How is beer feminine?

Well, OK, I’ve probably made some of my female friends angry with that statement, but let me explain . . .

I am diligently returning every other day to my Duolingo online account to learn basic French, and while I am picking up a few words and getting through some of the lessons, I am struggling to remember some of the rules, like biere being feminine (la bee-air-ech with that noise from the back of your throat) and sandwich being masculine, une sandwich. Or how the suffix of words changes depending on the noun—is it mange, manges, mangez, mangeons, mangent . . . depending on whether it’s tu, vous, l’homme, nous, ils . . . quel palabre!

All of this effort makes me fondly recall my wonderful literacy student, Moureen, when I worked for the Literacy Volunteers of America (LVA) while working in Passaic County, New Jersey. Moureen was a lovely, vibrant fifty-ish woman from Jamaica who had little proper schooling. Having been presented her first grandchild, she wanted to be able to read with her, help her with her homework, etc. I found Moureen’s willingness to go the the LVA to try to find her path to literacy courageous and admirable. She had to work hard to fit lessons and homework it into working, taking care of her home and her family (including as I recall a lazy husband) and babysitting her granddaughter.

We hit it off spectacularly. I had travelled to Jamaica many times in my life and so we had some common ground to start off the relationship. Moureen was also an extremely hard worker and appreciated my persistence with her pronunciation and spelling. She focused during our two hours each week, always attempted and often managed to complete the reading and writing assignments, and never, never gave up as exasperating as the English language can be!

Why is “oll” in doll and roll sound differently??  How can kernel and colonel sound the same and be spelled so differently? It’s just the rules, isn’t it? Silly rules that make adult learners tear their hair out trying to keep it all straight. We’d laugh at some of them, and she’d diligently write some notes down for reference in her book. And, occasionally, she’d slip up after a lesson or two when the word resurfaced.

I now feel her pain.

I haven’t thought about Moureen in a while, and it’s when I do that I feel sad that we lost touch a few years ago. I found it so hard to tell her that I was leaving New Jersey to come to England and so she’d need to find a new tutor after three and a half years of lessons with me. In those years we’d become friends, and we knew about our families and our ups and downs; we bought each other cards for birthdays and Christmas and Easter. We spent the first few minutes of most lessons catching up, but not too long because we both wanted to see Moureen improve. 

And she did. I was so proud of the essays she wrote and the fluency of the books we read together after years of study and practice. In fact, to this day one of my most proud moments of my life was being chosen as the Literacy Volunteer of the Year for Passaic County. It was an award that belonged to both of us—Moureen’s efforts to improve and my efforts and patience to get her there. The scores she received at each testing phase every six months always jumped a notch or two. I only recently came across the plaque I received; I had carried it with me from America to England because I was so damned proud of what it stood for. I did finally recycle it; I have the memories and no longer need the physical object.

Perhaps I’m also reminded a bit about Moureen because I am feeling that I will be challenged with my new primary school reading partner, a smiling, young girl in Year 3 called Isha. Some of her mannerisms remind me of when I first began reading with Joy—fidgety, unfocused—only she more so. We have for the first two weeks changed seats and books at least once in a 20-minute span, and while Isha prefers to sit near her classmates, it’s a huge distraction and I’m often trying to find ways to bring her eyes back to the page.

I will be patient. Isha does try, when she is focused, and will look at me after she takes some time to sort out a word, almost as though for acceptance, before moving on to the rest of the sentence. I nod and give a word of encouragement when she gets it right, or help her work through the sounds of the letters when she’s close but not quite correct.

The half hour goes quickly and she does give me a broad smile and a wave when she’s done—shades of Joy, who always had more energy than could fit in the room. With any luck I will be Isha’s reading partner for four years—enough time to see her improve and blossom into a strong reader. J'ai de grands espoirs!

Over the Moon

Have I ever shared with you my passion for reading?  I don’t watch much television—the set in London is rarely turned on by me, and when it is it’s to use the radio channels to tune in to classical music. There is no TV at Number 12; when there’s not a sailing event Tim and I will spend time reading, playing Scrabble, or watching the sailboats go by, and if there’s something we want to watch, the convivial atmosphere of one of the local pubs suits us. Reading is a way for me to pass the time in a relaxing way, or to learn about something new, or occasionally get lost in another century. Sometimes it’s all three rolled up in one delightful afternoon curled up on the sofa. Sure, I’ll indulge Tim and join him for an old black and white film now and again, but given the choice I’m more likely to find a book and sit near and ask the sound be not too loud!

