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The Power of Books
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From: Monica R. Edinger <edinger>
Date: Tue, 18 Sep 2001 08:33:57 -0700
First of all, I did not intend my post of a few days back to be a plea for the ccbcnet community to check up on me personally. I tend to write very personally about my own experience. Thus, I expressed myself rather sarcastically and personally and apologize for any offense that may have given. I knew the reason behind the ccbcnet silence was respectful, but was not thinking clearly when I wrote as I did. A New Yorker (and, boy, if anything turned me into one, not having grown up here, it was Tuesday), I'm just all around upset right now; a bit better than a few days ago, but still not at all normal. So a warning: the following is again very personal (although, hopefully, a bit more tempered than my previous post).
It is meant to provide insight via my experience with children, this tragedy, and books. (No politics, no Nostradamus!) It contains some of my thoughts about this and some of my recommendations. Please, please do not read it if you do not want to read such a personal post. I believe strongly that each of us responds differently and uniquely to horrible events, Tuesday being no exception. If my style upsets, please delete this immediately! It is meant to help, not make anyone feel worse. (Most of the following is the same as my post to child_lit for those on both lists.)
I wrote, in my last post, that books are not always the answer and can even make things worse. We are all on this list because we do love books, especially children's books. However, they just don't do it all the time.
As people post suggestions for coping books to use with children in the wake of Tuesday's events, I urge those planning to use the scarier ones with groups of children to be very cautious. It is one thing to give or read such a book to one child you know well (say your own) and another to give or read it to a class or group of children. Books can be helpful or painful. We can't necessarily know. I beg you not to so quickly create those disaster units, to read aloud Smoky Night (I'm sorry, but having seen and smelled the smoke for days I can't imagine reading that one here), or otherwise use such books in groups and classrooms without great, great care.
One thing I'm learning from my students is that it is very hard to intuit their states of mind right now. I am not going to presume anything. I don't know them well. I tell them over and over that I'm here, to tell their parents to contact me if they are upset worried about anything (say, getting lost in their new twelve story school building which, I bet, would be much scarier after last Tuesday). After science yesterday, Katie complained of a stomach ache and went to the bathroom. Next thing I knew some other girls dashed in to tell me she was crying hysterically. I retrieved her, hugged her a lot, and sent her to the nurse who sent her home. Later I talked with her dad who said she is still very scared. And we adults still are too. And sad too, terribly, terribly sad. John, who helped move a file cabinet yesterday morning, told me about his brother-in-law, one of those heroic fireman. Mercedes who served us lunch talked to me red-eyed of missing neighbors. Another good friend, an only child, is coping with the death of her father this weekend along with her mother's increasing dementia....and her own and her 6th grade students grief and fear. These are just a few of the people in my school community. We are all affected directly somehow; I have yet to meet or talk to someone who isn't.
And our students did not watch Tuesday's events firsthand as did all too many children at schools further downtown, in Brooklyn, and in New Jersey too. The twin towers were so tall they were seen far and wide. A little boy standing with his dad in front of me on the bus yesterday suddenly called out "airplane" and crouched down. And stayed there clinging to his dad's leg for a while on that crowded bus (crowded, I suspect, because many can't bear to go underground on the subway just yet; I sure couldn't.)
Yesterday, our first full day in the fourth grade, I wondered all day about my end of day read aloud. The children were thrilled to see it on the schedule, but I worried about what I should read. Finally, after looking over my sure-fire read alouds I stuck with my pre-Tuesday book selection, The Best (Worst) School Year Ever. It is a school story, it is completely off the wall funny, and it has a theme of tolerance and understanding (yes, it does, really!) I started reading and immediately worried as the narrator wrote of the Herdmans being like outlaws, that if they had lived in the Wild West they would have "blown" it up. I wondered, would those words scare? I discretely looked at the faces around me, (one of my most important teacher skills is this ability, long honed) but they just looked intrigued. I read further to the description of Imogene's science project (something unknown scratching in an oatmeal box) and they giggled. By the time I stopped, half way through the first chapter one, I relaxed; lots of laughter, it seemed be a good choice. (But I'm sure going to keep on watching. The smoke may go away, but not the pain.)
I particularly urge those who use books for their own healing and learning realize that they may not work that way for every child. Someone emailed me privately about how strongly she felt that books could transcend. I wrote her back to about how I had been unable to concentrate enough to read anything, much less a book. (A close friend on an award committee who has been displaced because of Tuesday told me that she worried that she wasn't being fair as she tried to read books right now for the award.)
I have The Land (new Mildred Taylor) partially finished, but I can't touch it right now. Not even fantasy, my favorite genre (although I agree in principle with the earlier post on it; just not for me, not right now.) Romance, perhaps. Meg Cabot's second Princess Diaries book? Jane Austen?
A Harlequin?
Much as I dearly love books, I just can't agree that they are our magic bullets. They are just bits of paper, cloth, and cardboard. Without the sensitive, careful, respectful, cautious, and intelligent presentation of a teacher, they will not do what many who create them intend.
