The Long, Quiet Hallway
It was at Salisbury Elementary School where I was told I wasn’t at the reading level I should be. Unlike most people I don’t remember the exact moment I was told, who told me, even where I was. I do however remember the process I had to go through to be at level I was expected to reach.
Am I a bad reader? How am I supposed to fix this? Why me?
All of these questions ran through my head as I worked to reach the reading level I was expected to reach.
Every time my fourth grade class would start our daily reading session myself and four other girls would get up from our seats and walk to the end of the hall. It was a long walk to the end of the hall for me. I was never overly excited to go read after I found out I was basically bad at it. In fact I never wanted to go because I hated feeling stupid, like I wasn’t good enough to stay and read with everyone else. These were the thoughts that went through my mind as I walked down the long, quiet hallway.
As we reached the end of the hallway we were greeted by Mrs. Russell. Mrs. Russell was an older woman maybe in her late forties, always so happy and excited to read with us. She always wore her hair up with long dangly earrings. We would enter the room, covered with reading posters, books, a table in each corner for different activities, and a white board next to the table we always sat at. We would all go sit down around the table. Mrs. Russell would hand us each a book we had been working on. She would always ask us if someone wanted to read first. We always read aloud. Of course no one ever volunteered so she would pick someone. We would go around the table, each reading a section until our time was up and we got to go back to class.
The feeling of being separated is never a good feeling, especially when I am being separated because I am different. The feeling that you don’t belong in a certain group because you aren’t at the correct reading level is unsettling.
I used to love to read when I was younger. I would read with my mom or dad, or sometimes both every night. My favorite place to read with my parents was in their bed. The pillows and blankets surrounding us. I would always sit in the middle of my parents all warm and comfortable.
After I was told I was a bad reader I didn’t have a love for reading anymore. The extra time and effort I had to put in at school to reach the standard reading level drained all enjoyment of reading I had. The enjoyment of reading had vanished and it now become a daily task that I disliked. It has been like this ever since I walked down that hall for the first time to that room.
Granted the room at the end of the hall wasn’t the only room I had to go to. There was also this blue room. The blue room was painted blue, had blue tables, blue chairs, and blue bookshelves filled with books. I went to this room by myself and met with Mrs. Silver or Mr. Johnson. All I ever really did with them was read words on a notecard. On the occasion they would take out this huge binder filled with words on pages. They would test me on how fast I could read the words and read them correctly. The faster I read them the better of a reader I am apparently.
Is that what makes a good reader? Reading fast? Will that make me reach the standard reading level?
All these questions ran through my head as I was being taught how to be a better reader.
I would see Mrs. Russell everyday, her huge smile greeted me as I walked into her room everyday. She was always encouraging all of us to read more, especially outside of class. Her goal for all of us was to for all of us to be able to read proficiently and not need the help any longer. She pushed us all to improve and be better readers. Most of the time however I ignored her, never willing to go the extra mile. There were so many other things I wanted to do instead of reading. I would choose to play outside, or even do other homework before I would read. I would do just about anything to get out of reading. I thought I was reading enough during school anyway. I felt as if I was being forced to read.
Forced to read to reach this standard, a standard I didn’t even understand.
I never was really explained what was wrong with my reading. Never told what the standard reading level was, or what level I was actually at. My dislike for reading more than likely came from this time in my life. It is sad to say that my dislike for it has never gone away. I see myself avoiding reading when possible, putting it off until the last minute. Perhaps the way they treated this whole process has turned me off from reading. I still feel as if I have scars from what happened. I still am not confident with my reading even though I have reached the standard. I hate reading out loud because I feel like I will read everything wrong and people will judge. This processes took a lot of confidence from me.