It’s wonderful when you can take something you truly enjoy and share it with others, and as much as reading feels like self-indulgence, I’ve found a truly gratifying way to read that I suspect many of you have also enjoyed—reading with a child.

I have just finished my second year of reading with Joy. He is a bundle of energy with a big, beautiful smile who always greets me warmly and then dashes off for the current book we’re reading and our log that captures what page we’re up to and comments about the sessions.

I should correct myself before I get too far on to say that it’s Joy who does all the reading—I listen, occasionally helping him sound out a word or asking him to slow down at a full stop (translation: English for the punctuation period). We were partnered last year as part of the volunteer reading scheme for Camden Council in London. The Edith Neville primary school, near Kings Cross, has had a long-standing relationship with my company to have volunteers partner with children who need to improve their reading skills. I signed up for the scheme after an email requesting volunteers landed in my Inbox—frankly it was something I was interested in pursuing, having had a stint in the US with the Literacy Volunteers of America for several years, but I was concerned that taking on a similar role here might prove difficult, what with the differences in pronunciation of words, spelling differences, and even my accent, which could be deemed “disruptive.”

This was different—it wasn’t adult literacy, it was simply reading with a child under 13, with the goal to improve his confidence and skill. I had a bit of training, and of course there was the necessary CRB (a criminal background check) before being able to start. In due course I was approved and was ready to meet my partner, who turned out to be Joy.

My American accent was a bit of a draw rather than a hindrance—when I spoke it was different in an intriguing way, and the kids—usually the girls—would ask me where I was from and generally giggle when I talked. And if Joy was absent for a reading session, the hands would fly up when the teacher asked who’d like to read with me.

Joy is an eleven-year-old Bangladeshi who has a large family with siblings of various ages from 16 years to 16 months; I suspect it’s a busy household which is why the half hour each Thursday is special to him. We often start off with a little chat about what’s happened since our last meeting, especially if there was a school outing or a short break where he had some time with his family, and then we’d dive into the current book. 

We’ve had a few interesting reads this year—Not Yeti, which is about a boy whose parents are kidnapped and his search, with the help of Yetis, to find them; Zeus on the Loose, a rather funny book about a boy who creates a paper temple only to have Zeus show up to occupy it; a book about frogs; and even a brief history of Tutankhamun.

I always let Joy choose the book, and then will take a quick look through it to see if it presents the right challenge for his reading ability. We then find the quietest spot possible in a primary school (you’re not allowed to go behind closed doors) and settle in. Joy is easily distracted, as most boys his age are, so I am always looking for a place a bit farther away than the rest of the readers—there are at least a half dozen of us vying for space on Thursdays—and we often have a little glass-enclosed alcove to ourselves where Joy can focus without his classmates stopping by and listening, which they will do if at all possible!

I was prompted to write this post because I had a note from the school’s administrator in response to a letter I sent to Joy via her; the last official reading week is the one coming, and I’ll not be able to attend. While I had a chance to chat with Joy and tell him that and to wish him a happy summer, I felt like I wanted to put something in writing for him to let him know how much I really enjoyed our reading sessions together. It was a simply-worded single sheet where I embedded a few pieces of clip art, expressing how well Joy had done this year, really improving his skills at sounding out words, and how much I’m looking forward to being his reading partner as he starts Year 6 in September—his last year at Edith Neville, so our last year together. Amy sent me a note back later that afternoon to thank me, and to say how Joy was “over the moon” with the letter—he’d spent his entire lunch hour showing it to all of his classmates.

That, my dear friends, is priceless.

I will probably save Amy’s email and read it dozens of times because it has made me feel over the moon. I am already anticipating our reunion in September. In fact one of my fondest memories over the last two years is returning after the summer of 2011. When Joy saw me he immediately ran over and gave me a huge hug. We’re not allowed to touch the children in any way, though we are allowed to return a gesture, and believe me, I did. My colleagues standing nearby waiting for their reading partners all looked on and smiled, and afterwards they remarked how sweet it was that he showed such happiness in seeing me.

File this post under why we do the things we do; it often comes down to the love of something, doesn’t it? Like reading. With Joy.