Today I walk into the school, sign in at the front office and attach my volunteer sticker to my orange sweater. The ladies sitting at the desks know me well and ask me about my weekend. I grin, say it was fine, then we make small talk about the weather for a few minutes. I’m eager to start down the hallway. The people in charge had me sign a volunteer agreement form when I registered the kids for school. I am allowed to slip in and out of the library and the third grade class, to shelve books, sort papers. Library isn’t ever bad, but my favorite place is third grade, Ms. P’s class.
If I am being honest, I can say I didn’t volunteer to benefit anyone other than myself. My own third grader has such a poor track record of passing on important dates and bringing home essential homework that I found it necessary to have a physical window into his world. I wanted there to be clear communication between myself and the other grownups in his life, and volunteering was my ticket. I hired a college girl to watch my littlest kids during naptime, and now I walk the eight minutes over to the school on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.
The kids are a rainbow of colors, a jumble of busyness. Their eyes light up when I enter the room. I am just as excited as they are–we get to read together. Disappointment is immediate if their name doesn’t appear on my list, the one given to me by their teacher. I don’t know why they like me so well, but maybe it is the magic that happens in the hallway.
I only have two or three kids in a group with me. We sit cross legged on the floor right outside the door and I introduce myself. Then I invite them to sit close next to me and I whisper-ask all my questions.
What’s your name? What do you love to do? Tell me about your family, where you live. What do you want to be when you grow up? What languages do you speak?
Then we get down to business. “Are you ready to read? I love reading. I want you to love it, too.”
They are obviously the struggling readers. The first time–no, second, third and every time–I am shocked at the low level of reading. My four year old at home can sound out words as well as many of these third graders.
I consider the soil where they are growing. I have no deep knowledge of what their home life is like, if they’ve ever been read to in English outside of school. My initial guess is no, and most kids confirm to me that they only speak a language other than English at home.
How have they been moved up to third grade without becoming fluent in basic vowel sounds or sight words like it, as, the?
They are eager to please me, but I wonder why there isn’t an afterschool resource working with these kids to nail phonics?
Or am I judging this all wrong? These kids have a whole extra set of rules: to learn, in English. I cannot separate out kids who happen to be bilingual from underperforming readers without becoming too nosy. The former are our future translators, negotiators, doctors, nurses–unlimited potential. They could race to the finish and a second language is just an extra badge on their chest. But the latter, their future hangs in the balance. And all are on the cusp of becoming literate. It is crucial. We have got to get these kids reading. Third grade reading proficiency is the top predictor of graduating from high school. High school graduation predicts success as an adult.
Kids grow up into adults. Adults run the world.
Therefore (if for no other reason at all, but there are a billion reasons), kids matter. Every single one.
Reading is a lifeline.
In How Schools Work (2018), former secretary of education, Arne Duncan, describes how his mother began an after school tutoring program in Chicago:
Her center started in 1961 after she volunteered to teach a Bible study class at Kenwood-Ellis Church. She gathered the kids around at her first class, a little nervous. She was a young white teacher and these were all nine-year-old black girls from the neighborhood. Each child took up a Bible, and Sue instructed them to open it to a certain book and page. She read the first couple verses and then went around the room. What she found was that none of these children could read. They were all in fourth grade, and they were all functionally illiterate.
From there, she decided that it wasn’t Bible instruction that was needed but instruction, period. She began an after-school program with virtually no money, getting the church to donate space.
(How Schools Work, pg. 160)
This is incredible to me, completely simple, fundamental, obvious. Yet most of us haven’t a clue. Maybe we are just too consumed by our own problems, but if you are reading this right now, literacy isn’t one of them.
Kids need to have their basic needs met. All kids.
Arne describes how everyday his mom would bring in twenty-five pounds of apples and three pounds of cheese for the kids to eat. Her motto was with love, support, and high expectations, any kid could succeed.
But first, love in action.
What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such a faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.
James 2:14-17
This is where we begin, friends. What door will you take to helping others? Feeding those who don’t have food? Reading? Pulling children close to you and whispering words that say I care about you?
Christians who are concerned about planting churches in needy areas, seeking to convert lost souls and proclaim the Gospel–do you realize the kids in your neighborhood are hungry and illiterate?
Your feet are on the floor. Walk out of your door and see who you can find.
