I can still hear his voice when I close my eyes. Mr. White, my sixth grade teacher, read aloud slowly to our class every day after lunch. We came in from recess, sweaty from the kickball field, and collapsed gratefully into our desks. He’d dim the lights and begin the next installment of whatever book he was reading to us.
He read fiction that kept us on the edge of our seats as we wondered about the fate of each character. He read biographies that inspired us. He read poetry that sounded like music when he read it.
Each time he finished a book, we would line up for our turn to check it out in order to read it on our own. In those days of meager school resources, there was only one copy of most books, and we all had to wait our turn.
Some people would wonder at his reading to us as if we were much younger children. But this memory stands out to me from anything else he did in the service of teaching us that year.
Those daily literary sessions did so much for our class. First and foremost, they invited us into the written word, making it relevant. I recall identifying with athletes like Jim Thorpe whose biography told us his life story. I discovered Robert Frost who has always since been my favorite poet. And I learned that good fiction is to be treasured.
But Mr. White’s reading also served us in ways beyond the books. His voice provided a calming oasis in the midst of our preadolescent boisterous banter. These 20 minute sessions pulled us together as a class, providing us a shared context. We were in many ways defined by this gift of his to us.
Teachers today are under pressure to attend to standards and to meet the expectations of a society which looks to them to cure every ill. Many teachers feel forced to cut oral reading out of the day in favor of mandated requirements.
A good curriculum teaches children how to read, but relationships with adults who read aloud teach children WHY to read. Even in the busiest of times, reading aloud—both at school and at home—pays off.