Several years ago now, I ran a course of one-to-one literacy lessons for a fifteen year old girl, at an educational unit for young people labelled with Behavioural, Emotional and Social Difficulties.
During the sessions she attended, my teenage student showed real promise as both a reader and writer. There were interruptions to the lesson series. At times she was too angry to come into the classroom. On other occasions she struggled to find the resilience needed to work at a difficulty, and left the room - slamming the door behind her.
For our final lesson together, I selected a range of my favourite children’s books - curious to see the response they would receive. I was not disappointed… Her arrival was stormy, but the subsequent transformation in the slumped, despondent figure behind the table fascinated me. Her sullen expression lit up with a smile when she recognised the front cover of Rod Campbell’s ‘Dear Zoo’.
“I used to love opening the flaps in that book,” she reminisced, her smile broadening. She unfolded her arms and reached forward to leaf through the pages.
Continuing to look through the pile of books, her eyes fell on Martin Waddell’s ‘Owl Babies’.
During the sessions she attended, my teenage student showed real promise as both a reader and writer. There were interruptions to the lesson series. At times she was too angry to come into the classroom. On other occasions she struggled to find the resilience needed to work at a difficulty, and left the room - slamming the door behind her.
For our final lesson together, I selected a range of my favourite children’s books - curious to see the response they would receive. I was not disappointed… Her arrival was stormy, but the subsequent transformation in the slumped, despondent figure behind the table fascinated me. Her sullen expression lit up with a smile when she recognised the front cover of Rod Campbell’s ‘Dear Zoo’.
“I used to love opening the flaps in that book,” she reminisced, her smile broadening. She unfolded her arms and reached forward to leaf through the pages.
Continuing to look through the pile of books, her eyes fell on Martin Waddell’s ‘Owl Babies’.
“I LOVED this book!” she exclaimed, “I remember reading this story in Year 4, no, no, it was Year 2!”
The warm connection she felt towards the storybook was tangible and moving.
I have only seen the young lady once since, when we waved at each other across the yard, but I continue to reflect on what I witnessed that morning:
What were those happy memories, so obviously triggered by being reunited with a book she had loved as a child?
Was her reaction linked to a good relationship she had shared with the reader?
Did the book remind her of more settled times in her life?
Was it the storyline that had made such an impression on her?
How much of an influence had those early, clearly positive, experiences of books had upon the level of success she now enjoyed as a reader and writer?
What more can we do to provide young children with positive, formative, storybook memories to carry through their lives?
The warm connection she felt towards the storybook was tangible and moving.
I have only seen the young lady once since, when we waved at each other across the yard, but I continue to reflect on what I witnessed that morning:
What were those happy memories, so obviously triggered by being reunited with a book she had loved as a child?
Was her reaction linked to a good relationship she had shared with the reader?
Did the book remind her of more settled times in her life?
Was it the storyline that had made such an impression on her?
How much of an influence had those early, clearly positive, experiences of books had upon the level of success she now enjoyed as a reader and writer?
What more can we do to provide young children with positive, formative, storybook memories to carry through their lives?