I was ten the first time I went on The Beast. At Kings Island amusement park in Ohio, the Beast was a modern engineering marvel. All the signs shouted its praises as you followed the beast paw prints painted on the pathway. Longest roller coaster in the world!
The fastest!
The tallest!
The longest drop!
Three tunnels that go underground!
A 135-foot drop that goes directly into an underground tunnel!
The ride lasted a record-setting 4 minutes and ten seconds, which seemed like an eternity while the ride was going and made the hours-long wait in line well worth it. The Beast is a wooden rollercoaster, so you never go upside down, but it didn't need an inclined loop or a corkscrew to be the best.
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| Photo Credit: http://top10ofe.blogspot.com/2015/06/ top-10-longest-roller-coasters-usa-uae-japan-uk.html |
When the ride was over, I would stand there, legs trembling, dazed, trying to catch my breath and gather my bearings. Then, without fail, I would run right back to the end of the line to do it all over again.
That old sense of wonder, of being completely overcome, hit me a few days ago as I stood in front of an elevator door, suitcase by my side, waiting to check out of a hotel and return to my life. I wanted to return--I missed my husband and kids--but I also wanted to, in a sense, run back to the beginning of the line.
I was leaving the Literacy Research Association conference where I had spent the past four days. I realized that I simply did not want to leave, but I also was eager to get home and get to work. In the elevator ride, I thought, as I had a dozen times over the past 4 days, that I wasn't sure what "get to work" even meant.
After spending four days listening to experts in all areas of the field of literacy, I had ideas, inspiration, questions, and concerns.
It was reassuring to sit in sessions where researchers were grappling with the same things I struggle with. How to get people to see the validity of graphic novels? How do I help my vulnerable students who are at risk of giving up? How do I help students to gain access to books and materials that reflect their lives, their experiences, their struggles, and dreams? How do I support teachers as they build literacy skills in their classrooms?
The same issues kept coming up.
Trauma
Socioeconomic differences
Access
Digital literacy
Graphic novels
Student engagement
Motivation
Perserverance
Representation
Teacher preparation
These ideas are the ones that keep me awake at night, in the most literal sense.
Yes, I do actually lose sleep over how to get funding for my libraries so I can get the books my kids need.
I struggle with knowing which books my students need in their lives.
I grieve over those students who have given up on reading as boring or too hard or something that other people do.
I get angry about the absolute unfairness of a system that again and again privileges those from higher socioeconomic levels and works against my students who don't come from such bounty.
I am crushed under the trauma, loss, and grief that my students (and, at times, my colleagues) are faced with.
And here was a conference full of people who were all striving to solve the same issues that I wrestled with.
But here's the thing, I don't have any answers. Not a single one.
My area of interest is how students develop their sense of self as a reader and how that affects their independent reading choices. Specifically, I want to know how the library can intervene, boosting that sense of reading self-concept, especially for middle and high school students.
And I have no idea.
And that is really, really disheartening. To know that so many great minds for so many years have wrestled with the same issues, and have not come up with anything.
But looking back at the research conference, that isn't how to tackle this problem.
The Beast is the Longest! Fastest! Tallest! But what do I remember about it? There was the one turn that happened inside one of the tunnels where the track was tilted at an angle. It felt like if you stuck your hand out just an inch, you might be able to touch the wall. Could you? I seriously doubt it. But now, 35 years later, I can recall that one turn.
Can I convince all of my teachers and all of my parents and all of my administrators that graphic novels are "real books" and are valuable, powerful tools for many readers?
No. But I went to one study group where one researcher talked about her semester-long study where pre-service teachers are taught about graphic novels, the elements a writer or illustrator can use, the complexity, the richness. Then they spent the semester making one of their own in connection with a text they read. The researcher brought samples of the work they produced and it was stunning. The illustrations, the use of blank space, the use of speech bubbles and borders and colors. Those teachers, when they become teachers, would not need convincing.
Because of one class out of dozens that prepare them, they will bring their students into the library without a preconceived bias against graphic novels.
That one turn in the Beast still grips my heart, and that one literacy experience might change their perceptions and those of the students they teach for years to come.
I have had the idea of educator trauma on my mind a lot lately. I have colleagues who have gone through loss, divorce, abuse, financial ruin, illness, and family breakdown, but they keep on teaching. I grieve for them and wonder how I can help to build them up. How can this huge problem be solved?
I can still viscerally recall the feeling of sitting in the car of the Beast and feeling the safety bar snap forward to keep you contained. Again, it was a wooden coaster and didn't go upside down, so I am not sure how much danger a passenger was ever really in, but the security of that safety bar firmly snapped in place affected the entire ride.
One researcher presented on teachers struggling with grief and how it affects them, their lives, and their work. Shining that light on something we know about but refuse to talk about was empowering. I had to wipe away tears as she talked about her research and I thought about my own colleagues and friends.
It is not possible to solve the issue of trauma and secondary trauma in educators. But someone is taking one small piece, looking at it, studying it, and seeing what can be done. Just like that bar that held me in place was only one piece of a much larger safety mechanism and scheme, this research is one important piece of a vast area of concern, and I found myself comforted that someone was actually looking at it.
