When we are in a country where we don’t know the language, we look for clues—visual clues. We watch the expressions on people’s faces to gauge whether or not we're communicating effectively, we observe the direction people are moving in to see where to go, and we take note of how others are using any unusual utensils for a meal we’ve never eaten.
A good picture book gives children hints as to what’s going on. The illustrations help youngest children become oriented to the setting and the characters. And if a book is funny, as with Doreen Cronin and Betsy Lewin’s Click, Clack, ABC, the pictures may work in tandem with the text, expand on the text, or create a contrast with the text to create humor.
For babies and toddlers, a good book makes them feel comfortable in surroundings that seem familiar, and then nudges them to discover new things. When humor is involved, they feel like they’re in on the joke. Toddlers look at the cover of Click, Clack, ABC and know they’re in a barnyard. They see the red barn, and the animals. They also see that the animals seem to be headed together in the same direction, and a cow is licking its lips. What could this mean? On further readings, they might realize that “a” corresponds with “animals,” “b” with “barn,” and “c” stands for the "cat" that’s playing with the ball of yarn.
Inside the book, there’s a great deal of silliness and humor. They find, for "g" and "h": “Goats grooming, hens helping.” Do goats “groom”? We’ve all seen animals in our own homes and neighborhoods, in zoos or on TV grooming each other. Dogs lick their puppies, cats clean their kittens, monkeys pick things out of their siblings’ fur. But here a yellow goat is combing the beard of a white goat—literally, with a comb! That’s funny! And two hens are “helping” by tying a kerchief around the neck of the yellow goat.
Cronin and Lewin take a child’s interest in letters, in being able to express themselves and communicate with others, and also their natural fascination with animals, and the information that they've likely already absorbed about the farmyard, and give children a chance to play. Afterwards, like the animals, children can take a well-deserved siesta (“Zzzzzz”).
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
What Makes a Hero?
Is it who someone is? Or what they do? The story of Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice by Phillip Hoose, suggests that a hero is a combination of both.
Even at the age of 15, Claudette Colvin’s conviction that what was happening around her was inhumane led her to do something about it. She believed, as an African American teenager, that it was her constitutional right to remain seated on a segregated bus in 1955 Alabama (nine months before Rosa Parks took the same action), even if a white passenger was demanding her seat. Her act of courage began a chain of events that set off the Montgomery bus boycott.
Hoose begins the book with this quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Claudette Colvin had seen adults complain about the injustices of segregation at home, but say and do nothing about them in public. She had watched her schoolmate condemned to death for a crime he did not commit. She called it, “the turning point of my life.” She could not stand by and watch unjust laws terrorize her friends and community. Her brave act of defiance against the segregation laws of the deep South came with a cost. She was not fully supported at the time of her bravery, and she lived “in voluntary exile” much of her life, according to Phillip Hoose when I had a chance to interview him. But she had to live with her conscience.
Struggling with one’s conscience is often challenging, but it can be especially difficult for teens. As a teenager, you do not yet have the rights an adult has; the opinion of one’s peers seems crucially important. And often it seems as if nothing you could do would make a difference anyway. But Claudette Colvin’s example suggests that there’s a great deal we can do as individuals, no matter whether we are adults or teenagers.
This book sets the record straight. It completes the history of the Montgomery, Alabama, bus boycott. It lets young people know that the history books do not always tell the full story. But more importantly, it makes clear that history is made up of individuals and singular events, that sweeping social changes begin with one person taking a stand. And, as Claudette Colvin’s story proves, young people are often at the heart of these sweeping social changes. If she can do what’s right in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, her story seems to say, we can, too.
Even at the age of 15, Claudette Colvin’s conviction that what was happening around her was inhumane led her to do something about it. She believed, as an African American teenager, that it was her constitutional right to remain seated on a segregated bus in 1955 Alabama (nine months before Rosa Parks took the same action), even if a white passenger was demanding her seat. Her act of courage began a chain of events that set off the Montgomery bus boycott.
Hoose begins the book with this quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Claudette Colvin had seen adults complain about the injustices of segregation at home, but say and do nothing about them in public. She had watched her schoolmate condemned to death for a crime he did not commit. She called it, “the turning point of my life.” She could not stand by and watch unjust laws terrorize her friends and community. Her brave act of defiance against the segregation laws of the deep South came with a cost. She was not fully supported at the time of her bravery, and she lived “in voluntary exile” much of her life, according to Phillip Hoose when I had a chance to interview him. But she had to live with her conscience.
Struggling with one’s conscience is often challenging, but it can be especially difficult for teens. As a teenager, you do not yet have the rights an adult has; the opinion of one’s peers seems crucially important. And often it seems as if nothing you could do would make a difference anyway. But Claudette Colvin’s example suggests that there’s a great deal we can do as individuals, no matter whether we are adults or teenagers.
