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Home Education Magazine
November-December 2003 - Articles and Columns
Reading and Perpetual Motion - Kris Bordessa
Reading, for me, is a quiet indulgence. An activity to be savored in its simplicity and scarcity, done in the quietness of the early morning hours or during a lazy afternoon. Wintertime reading requires a warm fire, a cozy blanket and a hot cup of coffee. Summertime reading is best done outdoors, either in the warmth of the sun, or on sweltering days, in the shade of a tree. Most importantly, interruptions must be kept to a bare minimum.
Like me, my oldest son, Brad has had the ability to sit and listen to lengthy stories from an early age. It was quite common for him, even as a toddler, to come to me saying simply, "Read!" and then follow up his request with an hour of rapt attention.
Not so with my youngest. Story time for Evan has always been full of fidgets and wiggles. Now at the age of seven, Evan has mellowed in some aspects, yet he is still unable to enjoy stories like I do. Quietly. Calmly.
When Evan began in earnest to join us for our read aloud stories, things changed dramatically. No longer could we tackle a pile of fifteen picture books in one sitting. Long chapter books were out of the question. Evan bounced from chair to couch to floor, asking questions or providing a running commentary on the story the whole time. As much as I enjoyed reading out loud, and in spite of the fact that I knew his questions were valid, I became increasingly frustrated. Imploring him to sit still or be quiet was taking up too much of our precious reading time and making me grouchy.
Our early experiences with Brad and his insatiable thirst for long evenings of reading convinced my husband and me that homeschooling would be easy. Our method was a simple one: choose a great book from the library, sit down, read out loud and viola! In no time, not only had we shared some great books, but we also had an avid reader on our hands. I basked in the simplicity of our day-to-day learning. I reveled in the fact that I had a six-year-old who could read small chapter books. A savant by no means, but he was clearly excelling in the art of language.
And then there was Evan. Cuddling under a blanket with this boy--who was once likened to that famous pink bunny--was not an option. Reevaluating the situation, I saw that the only way for the boys to listen to the same story was to accommodate both of their needs. Brad, like his mom, needed only a comfy place to land. Evan and his constant movement had to be dealt with differently. His continual couch bouncing annoyed Brad, causing our reading time to deteriorate into the inevitable bickering that ensues when two siblings disagree.
Recognizing that my spirited child just had to move, I took steps to allow for his needs during our reading time by encouraging him to build with Legos, play with his cars or draw pictures. The only rule: his activity shouldn't interfere with our reading. I figured that, as long as he was occupied, Brad would be able to listen to stories and Evan would still feel a part of our reading ritual.
But, as mothers are wont to do, I worried about him missing out on the wonderful stories we shared. I was afraid that when he reached "school age" and became an official member of our homeschool day, I would have to come up with a way to help him focus. Although he was there with us in the same room, I questioned his ability to absorb any of the details of our stories.
And then, one day a few years ago we began a new book, halfway through a previously started series. It had been some time since we had been involved in this particular series and we had read several chapter books aloud since then. As Evan constructed with his Legos, Brad and I struggled to recollect The book's minor characters. We couldn't remember who he was and what role he had played in the story. Feeling frustrated, Brad and I decided to go on reading, hoping that it would come to us. Then Evan piped up, "Mom, don't you remember? He's the one who..."
I was nothing short of amazed. This child, who never appeared to be paying attention to anything and who constantly interrupted our reading to show us his latest creation, had remembered detailed facts from a story we had read more than six months ago! This was an epiphany for me. I know that each person's learning style is different, and that what works for one may not work for another. But Evan's apparent inattention and seeming disinterest was so blatant that I neglected to see this as his own style of learning; it seemed to me more like genuine boredom.
From the beginning, Evan has operated on an entirely different level from anyone else in our household. He is the child who wakes up talking, sings loudly in the bathroom (even in public, much to my horror) and "drives" his pencil when drawing. He mastered the art of making motor sounds at an early age. He calls "Mom!" at least a million times a day, hums in the car and he makes up wonderful stories and songs to regale his toys during play. Sounds emit from this boy on a constant basis. Add in the perpetual motion and it's like having a full-time production of STOMP running in our home, 24/7. Living with a house full of people who prefer quiet must be quite challenging for him.
While on occasion, the introvert in me insists that he "turn it off" for a minute, I know that this is just who he is and that "turning it off" is not really an option. I feel certain that had he been attending a standard school program he would have been tagged already with some affliction requiring special circumstances, or worse, been medicated to keep him manageable. In a traditional school setting, his individuality would have been squashed in the name of conformity; his unique approach to learning would have been dismissed as not productive.
Our learning takes place in a very different manner than that which most people are accustomed to and when we do anything that resembles traditional schoolwork it is at the request of my children. Yet Evan, the child who asks a question and then talks through the answer, is learning. He has begun to read, spells beautifully and figures out math problems that I would have considered too complex for a boy of seven. He has succeeded at these subjects because he has been able to approach them with his very own individual style. I am so grateful to have the opportunity to allow him the freedom to be himself and to learn at his own speed.
While there are days that make me wish for nothing but peace and quiet, I am happy in the knowledge that my husband and I are providing the best possible situation for both of the boys. But that doesn't mean I'd turn down the opportunity for a quiet afternoon curled up on the couch with a book and a cup of coffee--all alone.
© 2003 Kris Bordessa
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November-December 2003 - Articles and Columns
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