Nevertheless, We Persist.

"Mrs. J, I'm mad. I finished my book." Megan was glaring at the cover of Paper Towns by John Green like it had just insulted her mom.

Up to this point, I had been the initiator of any conversations with Megan about her reading, so I was willing to put off my intended conferences for a few minutes to chat with her. I replied, "So tell me about it. What are you upset about?" She looked thoughtfully down at her book, then launched into a furious diatribe about expectations and let-down, about missed signals and clues, about lost love and disappointment.  I listened, bemusedly, surprised at the unexpected passion gushing forth from this reticent student. At our first conference, she told me she had "maybe read a book or two in sixth grade, but nothing I remember," and that she pretty much hated reading. As recently as Thanksgiving break, she was still standing firm in her anti-text stance. Everything she had read so far had been “just alright.” In previous conferences I had struggled to get her to move beyond simple answers and shrugs, but suddenly here she was, holding forth in detail about how this novel should have ended. I was thrilled she was so angry.

The class that Megan is in has been a thorn in my side from the beginning of the school year. Their answers to my reading survey at the beginning of the year gave me cause for despair, and it took weeks before I was able to devote all of my time to conferencing rather than crowd control. These students believed that reading teachers only paid lip service to independent reading, and they figured I would fit right into their expectations. I would expect them to find a book and carry it around with them, but as soon as this little charade ended, I would assign a class novel and they could sit back, listen, and rely on me to make the effort for them. The idea of independent reading would be safely relegated to that mythical twenty minutes of reading at home, maybe with a reading log if I was a real stickler, and all responsibility would be removed from them.

After we started reading workshop on the third day of school, Bryan asked me, "How long are we gonna do this? When are we going to read a real book and start real class?"

I replied, "This is real class, and shockingly enough, that book you're holding is real too."

He looked at me, wide-eyed, and said, "You really aren't going to tell us what we have to read, and we're really gonna do this every day?!"   

I wondered myself. Could I really do this every day?

It was a daily battle. Fake reading, defiance, talking, giggling, falling asleep, throwing things... you name it, I've dealt with it in this class. I changed seating charts and arrangements multiple times. Students who will talk for hours on end to each other would simply stare at me and refuse to answer in conferences, or shout their answers so loudly they distracted everyone else in the class. Empty "To Read" lists confronted me in spite of continuous book talks. Blank stares when I asked, "So what do you want to read next?"

I was warned by other teachers: "Reading just isn't their thing. How long are you going to let this go on? They won't read." The students offered various explanations for why they weren't reading outside of class, how they were just way too busy. Nevertheless, I persisted.

When we came back to school from Christmas break, they almost broke me. I was ready to give up. In conference after conference, students gleefully told me they did not read over break. We reverted back to the same behaviors I was battling at the beginning of the year. Two students had not yet managed to finish one book, and no amount of cajoling, pleading, threatening, or failing seemed to make a difference. I was beginning to think that maybe I should just admit defeat, pull out my old class set of novels and study guides, and go back to the way I used to teach, with no choices or opportunities for students to direct their learning.

Until.

Sometime around the second week in January, I noticed a shift. I picked up my notebook, preparing to conference, and looked around the room. It was calm, quiet. Students were bent over their books, and the only sound was the turning of pages. I was almost afraid to breathe too loudly. Raven turned around to Jen, but it was to point out something on a page of her book. They looked at the page together, whispered for a moment, then turned back to their own reading. Theo sank to the floor next to his desk, rearranged his book in front of him, and went on reading. When I sat down to confer with Serena, no one even glanced up. After eighteen weeks of battling, they finally declared peace. I had become a known quantity. This was my expectation. This was what we would do, every day, and I would not back down. I guess it finally didn’t seem strange to them anymore.

I wish I could tell you one thing that I did that caused the change. Gradually, students found books that they loved. It spread slowly, but there was a palpable difference. I was no longer the only one trying to remain on task. Noisy students were shushed by other students. Instead of announcing four or five times that it was time to get started, I quietly reminded the few students who hadn't come in and immediately taken out their books. Students who had been easily distracted started seeking out quiet corners, and "To Read" lists grew with each book talk.

And today, Megan was mad, but she wasn't mad because I made her read. She was mad because now she's a reader, and she had a definitive idea of how the book was supposed to end.

They're still a challenging class, and on days like yesterday, when Jazmin dramatically threw herself into the floor, crying, "Oh my God she's pregnant AGAIN!" as she read Glass by Ellen Hopkins, followed by Lexxis saying, "No, no, no! Why would you tell me that?! Spoilers!" because she's reading Crank, the first book in the series, followed by everyone else in the class asking questions about it, it's easy to get frustrated. But I can deal with disruptions caused by readers fully engaging with their reading.

Perhaps we all have "that class." The classes that seem determined to fight you at every turn. The classes that walk into school in the morning up in arms, and treat teachers as an adversarial force against them. I believe that they are the ones who need choice most of all. I think much of their defiance is a response to the lack of choice and control in their lives, both in school and out. It's maybe not surprising that when this class wrote personal narratives, almost all of them were about broken homes, losing loved ones, bullying, abuse, rape... These kids are carrying a heavy burden.

I believe that I can lighten their burden with books. Books that show them they are not alone in the world. Books that boldly address the dark places they've been, and show them paths to a brighter future. Books that help them to understand their own struggles, and help them to be more empathetic to the struggles of others. Books that show them that in the battle between good and evil, good wins.  We owe it to our kids, even on our most difficult days, to keep on believing. We establish routines and expectations, we drop book after book after book into their lives, we talk and talk about books, and we prove to them that we mean what we say. They may push back. They may argue. They may try to push your buttons by saying how much they hate reading, and how boring it is. They may press you for an explanation of why you can't just be like the other teachers.

Nevertheless, we persist.