“We have just ten minutes before the music assembly, so we can get started on our final portfolio. In the past, the audience for these portfolios has been your parents, but this time it is…” I say waiting for some sign of life.
“You?” one student shouts.
“Nope. Your eighth grade English teachers. Now, I don’t know which one you will have, but that’s okay. Your portfolios will be on a hyperdoc, and they can just find your name and see all your great work and your introduction video.”
“What if I won’t be back here for eighth grade?” one student asks.
“Really? Well, this doc would be really easy to email your teacher next year. You read so many books, learned so much — we want your teachers to know what you can do so they can extend this year’s learning. Okay, let’s go to Google Classroom and pull up the shared doc.”
“What’s the ‘creative nonfiction’ piece? Is that what we did back in August with our partners?” one student asks, looking at his neighbor who is nodding.
“Why, yes. That is when we interviewed a classmate for a story and rendered it into a narrative piece with sensory language and dialogue. The first step in a portfolio is to collect. Right? Collect evidence of learning, and as you collect, you will recall, remember, reminisce about what you did, learned, experienced. This will require some digging through your Drive, but we will have lots of time for this. Later, we will reflect in Screencast where you will talk about the pieces you select and introduce yourself to your teacher.”
As students whisper, search, copy, paste, hyperlink, I walk around the classroom to be sure everyone has found the shared doc. One student has found item seven: The Book I Most Appreciated. He has skipped over the first six.
“What if I don’t appreciate any of the books I read this year?” he says rather rhetorically and with a slight grin, I think.
It is day 174 of school. We spent time every day reading books students chose. The entire year was about appreciating the written word — words we write, words we read. I am angry. I suspect he knew I would be. I take a deep breath.
“Gosh, you may notice that this item does not say like though I hope you have liked some of the books you chose to read this year, but this is about appreciating the time, craft, and subject matter that the books explore; that someone wrote the books you read — some over months, some over years; and that the books made it into your hands, here in this classroom, through agents, publishers, printers, bookstores, librarians, classmates, and me. Every book has something to appreciate. Did I fail in teaching that this year?”
Okay, my lecture was going on a bit too long, so I had to step away. By including “the book I most appreciated” in the portfolio, I thought we could glean which subjects and stories most resonated with students this year, but I did not phrase this well, and it looked like a trap. I can imagine this student thinking, “If I answer this question, then it will look like I like reading, like I appreciate books. It will mean that I got something out of this class. It will mean, ugh, that I might be a reader.”
I work my way around the room as students select their best evidence: a public speaking video, an interview with a family member, blog posts. I am circling back to my savvy student who is reading between the lines. I am thinking about all the books I saw him read this year, some he wrote about, some he talked about: Drama by Raina Telgemeier, All American Boys by Brendan Kiely and Jason Reynolds, The Someday Birds by Sally J. Pla, and Amulet Book One by Kazu Kbiuishi (which he said in another portfolio was his favorite).
I am feeling proud of myself that I can recall the books he read. I am proud because he chose these, but I know which students, librarians, teachers, and reviews enticed him to pick up these books. I know he was completely enthralled during class time reading these books.
I am also feeling responsible for failing to help him find space for the reader within. As his reading list grew and as his test scores soared, his appreciation for reading did not — at least that is what he is saying — which likely has something to do with me. I just did not connect with him this year. I just did not shift his perception of reading or what a reading class can be this year.
I suspect this exchange with Appreciation was part personal and part not. You see, I am not sure Appreciation sees me as human. I failed to humanize myself and reading. I think, to some students, I am a nonentity embodying all that teens loathe about reading — sitting still, having to choose books, discussing stories, writing noticings and emotions. It’s boring. No one would choose to read.
The English classroom is an identity. True, some people find themselves in an English classroom, loving the quiet, contemplative reading experience followed by dynamic conversation about meaning. But it is also true that some reject that classroom and everyone and everything it represents. Even after 174 days of access to any and every book imaginable, students can still reject reading.
As I arrive at Appreciation’s desk, I hold my tongue and glance over his shoulder at the shared doc illuminating his Chromebook, and in column number seven, he has typed All American Boys.