Family Daze

Literacy workshop promises practice makes Mom perfect

By Debbie Farmer

Last month, the local school district sponsored a literacy workshop for parents of kindergarten and first-grade students. The invitation was irresistible. It promised practical activities to promote my child's reading development, the presentation of the language arts curriculum and free baby-sitting.

Attendance was so great the line outside the school cafeteria looked like Yankee Stadium on the opening day of baseball season.

I sat next to a woman who also came to support her child's education. "I can't wait to get ideas that will increase my son's phonetic ability and help support literacy in our home," she said.

I was just happy to sit down for three consecutive minutes without changing a diaper or breaking up a fight. I looked around and began to wallow in guilt. I wondered how many parents skipped words as they read or tried to turn three pages at a time, hoping their child wouldn't catch on. And how many parents cringed at the thought of reading about the Berenstein Bears one more time and considered misplacing the entire collection out the car window on the freeway.

The room was silent as the speaker approached the microphone. "The most important thing you can do for your child," she said, "is to read out loud to them."

I gasped. Did street signs, menus and the TV guide count? After all, it wasn't my fault I was so tired by bedtime that my daughter never knew what became of Cinderella's glass slipper or the three little pigs.

I left the workshop armed with a list of suggestions to help mend my ways.

The next night, before bedtime, I pulled out my list and read the first rule--encourage responses to all kinds of stories. OK, I thought; no problem. After reading Little Red Riding Hood, without skipping a word, I turned to my daughter and asked what she thought.

She furrowed her brows for a moment and said, "The part about the woodsman slicing open the wolf's stomach to get the grandma out was cool."

I gave her a kiss, tucked her into bed and turned out the light.

The next night I implemented rule number two--encourage children to read picturebooks. I selected a cheerful picturebook about a family similar to ours.

"What do you think is going to happen?" I asked, as I showed my daughter the first page.

"I think," my daughter said as she looked at the picture, "that the little brother is going to take a long, long walk and get eaten by a terrible monster, then the big sister will get all of his toys and live happily ever after."

"How interesting," I said. Then I gave her a kiss, tucked her in and turned out the light.

The next night I tried rule number three--accept the re-reading of stories.

No matter how hard I tried I couldn't understand my daughter's excitement about Little Bo Peep losing her sheep (again) and Humpty Dumpty constantly falling off the wall. Did she think the ending would change? I sat down and read from her favorite book of nursery rhymes anyway, even though I was beginning to get a crazed look every time I saw an elderly goose wearing a bonnet and spectacles.

I gave her a kiss, tucked her in, and noticed she was smiling before I turned out the light.

On Saturday, my daughter and I had a date in the children's book section of the local library. I sat on a chair the size of a Lego and read stories until my voice turned hoarse. Then we checked out a few favorites to take home for the week.

I started to read everything I saw aloud, including road signs, store roofs and the sides of trucks, but I didn't notice much improvement in my daughter's reading ability until a couple of months later when I passed her room and heard a voice coming from inside. I picked up the bedtime story I planned on reading, put my hand on the door knob, and opened the door. My 2-year-old son was sitting on the bed engrossed in the story his sister was reading to him. My mouth hung open in disbelief. I waited until she was finished to kiss them goodnight and put them both into their beds.

"Mommy, could you leave the light on for a while?" my daughter asked, as I adjusted the covers. "I want to see my book."

"Of course," I said, "I'm so proud of you! You've become a very good reader."

"I know," she said, turning the first page. "Just like you."

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Debbie Farmer can be contacted at debbie@ecis.com.

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