This book sets the record straight. It completes the history of the Montgomery, Alabama, bus boycott. It lets young people know that the history books do not always tell the full story. But more importantly, it makes clear that history is made up of individuals and singular events, that sweeping social changes begin with one person taking a stand. And, as Claudette Colvin’s story proves, young people are often at the heart of these sweeping social changes. If she can do what’s right in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, her story seems to say, we can, too.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Reading Aloud: A Shared Adventure
When I first launched Twenty by Jenny back in April, I mentioned that some of my favorite memories of growing up involved my brother and me sitting on either side of my mother as she read aloud to us. She often read books that would have been difficult for me to read by myself at the age of seven or eight, and my brother wasn’t reading yet. But as long as there were plenty of photos or illustrations, we both had a way into the story or subject.
Similarly, when I was teaching third grade and I read aloud to the students, I always tried to select books that were slightly more challenging than what they might choose on their own. In reading class, naturally, we read together books that most of the children could comprehend and read aloud themselves with relative confidence. But when I read to them, I wanted to pick books that would expand their vocabulary and take them to new places, both literally and figuratively.
Reading aloud was a big part of our holiday celebrations. In a tradition that began with my father’s family, everyone who came to celebrate with us at both Thanksgiving and on Christmas Eve had something to read. We family members all had established readings. My father always read “The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers” by Felicia Dorothea Hemans, and his brother Chris always read “When the Frost Is on the Pumpkin” at Thanksgiving. For Christmas, my mother always read “Dear Virginia,” and her mother would read “ ’Twas the Night Before Christmas” with all of us cousins flanking her on the couch so we could see the pictures--Heather, the youngest, sat on Gramma’s lap. Immediately, even first-time guests felt a part of the celebration (shy guests could choose a four-line poem with a punch line).
All of this to say that the holidays are a perfect time to read a good book together aloud. (If you’re feeling hesitant, here are a few tips.) Harry Potter reminded us how wonderful it is to dive into another world with the entire family along for the journey. A break from school and some time off from work creates another opportunity to enjoy a book together as a family, and Yummy and Where the Mountain Meets the Moon are two books that the entire family can enjoy. Each has self-contained shorter sections, too, which allow you to dip in and out or read the whole book—depending on whether it’s a bedtime ritual or an afternoon-long adventure (in the case of Mountain—Yummy you could still finish up rather quickly). If you will be spending the holidays with older children, ages 12-up, then The Book Thief is an excellent read-aloud choice. Remember: You are never too old to be read to.
Similarly, when I was teaching third grade and I read aloud to the students, I always tried to select books that were slightly more challenging than what they might choose on their own. In reading class, naturally, we read together books that most of the children could comprehend and read aloud themselves with relative confidence. But when I read to them, I wanted to pick books that would expand their vocabulary and take them to new places, both literally and figuratively.
Reading aloud was a big part of our holiday celebrations. In a tradition that began with my father’s family, everyone who came to celebrate with us at both Thanksgiving and on Christmas Eve had something to read. We family members all had established readings. My father always read “The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers” by Felicia Dorothea Hemans, and his brother Chris always read “When the Frost Is on the Pumpkin” at Thanksgiving. For Christmas, my mother always read “Dear Virginia,” and her mother would read “ ’Twas the Night Before Christmas” with all of us cousins flanking her on the couch so we could see the pictures--Heather, the youngest, sat on Gramma’s lap. Immediately, even first-time guests felt a part of the celebration (shy guests could choose a four-line poem with a punch line).
All of this to say that the holidays are a perfect time to read a good book together aloud. (If you’re feeling hesitant, here are a few tips.) Harry Potter reminded us how wonderful it is to dive into another world with the entire family along for the journey. A break from school and some time off from work creates another opportunity to enjoy a book together as a family, and Yummy and Where the Mountain Meets the Moon are two books that the entire family can enjoy. Each has self-contained shorter sections, too, which allow you to dip in and out or read the whole book—depending on whether it’s a bedtime ritual or an afternoon-long adventure (in the case of Mountain—Yummy you could still finish up rather quickly). If you will be spending the holidays with older children, ages 12-up, then The Book Thief is an excellent read-aloud choice. Remember: You are never too old to be read to.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Raising Word Connoisseurs
I’ve just returned from a two-day silent retreat on the Hudson River. I try to do this once or twice a year. Every time I go, I’m amazed by how few words we really require. I was thinking, too, about very young children who do not yet have language, but who still manage to communicate effectively. They reach for a bottle, push away a spoonful of peas, and hold up their arms when they want to be held.
What a sense of accomplishment they must feel when they can name things—a bottle, a blanket. And then to be able to call out for Mama, Papa, Grandma and their big brother or sister—and to point to themselves and say their own names! The world is theirs for the asking! All that time they were wordless, they were extremely watchful. Once they begin to speak words, it can feel like a current of electricity has been unleashed. They’re sharing all they’ve gleaned in those months of silent observation.
