Art Linkletter Relived

Some days as an Experience Corps volunteer, I feel like I’m in the middle of the Art Linkletter Show.  

My kids say – and do – the darndest things. Sometimes touching, sometimes funny, sometimes heart-wrenching:

#1

On my second day of observing in the classroom, Shanice is defiant. 

With her long legs, she inches her desk away, slouching ever lower in her chair.  Dreads cover her profile, except for the pursed lips.  Ms. Kelly is unprovoked.

“Please put your desk back, Shanice.” She moves on, expecting, but not waiting for, compliance.  Proper behavior gets Shanice onto the whiteboard’s “participating” list for the today’s game of Mum Ball. 

“You can fix this,” Ms. Kelly prompts when she turns back around to find the desk even farther out. Shanice stays slouched, legs crossed on top of her desk.

Mum Ball starts.  Unmoved by her failure to make the play list, Shanice keeps her head and eyes down – on the book in her lap.

From my observation post in the back of the classroom, I watch the action. Defiance by reading makes me smile. What a welcome for this reading mentor!

Shanice’s name is on my list.

#2

My kids are having some fun reading Duck For President, a rousing tale about a hard-fought election for president of the farmyard.   My instructions are to link it to the real event.

“Who knows who Barack Obama is?”

“The President,” they chorus.

“What do presidents do?”

Ada doesn’t miss a beat: “They bake cherry pies.”

She looks to me for confirmation and I can't help chuckling.

After taking a breath, she adds: “They cut down trees, too.”

Yes, she was quoting from a lesson on George Washington, but I’ve come to understand that Ada is always quick with an answer.  That 8-year-old brain works on intuition, flying from one subject to the next with the greatest of ease.  She may not always be on topic, but if you need an answer, ask Ada!

#3 

On the day after the Presidential election, Ms. Ray, the new permanent substitute, woke up to results she wasn’t expecting.  “What am I going to say to the kids?” she wondered as she drove to the school.

Her class of 22 children of color had just one question for her, a white teacher they’d known for one week:

“Why does he hate black people?”

She took a deep breath and said: “I don’t know, but he’s our President now and we need to give him chance.”

Her answer apparently calmed their initial fears.  I was there later in the day and they were on to other critical worries, such as who gets to be the line leader on our walk down the hall, who gets which chair at our library table and whether they get to read the exact number of pages in our book as everyone else in the group.  You know, the things eight-year-olds should be concerned about.

Back to School: Helping Kids Read To Succeed

       At 68 years old, I’m going back to grade school. Third grade, to be exact. I’m a Read-To-Succeed volunteer in Buffalo, N.Y.

       On the first day, I’m an observer. My kids, as I already am calling them, are a challenge, and Ms. Kelly is ahead of them every step of the way. She’s an occasional substitute for their teacher, who is on a prolonged absence.

       Whiteboard marker in hand, she roves the front of the room, firm but kind and encouraging, no matter what. 

       “Jamal,  I need you to sit down. You can get onto the participating list if you’re sitting down.” Jamal  considers complying and she catches him in the act. “Come on,” she says quietly, speaking only to him.  “You can fix this.” If he does, he earns his way into a game of Mum Ball.

       But she doesn’t wait for him to decide. She moves on.

       “ Erique,  have you finished your paper?” He shows the finished product.

       “Good!” He’s made it to the list. Mum Ball participants get to sit on top of their desks passing a foam ball by eye contact alone. Speaking is against the rules.

        Amara is up front, a short girl with an impudent smile and a quick arm, which she raises in threat to Daniel sitting behind her.

       "Amara,  please sit down.” Again Ms. Kelly avoids a test of wills, instead moving between the two desks and addressing Daniel.

       “Don’t engage, Daniel. Don’t engage. Who has the answer to the math question?”Amara continues to poke at Daniel.  

       “Ok, I’m taking your name off the board,” Ms. Kelly says evenly, just giving information, while she erases Amara’s  name. Amara  wails.

       “You can fix this." It's her mantra.

        Amara doesn’t and Ms. Kelly resumes her position between potential combatants, quietly insisting that the rest of the class stay focused on the learning task.

       While she teaches the children, she also teaches me. Next week three small groups from this class will meet with me twice a week for 30 minutes of reading.

       After school, I take the seven-minute drive to my home that has never seen children or grandchildren and remind myself why I was so drawn to this particular volunteer experience.

       It started one morning this summer. As usual, I was drinking coffee and reading the Buffalo News  when my eye landed on the story about a new reading mentorship program starting in the fall: seniors working in urban schools, grades K-3. 

       Before that moment, I’d mused about finding a volunteer activity. That thought went from vague to specific in a big hurry.

       I live in a poor neighborhood and everyday see kids who are struggling. We talk. They love to help me walk the dog and sometimes pull a weed or two. Can they read? Chances are some have trouble. This is personal to me.  Reading is pivotal to children's ability to grow into thriving adults, and thriving adults are pivotal to my city’s re-emergence. 

       I also have an adult niece who repeated third grade – after struggling in each earlier grade – because she had trouble reading.

       More than 120 people responded to the call for 40 volunteer positions, so I was pleased to be chosen. 

       During the two-day training, we learned that the program, sponsored by AARP's Experience Corps was already up and running in several cities. It came about in response to data showing that children in pre-school reading-readiness programs make great gains,  but frequently lose those gains by third grade. It’s a puzzle, figuring out how to stop that loss. One small piece is having more adults like me reading to and with them.

       I indulge in a little fantasy of myself with a quiet, maybe even shy, group of children who come out of their reading shells and love books after a year with Ms. Kay.

       After one day observing, I know the truth is much more complex, but those kids are already charming me and I’m ready for action.