I have this childhood memory that haunts me. It scares me to the core of my being and the thought of widespread bibliocide disgusts me so much that when I think of it, I want to lean over and purge my guts of the hideousness which scars so many of my peers, my fore-generation, and surely generations to come. The memory is this:
I am a third grader, sitting at my third-grade sized desk--the ones with the cubbies full of crayons, cut up construction paper, and littered with folded up notes passed among giggling children. The class is being obnoxious and noisy while the teacher attempts to teach why it is that we celebrate Thanksgiving (the G-rated version without all of the Indian killing and slavery), when suddenly Mrs. Huddle turns around, noticably annoyed. That piercing staredown she gives us informs us that we are in serious trouble.
What is she going to do to us this time? Will she slap our hands with rulers like the horror stories my Dad told me of his growing up? Will she, heaven forbid, call our parents into the Principal's office? Is she going to keep us in from our beloved recess, or worse, make us stand on the wall and watch all of the other third-graders play four square and tether ball while we wish beyond wishes we could play?
No.
It is worse. "Fine. You guys don't want to pay attention to me, pull out your books." The class groans as we all go to the book case to grab our fifteen pound textbooks.
"Read the next three chapters before recess or you'll be staying through your recess until it's done." In unison, the class cries NOOOOOooooo! Not reading!
Punishment. Reading? Yes.
No wonder half of my peers can't spell or read. My college peers. College students (and for that matter, some of my teachers) can't spell simple words like "scarier". OUR FORMER US PRESIDENT, for crying out loud!
So I'm hoping for a revolution--I'll call it the RR, Reading Revolution...come on people, let's open a friggin' book!
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