I made it in to first grade today to help out and was immediately asked to find a comfy couch out in the hall where students would come, one at a time, and read to me.
I picked my spot.
The first tentative reader walked slowly out of the classroom and up to me. We opened his reading bag, spread the books out and he picked one.
It was a startling and beautiful moment, when his tiny voice, stumbled through sentence one.
He forged on, despite his struggle, and made up the words he didn't know.
Reader 1 read bravely and beautifully. And it was by his side that I began to feel so thankful to have carved this time out of my "crazed" schedule to be with him. I was his audience, and I focused on his every word and each colorful page he filled. After a while, he warmed up to me -----by book 3, and even gave me a smile after book 4, on his way back to the classroom.
Between readers 1 & 2, I had a few moments to take in my space. Loud (joyful) classrooms lined this common area. Mothers raced in and out of classrooms with Thanksgiving treats and crafts. Teachers skidded from one classroom to the next, swapping books and folders. Some volunteers sat outside classrooms with students next to them working on quiet tasks. Just. Like. Me.... (I thought).
Reader 2 was another, nervous boy. He opened his reading bag and insisted that he was not able to read any of them. After convincing him that I was so looking forward to hearing the book called "Perfect Home", he began it with a nervous laugh.
It was hard to hear his little voice over the steady hum of the classroom villages around us.
Reading is hard.
I thought.
(Noise or no noise, reading is hard).
His questioning finger scanned over some words and paused over most.
Reading is really hard.
But he read so well. We made it through all 4 of his books. He sounded out and worked through some tough words and I was impressed with his focus and ability to keep working at a word he didn't know.
I told him that I was impressed.
And, when I did, he shyly tucked his neck into his shoulders as deep as they would go.
He made his way back to the classroom to tap the next reader on their shoulder.
And so these readers came to me and left me. Oh, I was sad when they left me.
Each reader was markedly different from the next.
The 5th reader to walk out to me was my son. He had his smug smile on because he just loves to have me in his school (he told me this last night).
I pause right here to capture in word only what a picture can truly show **** Declan's proud smile *****!
Declan read proudly, occasionally looking around to make sure everyone saw him reading with His Mom. He too, made up the words he didn't know, just like the rest of them. It must be a first grade thing.
When we were done we met up with his entire grade in the cafetorium where they were rehearsing their Thanksgiving show and where I, to the tune of happy first grade singing, was to pin colorful corn husks to the curtains on the stage.
On my way there, I couldn't believe how good I felt to have just read with these tiny people. I felt so grateful to the other parents who had spent time in the classroom this year.
AND, of course, I felt a million times more grateful for my son's first grade teacher. I can't imagine trying to teach reading to 2 dozen students with vastly different reading abilities - all at the same time.
It is so cliche to walk the halls of an elementary school thinking that "it takes a village" to raise these children. But, that was my thought as I walked. Because it does, take a village.
My final first grade task was to assemble a book within an earshot of my son while he ate lunch with his pals. By this time, he'd forgotten I was there.
But I had not forgotten he was there.
I watched his every move.
When the lunch assistant came to him and reminded him to eat the rest of his sandwich before he began eating his cookie, I was as impressed with her as I had been with myself earlier on the reading couch.
If it doesn't take a village, I'm a firm believer that it takes, numerous, well-intentioned, people in our elementary schools.
This post is dedicated to all those who have helped me raise my children without me knowing it.