Sandra Boynton’s books milk that early knowledge and churn it into humor like butter. She sets up scenes very familiar to toddlers: a barnyard in Moo, Baa, La La La!, a set of clothes in Blue Hat, Green Hat. Then she takes what a child knows and upends the facts in a nonsensical way. While cows “moo” and sheep “baa,” three pigs sing and dance! In a recent blog, I mentioned a discussion with Leonard Marcus in which he described just how early children begin to develop a sense of humor, and how much of a child’s early attempts at humor are playing with what they know in order to make a joke themselves.
All of us have experienced the pleasure of a peek-a-boo game, even before a child has words—they take pleasure in knowing someone is there but pretending to hide. When my niece Maggie was just over one year old, she delighted in the punchline of Sandra Boynton’s book: I would talk to Maggie on the phone, and she wouldn’t say much, but when I asked her, “What do three pigs singing say?” she’d answer, “La! La! La!” During my most recent visit (Maggie’s now two), she was drawing something at a small plastic desk in the living room. I asked her, “Maggie, are you drawing at your easel?” She repeated, “EA-sel” and started laughing. She loved the word. Throughout the day, she’d spontaneously say, “EA-sel” and start laughing. I noticed she picked out other words she’d hear in conversation and collect those, too, like a word connoisseur.
So let’s hear it for humor! Humorous books encourage a playfulness around a child’s early ideas about language and concepts. Once children are engaged this way, the possibilities for expanding their base of knowledge seems limitless. If I had my way, they’d all be word connoisseurs.
What a sense of accomplishment they must feel when they can name things—a bottle, a blanket. And then to be able to call out for Mama, Papa, Grandma and their big brother or sister—and to point to themselves and say their own names! The world is theirs for the asking! All that time they were wordless, they were extremely watchful. Once they begin to speak words, it can feel like a current of electricity has been unleashed. They’re sharing all they’ve gleaned in those months of silent observation.
Sandra Boynton’s books milk that early knowledge and churn it into humor like butter. She sets up scenes very familiar to toddlers: a barnyard in Moo, Baa, La La La!, a set of clothes in Blue Hat, Green Hat. Then she takes what a child knows and upends the facts in a nonsensical way. While cows “moo” and sheep “baa,” three pigs sing and dance! In a recent blog, I mentioned a discussion with Leonard Marcus in which he described just how early children begin to develop a sense of humor, and how much of a child’s early attempts at humor are playing with what they know in order to make a joke themselves.
All of us have experienced the pleasure of a peek-a-boo game, even before a child has words—they take pleasure in knowing someone is there but pretending to hide. When my niece Maggie was just over one year old, she delighted in the punchline of Sandra Boynton’s book: I would talk to Maggie on the phone, and she wouldn’t say much, but when I asked her, “What do three pigs singing say?” she’d answer, “La! La! La!” During my most recent visit (Maggie’s now two), she was drawing something at a small plastic desk in the living room. I asked her, “Maggie, are you drawing at your easel?” She repeated, “EA-sel” and started laughing. She loved the word. Throughout the day, she’d spontaneously say, “EA-sel” and start laughing. I noticed she picked out other words she’d hear in conversation and collect those, too, like a word connoisseur.
So let’s hear it for humor! Humorous books encourage a playfulness around a child’s early ideas about language and concepts. Once children are engaged this way, the possibilities for expanding their base of knowledge seems limitless. If I had my way, they’d all be word connoisseurs.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
A World Both Like and Unlike Our Own
The best fantasy stories take us to a place that, at face value, seems completely unlike our own, and then create just enough parallels to allow us to pause and reflect on the world we live in. Kristin Cashore’s books, Graceling (published last fall) and Fire (published this fall) do just that.
We are heading into the holidays, so let’s emphasize the escape and adventure qualities of the reading experience. A rugged and mountainous landscape policed by monsters. A beautiful heroine who wants to use her talents (to read minds and change them) in the service of a greater cause. An on-again-off-again romance and the possibility of something more lasting. But, for more analytical teens, there’s also a view of what it means to strike out on their own, the responsibility that comes with that, and the realization that you must make your own choices and live with the outcome.
Think of 1984 or C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books or Watership Down. Or, more recently, Feed, So Yesterday, The Giver, and The House of the Scorpion. All fantasies, all with universal themes that allow us to examine our present society and individual situations with a new perspective from a safe distance. Okay, so this is a favorite riff of mine, that ultimately literature teaches us about ourselves. But I have watched young people describe their “aha!” moment, and even liken a situation they recognize in their own lives to one that a character from a favorite book has experienced. It is a gift to be able to try on someone else’s life without having to live through it ourselves. Maybe those characters take a wrong path so we don’t have to. Maybe they figure out a solution we hadn’t thought of. Or maybe they just allow us to escape our own anxieties for awhile and travel somewhere else.
