As the summer winds down and the school year appears on the horizon, part of my checklist for Back to School time involves the entire family getting updated glasses. I was included in this and went for what I presumed would be bifocals and instead had some semi-scary weirdness. In the process of dealing with that, I found myself going back, again and again, to the same question: Who am I if I am not able to read?
Yes, I know I tend toward hyperbole.
Yes, I know about audiobooks (and love them!).
But also, let's be honest, a big part of my identity is wrapped up in reading.
I am a reader.
I am a librarian.
I try to get others to read.
I select books to facilitate reading in others.
I promote reading.
I study literacy.
I am passionate about access to reading.
I defend against censorship because choosing what to read is essential.
When I drive alone in my car, I listen to audiobooks rather than the radio.
My Facebook feed is littered with comments about reading, discussions regarding reading, comments by authors.
I am a reader, and I want others to be readers.
Who am I if I can't read?
Now, again, that is hyperbole. My eye is, at the moment, just fine.
But as I thought of it, I was ashamed at the depth of privilege my self-pity had been wallowing in.
I grew up in a school where I was taught to read.
I had access to books as a child.
I had access to academic support.
I have not suffered a disability to interfere with my ability to read or learn.
I pretty much always had adequate transportation to get me to school, the bookstore, the library.
I currently have access to books.
I currently have access to technology that can assist me if I am ever low-vision.
And I see on the news, students suing because they were utterly failed by their school system. Followed by the court saying they don't have a right to literacy. Disgraceful!
I know the data.
36 million American adults can't read above a third-grade level.
85% of juveniles in the criminal justice system are low-literacy.
If a student can't read at grade level by the end of 4th grade, that student has a 75% chance of ending up in jail or on public aid.
This is just in the United States.
There are a lot of people who can't read, and I am not one of them.
The fear that came with the possibility of losing what I have is just a glimpse of what it is to live in a literate society without access to literacy. What of those who never had it? Or don't believe they have a hope of getting it?
Literacy should not be something reserved for the few, the wealthy, the privileged.
But it is. And there has to be a way to fix that. Systems designed to repair it on a macro-scale have failed. And that, in large part, is why they have failed.
Literacy is personal. Some can work within the systems that are created; many can't. And for those many, it has to be an individualized approach.
And that brings it back to me.
While I was grousing about my eye, some student in my district is not able to read at grade level and could use my help. Many, actually. That is where my energies need to be turned.
I am taking this as an opportunity to redouble my efforts to bring books and literacy to the most students possible in the most customized way I can.
I am a person who helps others read.
I am a person who helps teachers get the tools they need to teach their kids to read.
I am an advocate who does whatever necessary to provide the services my students need.
I am an ally who provides a safe place for my marginalized students to be able to develop their own educational selves.
Yes, I am a reader, but I am more than that. I am someone who helps others add that label to their own identities.
Reading is a part of my identity, but I want it to be a part of everyone's identity. And I do have the ability to facilitate that.
One teacher at a time.
One student at a time.
One decision at a time.
One book at a time.
I am a reader who helps others read. I like that identity much more.
