The Art of Slow Reading

During the first week of school I sat down with Libby to check her letter identification.  "Are you going to time me?" she asked.  I love that Libby has a gift for saying what's on her mind.  I wanted to say, "Seriously?  You're only 6.  What message have we taught you in your very short educational career?  There are no stopwatches in the vicinity."  No I didn't say any of that, but it was tempting.

I was reminded of this little moment with Libby when I recently read an issue from  The Big Fresh Newsletter from Choice Literacy by Brenda Power.  (Click the highlighted words to read the newsletter and possibly subscribe.  It's a treat to read every week.)  In the newsletter she included this quote:

"We need to put away the stopwatches and say in every way possible -- 'This is not a race. Take your time. Pay attention. Touch the words and tell me how they touch you.'" 
Thomas Newkirk, in The Art of Slow Reading

In the name of fluency, thanks to high-stakes testing, have schools done a disservice to young readers?  Fluency is not evil, but without balance, what message does it and its ever present stopwatch send?  How about, "I don't see a stopwatch in your hand.  Is this really important?" 

Regie Routman says, "We need to be the gatekeepers for sane and sensible practices." 

She also challenges me with this statement.  "Is this a practice that occurs in the real world?  If it's just a school thing, we need to question the practice."

Libby's not going to see a stopwatch in my hand while I listen to her read.  (There are a few times throughout the year when I'll use one, but I'll keep it hidden as best I can.)  Regardless, how can I do a better job of teaching the art of slow reading?  

Reading's Better Than Going to the Movies

One of my favorite first grade sounds is a room full of readers, and I'm thoroughly lucky enough to hear it every day.  (Well, minus the two days of the week that I'm tucked inside my quiet little house, which isn't such a bad deal either.)  For almost 30 minutes each day, kids spread out everywhere - in corners, on desks, under tables, on counters, laying on pillows, sprawled out in the middle of the floor, and they're all reading to themselves.  The collective sound keeps the room buzzing but in the best of ways.

Ah, but then the day comes when I hear that one particular sound I've been waiting for.  Some years it arrives sooner than others, but it's always worth waiting for and never ceases to put a smile on my face.  It tends to rise above all the other voices.  Sometimes it even distracts a few readers from their books, but I don't care because it's what I preach.  It's what I model.  It's what I want for all my young readers.  It's the storyteller's voice.  

One day, from across the room, I heard that sound.  It was Libby's storyteller's voice.  I told her I could listen to her read all day long.  During our Read-to-Self share time, I asked her to demonstrate her storyteller's voice for us all.  Then I reminded my kids, as I often do, "Reading's better than going to the movies."  I think some of them actually believe me.