Life Matters - August 9, 2023
Eleanor Martin. More than 55 years since that young lady began her teaching profession at Amsterdam school, memories of her still send warm circles around my heart. Dat had come home from a school board meeting mid-term and announced that, on Monday, we would have a new teacher. And so we did. On the first day, Eleanor did what she called “evaluation testing”—a big word for a little guy—which consisted of her going from desk to desk doing personal interviews with each student, taking notes while evaluating our comprehension level. I got the impression that, depending on the outcome, one could be set back a grade, a horrifying thought to this second-grader. But when she stopped at my desk, settled down to eye-level, took an interest in my work, and asked simple, direct questions in that soft, kind, but clear and firm voice, I instantly liked her. So much so that my fear of set-back left and I wanted to please her with my level extraordinaire seven-year-old comprehension of the lessons.
I resisted the desire to stare at her face, trying to read her thoughts, but stole enough sideways glances to know that her facial expressions went from relaxed to tense to something akin to horrified. She quickly regained her composure though and soon moved on to other students, of whom she had approximately 40, in all eight grades, to cover.
I diligently bent over my work trying hard to finish in record time. There were library books on a bookshelf in a back corner that we were allowed to read, or, as in my case, look at pictures, but only when we were done with all work for the day. So as the days turned into weeks, I developed a workable system, bending over my work to get done in record time then have whatever was left of the day to indulge my passion for books, only still frustrated with my lack of reading comprehension. I felt too Pennsylvania Dutch and/or too stupid to learn.
My “workable system,” I guess, got me a pass into third grade and I was overjoyed when summer vacation put my first two years of school in the rear-view mirror.
As the “mirror” began reflecting harvest colors this semi-illiterate and just as semi-frustrated eight-year-old boy was again trying to comprehend the incomprehensible task of memorizing enough words to get a full understanding of the story or the lesson. Each of our eight school classes had their “class times” standing in a row at the front to recite, review, or to read a new lesson. I learned to block out the noise, to focus on my work, in order to finish in the shortest amount of time possible. But one class, especially, made it difficult to concentrate. It was first grade flashcard time. I tried, but their enthusiastic trying to be first kept invading the private space of my brain making it difficult to concentrate. I paused long enough one day to see that the flashcards were of letters, but wait, they were saying the names of the letters wrong, no wait, they aren’t even trying to say letter names. I sat up straight, trying to comprehend what I was seeing and hearing, but the class was soon over. I went back to my work with a distinct sense that I was missing something. And a determination to discover what that something was. The next day was the same. And the next. Except now some flashcards had several letters together ... wait ... huhuh! ... they were putting letters together ... making sounds ... every letter or combination of letters was always evoking the same chorus of sound from those enthusiastic first graders that included my younger brother, Paul, who seemed to me the most enthusiastic of all ... suddenly comprehension flooded my stunned brain ... every letter had a sound ... sometimes more than one ... but there was something consistent about sounds ... about letters ... about combinations of letters ... consistent sounds and letters ... that when understood ... anyone could read ... even one little boy who often felt stupid ... and ignorant! Such were the feelings coursing through me, now overwhelmed by a sense of excitement in my awakened brain, in my heart and even now causing my feet to tingle as I relive that exciting moment of awakening. The excitement was short-lived. I felt deprived. Disappointed. Betrayed. But all the feelings were soon overwhelmed by a sense of determination. I was onto something. I could learn. I will learn.
And so, each day, when the first graders did their flashcard practice, all else was laid aside. Soon my own brain was competing. I learned sounds. Combinations of sounds. Combining those sounds into words. I didn’t know what to call it, but I was learning the “outdated” method of phonics. A method that works under any title.
So that’s how little “Manny” learned to read and learn comprehensive reading skills. And, through a combination of parents and school, to comprehend the concept of settled Truth. Life Matters!