Which brought me back to me. I have a huge concern I want to look at. A huge "problem" I want to "solve." But if the conference showed me anything, it is that this way of thinking is defeatist and simply not helpful. People have been trying to get students to read independently for fun for over a century. Why would I think I can solve that now? But what I can do is look at a small piece of that issue. Maybe not solve it, but look at it. Shed some light. Bring some awareness. Then someone else, using what I discover might be able to find another piece. Then, piece by piece, plans can be made, interventions designed, changes implemented.
One board at a time, they built the Beast. One piece of research at a time, students can be empowered to read.
As tempting as it was each time to simply get back in line for another ride on the Beast, doing that made me miss all that Kings Island had to offer.
So, while I look forward to future conferences, I am OK to "get to work" trying to think about, question, study, and examine the issues that I am concerned about. There is a lot of work to be done, and I am excited that I get to be one of the people who gets to do it.
It was reassuring to sit in sessions where researchers were grappling with the same things I struggle with. How to get people to see the validity of graphic novels? How do I help my vulnerable students who are at risk of giving up? How do I help students to gain access to books and materials that reflect their lives, their experiences, their struggles, and dreams? How do I support teachers as they build literacy skills in their classrooms?
The same issues kept coming up.
Trauma
Socioeconomic differences
Access
Digital literacy
Graphic novels
Student engagement
Motivation
Perserverance
Representation
Teacher preparation
These ideas are the ones that keep me awake at night, in the most literal sense.
Yes, I do actually lose sleep over how to get funding for my libraries so I can get the books my kids need.
I struggle with knowing which books my students need in their lives.
I grieve over those students who have given up on reading as boring or too hard or something that other people do.
I get angry about the absolute unfairness of a system that again and again privileges those from higher socioeconomic levels and works against my students who don't come from such bounty.
I am crushed under the trauma, loss, and grief that my students (and, at times, my colleagues) are faced with.
And here was a conference full of people who were all striving to solve the same issues that I wrestled with.
But here's the thing, I don't have any answers. Not a single one.
My area of interest is how students develop their sense of self as a reader and how that affects their independent reading choices. Specifically, I want to know how the library can intervene, boosting that sense of reading self-concept, especially for middle and high school students.
And I have no idea.
And that is really, really disheartening. To know that so many great minds for so many years have wrestled with the same issues, and have not come up with anything.
But looking back at the research conference, that isn't how to tackle this problem.
The Beast is the Longest! Fastest! Tallest! But what do I remember about it? There was the one turn that happened inside one of the tunnels where the track was tilted at an angle. It felt like if you stuck your hand out just an inch, you might be able to touch the wall. Could you? I seriously doubt it. But now, 35 years later, I can recall that one turn.
Can I convince all of my teachers and all of my parents and all of my administrators that graphic novels are "real books" and are valuable, powerful tools for many readers?
No. But I went to one study group where one researcher talked about her semester-long study where pre-service teachers are taught about graphic novels, the elements a writer or illustrator can use, the complexity, the richness. Then they spent the semester making one of their own in connection with a text they read. The researcher brought samples of the work they produced and it was stunning. The illustrations, the use of blank space, the use of speech bubbles and borders and colors. Those teachers, when they become teachers, would not need convincing.
Because of one class out of dozens that prepare them, they will bring their students into the library without a preconceived bias against graphic novels.
That one turn in the Beast still grips my heart, and that one literacy experience might change their perceptions and those of the students they teach for years to come.
I have had the idea of educator trauma on my mind a lot lately. I have colleagues who have gone through loss, divorce, abuse, financial ruin, illness, and family breakdown, but they keep on teaching. I grieve for them and wonder how I can help to build them up. How can this huge problem be solved?
I can still viscerally recall the feeling of sitting in the car of the Beast and feeling the safety bar snap forward to keep you contained. Again, it was a wooden coaster and didn't go upside down, so I am not sure how much danger a passenger was ever really in, but the security of that safety bar firmly snapped in place affected the entire ride.
One researcher presented on teachers struggling with grief and how it affects them, their lives, and their work. Shining that light on something we know about but refuse to talk about was empowering. I had to wipe away tears as she talked about her research and I thought about my own colleagues and friends.
It is not possible to solve the issue of trauma and secondary trauma in educators. But someone is taking one small piece, looking at it, studying it, and seeing what can be done. Just like that bar that held me in place was only one piece of a much larger safety mechanism and scheme, this research is one important piece of a vast area of concern, and I found myself comforted that someone was actually looking at it.
Which brought me back to me. I have a huge concern I want to look at. A huge "problem" I want to "solve." But if the conference showed me anything, it is that this way of thinking is defeatist and simply not helpful. People have been trying to get students to read independently for fun for over a century. Why would I think I can solve that now? But what I can do is look at a small piece of that issue. Maybe not solve it, but look at it. Shed some light. Bring some awareness. Then someone else, using what I discover might be able to find another piece. Then, piece by piece, plans can be made, interventions designed, changes implemented.
One board at a time, they built the Beast. One piece of research at a time, students can be empowered to read.
As tempting as it was each time to simply get back in line for another ride on the Beast, doing that made me miss all that Kings Island had to offer.
So, while I look forward to future conferences, I am OK to "get to work" trying to think about, question, study, and examine the issues that I am concerned about. There is a lot of work to be done, and I am excited that I get to be one of the people who gets to do it.