Monica
Received on Tue 18 Sep 2001 10:33:57 AM CDT
Date: Tue, 18 Sep 2001 08:33:57 -0700
First of all, I did not intend my post of a few days back to be a plea for the ccbcnet community to check up on me personally. I tend to write very personally about my own experience. Thus, I expressed myself rather sarcastically and personally and apologize for any offense that may have given. I knew the reason behind the ccbcnet silence was respectful, but was not thinking clearly when I wrote as I did. A New Yorker (and, boy, if anything turned me into one, not having grown up here, it was Tuesday), I'm just all around upset right now; a bit better than a few days ago, but still not at all normal. So a warning: the following is again very personal (although, hopefully, a bit more tempered than my previous post).
It is meant to provide insight via my experience with children, this tragedy, and books. (No politics, no Nostradamus!) It contains some of my thoughts about this and some of my recommendations. Please, please do not read it if you do not want to read such a personal post. I believe strongly that each of us responds differently and uniquely to horrible events, Tuesday being no exception. If my style upsets, please delete this immediately! It is meant to help, not make anyone feel worse. (Most of the following is the same as my post to child_lit for those on both lists.)
I wrote, in my last post, that books are not always the answer and can even make things worse. We are all on this list because we do love books, especially children's books. However, they just don't do it all the time.
As people post suggestions for coping books to use with children in the wake of Tuesday's events, I urge those planning to use the scarier ones with groups of children to be very cautious. It is one thing to give or read such a book to one child you know well (say your own) and another to give or read it to a class or group of children. Books can be helpful or painful. We can't necessarily know. I beg you not to so quickly create those disaster units, to read aloud Smoky Night (I'm sorry, but having seen and smelled the smoke for days I can't imagine reading that one here), or otherwise use such books in groups and classrooms without great, great care.
One thing I'm learning from my students is that it is very hard to intuit their states of mind right now. I am not going to presume anything. I don't know them well. I tell them over and over that I'm here, to tell their parents to contact me if they are upset worried about anything (say, getting lost in their new twelve story school building which, I bet, would be much scarier after last Tuesday). After science yesterday, Katie complained of a stomach ache and went to the bathroom. Next thing I knew some other girls dashed in to tell me she was crying hysterically. I retrieved her, hugged her a lot, and sent her to the nurse who sent her home. Later I talked with her dad who said she is still very scared. And we adults still are too. And sad too, terribly, terribly sad. John, who helped move a file cabinet yesterday morning, told me about his brother-in-law, one of those heroic fireman. Mercedes who served us lunch talked to me red-eyed of missing neighbors. Another good friend, an only child, is coping with the death of her father this weekend along with her mother's increasing dementia....and her own and her 6th grade students grief and fear. These are just a few of the people in my school community. We are all affected directly somehow; I have yet to meet or talk to someone who isn't.
And our students did not watch Tuesday's events firsthand as did all too many children at schools further downtown, in Brooklyn, and in New Jersey too. The twin towers were so tall they were seen far and wide. A little boy standing with his dad in front of me on the bus yesterday suddenly called out "airplane" and crouched down. And stayed there clinging to his dad's leg for a while on that crowded bus (crowded, I suspect, because many can't bear to go underground on the subway just yet; I sure couldn't.)
Yesterday, our first full day in the fourth grade, I wondered all day about my end of day read aloud. The children were thrilled to see it on the schedule, but I worried about what I should read. Finally, after looking over my sure-fire read alouds I stuck with my pre-Tuesday book selection, The Best (Worst) School Year Ever. It is a school story, it is completely off the wall funny, and it has a theme of tolerance and understanding (yes, it does, really!) I started reading and immediately worried as the narrator wrote of the Herdmans being like outlaws, that if they had lived in the Wild West they would have "blown" it up. I wondered, would those words scare? I discretely looked at the faces around me, (one of my most important teacher skills is this ability, long honed) but they just looked intrigued. I read further to the description of Imogene's science project (something unknown scratching in an oatmeal box) and they giggled. By the time I stopped, half way through the first chapter one, I relaxed; lots of laughter, it seemed be a good choice. (But I'm sure going to keep on watching. The smoke may go away, but not the pain.)
I particularly urge those who use books for their own healing and learning realize that they may not work that way for every child. Someone emailed me privately about how strongly she felt that books could transcend. I wrote her back to about how I had been unable to concentrate enough to read anything, much less a book. (A close friend on an award committee who has been displaced because of Tuesday told me that she worried that she wasn't being fair as she tried to read books right now for the award.)
I have The Land (new Mildred Taylor) partially finished, but I can't touch it right now. Not even fantasy, my favorite genre (although I agree in principle with the earlier post on it; just not for me, not right now.) Romance, perhaps. Meg Cabot's second Princess Diaries book? Jane Austen?
A Harlequin?
Much as I dearly love books, I just can't agree that they are our magic bullets. They are just bits of paper, cloth, and cardboard. Without the sensitive, careful, respectful, cautious, and intelligent presentation of a teacher, they will not do what many who create them intend.
Monica
Received on Tue 18 Sep 2001 10:33:57 AM CDT
