There's a guy with asthma. Doctors at his local hospital recently took part in a course about a new, intensive treatment for asthma, and they decide to start using it on all of their patients with asthma. So, every day, for five hours a day, the guy goes to the hospital and undergoes a treatment that is time consuming and uncomfortable. He can't really do other daily activities, because his whole day is planned around getting this treatment. The doctors tell the man and his wife that 60% of people who undergo this treatment are eventually able to climb mountains and run marathons without asthma symptoms.
The man says, "But I don't want to run marathons or climb mountains. I just want to go through a leisurely hike through the woods with my wife. I want to walk through museums and go to farmer's markets. Or just stay home and play Yahtzee. Just give me an inhaler, and let me live my life."
The doctors reply, "You must be able to run marathons and climb mountains. Everyone needs to be able to run marathons and climb mountains."
So the man continues getting the treatment every day, until eventually he grows old and dies.
That is sort of a silly story! But I love metaphors! This story is a metaphor for scientifically based reading and math curriculums, which are often used for children with learning disabilities or children who are struggling in school.
One year when I was a teacher, I had four 3rd and 4th grade boys on my caseload. Three of them had the ability to read, a few years below grade level, but their behavioral issues kept them from participating in class. The other boy had no behavioral issues, but had a severe reading disability and struggled even with three-letter words. I decided to start reading funny novels with them. I started with "Sideways Stories From Wayside School," which is a silly book full of nonsense stories about a weird school. I remembered how much my brother and I loved that book. I started reading it aloud to them. Each day we'd read a chapter or two. In order to comply with school requirements, I added a vocabulary lesson at the beginning of each chapter, and a few comprehension questions at the end. But really, I didn't need to do that. The boys were fully engaged in the stories. They naturally made connections, and made predictions, and discussed the stories, without me having to prompt them. We got through a large part of the school year with me reading these stories. The boys in my group had very few behavioral issues while we were reading.
With two of these boys who ended up being in my class full time for a while, I started reading a graphic novel. I had several copies of it, so I suggested that we each be a character as we read. They loved it. They made silly voices when they read, and participated fully, and acted like model students.
What I was trying to do here was get them to enjoy literature, to the point where they would seek it out on their own. The goal was to keep them wanting more. If I got them to see that reading could be fun, and playful, they would be more likely to practice reading on their own. Even the boy with almost no ability to read would possibly look for ways to access literature, such as by listening to audio books.
An administrator who observed me told me to stop reading these books. She advised me to use a "fast-paced, scientifically based curriculum" with them instead. These curriculum materials all go something like this.
Teacher: "This is A. Touch A. This is A. Touch A. This is S. Touch S. This is S. Touch S. Touch A. Touch S. Good! This is T. Touch T. This is T. Touch T. Touch A. Touch S. Good!"
Eventually kids may be able to physically read. But will they read? They may read enough to survive, enough to struggle through a menu in a restaurant or the directions for how to set up their wifi connection. Will they ever pick up a book? Will they ever read for joy, or to learn? Probably not.
Scientifically based curriculums are proven to be successful for many children. But that success is measured by their ability to get higher scores on standardized tests. Scientifically based curriculums don't follow a student into adulthood to measure their quality of life. They don't measure whether a student found subjects they were passionate about, or whether they loved visiting the library, or whether they used books to find out more when they were diagnosed with an illness, or whether they grew up and read books to their own children every day. They only measure test scores.
Another thing people may not realize is that success in reading in a traditional school setting is often based on how quickly a student can read. Struggling students are expected to read as many words as they can in one minute, with the goal being that they will eventually be able to read whatever number of words is expected of a student in their grade level. This is measured by having the student do a "cold read," or read aloud a grade level passage that they have never seen before. A teacher listens, marking any words the student reads incorrectly, and stopping them after one minute. The teacher then charts how many total words the student read, and their percentage of accuracy. To improve, the student is often told to read the same passage aloud over and over again. A child who reads slowly and carefully, or a child who can read in their head but mispronounces the words aloud, is considered unsuccessful. This makes me wonder... is the speed of reading important? I know many very intelligent people who read thick, intellectual books. It takes them forever. But they read the books, and think carefully about what they read. They do not read aloud as quickly as they can and keep track of how many words they read.
So, back to the guy with asthma. Does everyone need to be able to climb a mountain or run a marathon? Should a person only be considered successful if they are able to do everything at the exact same level, and speed, as their peers? Can life be lived fully by meandering through forests and museums, instead of racing through?
At Someday School, we think so. What do you think?
