, if you aren't reading to the current educational establishment's standards, you are on your own. It means that in some states, you will be held back in third grade until you are a fluent reader as defined by the current educational establishment--that is, unless your parents take you out and homeschool you, or put you in a private school that is more tolerant of individual children's unique learning schedules.

The current educational establishment likes to cite evidence that if children aren't reading fluently by third grade, they are screwed. But this appears to be a self-fulfilling prophecy driven more by the withdrawal of teacher support for later readers than by a brain-based missed window of opportunity. Just because one isn't yet reading fluently doesn't mean one is incapable of learning about all kinds of important things. Peter Gray's study of unschoolers provides a compelling look at unschooled children who learned to read later than the schools now deem acceptable, without lasting negative consequences, and with plenty of positive ones.

Administrators, teachers, and the parents of schooled children should read Pam Sorooshian's description of her "late" reader jumping up and down at the mere idea of reading The Borrowers and ask themselves if public education might possibly learn something from unschooling families, rather than spreading made-up facts about reading.

Better getting-to-know-you questions for unschoolers (and everyone)

A friend of mine who recently saw my children for the first time in over a year told me that she had trouble thinking of what to say to them on this particular visit. She said that she usually asks kids their grade level, or how they like their teachers, or what their favorite school subjects are. (In fact, I can recall her asking my kids some of these questions during a previous visit, and receiving a few blank stares in response.)

Because she has read my blog, and we've had some conversations about how unschooling differs from the kind of homeschooling that attempts to replicate school, she now realizes that those questions aren't particularly appropriate. But alternate questions didn't readily come to mind. After all, what kind of getting-to-know-you questions do you ask children who neither go to school, nor homeschool in a school-at-home kind of way?

I really appreciate my friend's honesty about this subject. And for the record, I think that the getting-acquainted questions adults ask each other often fall short as well.

My children enjoy talking about what interests them. "So, what do you enjoy doing?" is a great getting-to-know-you question. 

It is much, much better than the favorite school-subject question because the answer can be, "I like reading and watching movies about different U.S. presidents," but can also be, "I like playing Minecraft and watching YouTube videos about how to play it better." The answer can be, "I like reading the Little House books with my mom," which involves reading and history but doesn't need to classified under those headings to be both fun and worthwhile to the child. In fact, I'm quite sure that while reading the Little House books with me, my daughter is not thinking about which school subjects she might be checking off.

"Do you have any special activities coming up?" is another good question. A child asked this question can talk about an upcoming dance recital, or a birthday party, or a trip to the mineral museum, or the purchase of a new video game once enough allowance has been saved.

It's simple, really. The kinds of questions my children respond to with enthusiasm tend to be the same kinds of questions that I respond to with enthusiasm. Even when I had a paid eight-to-five job, it seemed strange to be defined so completely by my job title that it was the first thing I was expected to tell people about myself.

I once had a boyfriend who ended up seated on a plane next to a woman who said she was an artist. Things were all friendly and chit-chatty until the woman explained that she paid her bills working as a medical receptionist. You see, my then-boyfriend felt it was deceptive of her to call herself an artist when she spent forty hours a week answering phones and sending faxes. I mean, how dare she? (That boyfriend and I broke up not too long after an argument about the airplane seatmate, whom I defended.)

Here's the thing: If what you most want me to know about you is that you work professionally as a marketing consultant, and I say, "So, what sorts of things do you enjoy doing?" you can say, "I LOVE working as a marketing consultant!" and tell me about a big client you just snagged, or a great campaign you successfully executed. But if you are a marketing consultant who happens to hate your job, my question gives you an opportunity to share something positive about yourself--something about the person you understand yourself to be. You can say, "I love designing fondant cakes!" or tell me about how you volunteer Saturday mornings at the Humane Society, or how you're an avid reader of crime novels and are thinking about trying your hand at writing one. And instead of just performing some empty social ritual, I've actually given myself a chance to know something real about you.

Philip W. Jackson's 1968 classic education study Life in Classrooms reminds readers of "an important fact about a student's life that parents and teachers often prefer not to talk about . . . This is the fact that young people have to be in school, whether they want to be or not." While we may encounter a child who is thrilled to say that he's in third grade, or that social studies is his favorite subject, I think most children have more interesting things they'd like to tell us. We really should give them the chance.

The Grades My Kids Aren't In

Here is something new.

When someone who knows we homeschool asks what grades the children are in, I'm no longer going to spout off a number. 

Instead I'm going to say, "We don't do grades, but this one is eight years old, this one is seven, and this one is five."  If the person looks at me with confusion--or contempt--I'm going to try very hard not to add, "If they were in school, they'd be in such-and-such grades."

The reason for this change is that I've stopped thinking of my children in terms of grade levels.  I no longer care what grades they would be in if they were in school.  It's no longer important to me that their skills are at or above grade level, whatever that means.  In fact, that goal seems utterly incompatible with the kind of deep, joyful learning my family values.

I have seen each of them, in turn, learn about George Washington and Abraham Lincoln because they were interested in money. 

They have learned about fractions because they are interested in being fair.

They are learning to write, at different paces and in different ways, because they have things they want to say.  Yesterday, one of them set up a booth with our face/body paints (the safe kind, in case anyone's wondering) and a sign that said "TATTOO CITY."  The other two paid a quarter each for custom-designed body art.  A few hours later, I noticed a discarded piece of paper that read "TATTOO SITTY."  I don't know the process by which the spelling was corrected, but neither I nor any other adult was involved.

By the way, I didn't come to this decision (realization?) about the kids' grade levels by myself.  A few things Sandra Dodd wrote crossed my path at the right time.  One was the essay, "How Holly Takes the World for Granted," from Moving a Puddle, though there may have been others.  Sandra has written a lot, for which I am grateful.