Yes. Maybe they just let us truly enjoy a vacation from our daily lives.
We are heading into the holidays, so let’s emphasize the escape and adventure qualities of the reading experience. A rugged and mountainous landscape policed by monsters. A beautiful heroine who wants to use her talents (to read minds and change them) in the service of a greater cause. An on-again-off-again romance and the possibility of something more lasting. But, for more analytical teens, there’s also a view of what it means to strike out on their own, the responsibility that comes with that, and the realization that you must make your own choices and live with the outcome.
Think of 1984 or C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books or Watership Down. Or, more recently, Feed, So Yesterday, The Giver, and The House of the Scorpion. All fantasies, all with universal themes that allow us to examine our present society and individual situations with a new perspective from a safe distance. Okay, so this is a favorite riff of mine, that ultimately literature teaches us about ourselves. But I have watched young people describe their “aha!” moment, and even liken a situation they recognize in their own lives to one that a character from a favorite book has experienced. It is a gift to be able to try on someone else’s life without having to live through it ourselves. Maybe those characters take a wrong path so we don’t have to. Maybe they figure out a solution we hadn’t thought of. Or maybe they just allow us to escape our own anxieties for awhile and travel somewhere else.
Yes. Maybe they just let us truly enjoy a vacation from our daily lives.
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Immigrant Story
The Lleshi family’s story in Katherine Paterson’s novel The Day of the Pelican seems especially appropriate at this Thanksgiving time, when so many of us think about our own families coming to this country as immigrants. Many families, like the Lleshis, could not speak the language or understand the subtleties of the culture when they first arrived here. What is it like for Baba, the head of his household, to have to rely on his children to translate for him, not only the language but also a gesture or custom? What is it like to watch your children set aside many of the things you’ve taught them in favor of new friends, new fads, new values?
As much as he wants his children to excel in their new surroundings, Baba also wants them to honor their family’s traditions, and these two desires are not always an easy fit. Assimilation often trumps tradition. In Pelican, Katherine Paterson explores the complexities of these competing influences. After the events of 9/11, Meli and Mehmet’s teammates lash out at them—verbally in Meli’s case, and physically in Mehmet’s case—because they are Muslim. Neither of them wishes to return to school, but Baba tells them they must. The teens’ coaches pay a call at the Lleshi home, apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Lleshi and tell them that they will remove the offending students from the team. But Baba tells the coaches that such a step would seed more hatred toward Meli and Mehmet. “My children are strong,” he says. “They have endured many hard things in their short lives. They can also endure this.” In her interview (below), Katherine Paterson discusses the importance of the scene between Baba and the coaches, and the respect these coaches gain for Mr. Lleshi.
It is the immigrant story. A family arrives in America to gain a better life for their children. Often the children adapt more readily to the language and ways of their new life. The challenge to the older generation is to keep the family together in the face of these other forces of influence, and the challenge to the new generation is to remember what is important even as they acquire knowledge and skills that will serve them well in their new homeland. The Lleshi family’s story reminds us of the great sacrifice all immigrant families make when they courageously arrive at our borders and on our shores.
As much as he wants his children to excel in their new surroundings, Baba also wants them to honor their family’s traditions, and these two desires are not always an easy fit. Assimilation often trumps tradition. In Pelican, Katherine Paterson explores the complexities of these competing influences. After the events of 9/11, Meli and Mehmet’s teammates lash out at them—verbally in Meli’s case, and physically in Mehmet’s case—because they are Muslim. Neither of them wishes to return to school, but Baba tells them they must. The teens’ coaches pay a call at the Lleshi home, apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Lleshi and tell them that they will remove the offending students from the team. But Baba tells the coaches that such a step would seed more hatred toward Meli and Mehmet. “My children are strong,” he says. “They have endured many hard things in their short lives. They can also endure this.” In her interview (below), Katherine Paterson discusses the importance of the scene between Baba and the coaches, and the respect these coaches gain for Mr. Lleshi.
It is the immigrant story. A family arrives in America to gain a better life for their children. Often the children adapt more readily to the language and ways of their new life. The challenge to the older generation is to keep the family together in the face of these other forces of influence, and the challenge to the new generation is to remember what is important even as they acquire knowledge and skills that will serve them well in their new homeland. The Lleshi family’s story reminds us of the great sacrifice all immigrant families make when they courageously arrive at our borders and on our shores.
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Power of Silence
What you notice first about Jerry Pinkney’s The Lion and the Mouse is the beauty of this foreign land. The acacia trees, the many different-colored grasses, the vast sky. There are no words to tell us what to think or where to look. We simply take it in. We begin to notice the creatures that populate this stunning land, and a story begins to take shape in the quiet expanses of his wordless sun-filled watercolors.
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