How my children got me reading again and why I regret it

 

This is my first ever blog. I never thought of doing one before as I wasn’t sure I had anything to say and this may still be the case when we get to the end of this… but nevermind.

I love reading.

I read everyday.

I read about books everyday.

I talk about books everyday.

I pretty much buy books everyday.

But it certainly wasn’t always like this.

I read a bit when I was younger but never avidly. My sister did – our house was full of books. For me, Fighting Fantasy was great, The Machine Gunners was cool and that was pretty much it apart from some cracking Asterix audiobooks read by Willie Rushton. I was far more interested in Championship Manager (nothing has changed there) and my high elf Warhammer army (nothing has changed there either). I discovered Harry Potter at university (Azkaban had just come out) and then dipped in and out of books every now and then, mainly when I was on a holiday (the Stieg Larsson trilogy) but they were never an important part of my life.

Even as a teacher.

I always read to my classes, don’t get me wrong, but class reads weren’t an essential part of my teaching week, more something to do just before the end of the day.

Eight years ago my first daughter was born. For her first birthday I had the idea that instead of presents we asked that people bought her a book that was special to them growing up and write a message for her in it. We did the same for my second daughter and they now both have these beautiful collections of books with personalised messages from the special people in their lives. If I do say so myself, it was a great idea - my eldest is just about ready for The Demon Headmaster her uncle got her which was his favourite story growing up. I cannot wait for the conversation that they’ll have about it.

And yet still at this point I was reading David Walliams to my class.

I’m not going to spend the rest of this blog talking about his books, the simple facts are many of his representations are lazy and offensive and there are better books out there -  so read and buy them instead.

Why was I reading one of his books and not something ten times better? I didn’t know any better. I didn’t seek out new and exciting titles that would grip and enchant my class, or have them howling with laughter or questioning things they had always held to be true. The class read was fine – a nice way to end the day, but not much more than that.

We weren’t a class that read. We didn’t discuss books in any great detail yet each week I would expect them to turn up with a reading record filled in. Madness.

I now think very differently.

Readers are made from readers, but of course you knew that already.

Back at home I was always looking forward to the bedtime story part of my life as a dad. My dad had absolutely owned this part of the evening and I have many gorgeous memories of him reading me The House at Pooh Corner and absolutely nailing all the voices. I love reading to my children, pretty much more than anything. I started to find the most interesting books as I could to read to them. And I loved it.

I started reading more myself and buying more books for my class. I read to them more – we started talking about books more and more. I hadn’t read every book that I recommended to them but I knew what they were about and whether they were deemed to be good or not. Class readers became integral to our time together – sneaking chapters in whenever we could. I wrapped up secret books to give as prizes, the class swapped and recommended books to each other regularly.

We were a class that read.

I’m out of class now. I see the books that are in school and feel so jealous of the opportunities staff have to read them to the children. I have my own collection of books outside my office and hope children will come and borrow them as much as they want. Being out of class has been hard, I miss it terribly but I’ve found that books have been one way to help me stay connected to the children - I talk to them about books all the time.

At home my children adore books and I still adore reading to them (I can’t ever imagine not reading to them but know that at some stage, sadly, that day will come). We’ve done the reading scrapbooks together, Book World Cups, their monthly choice sheets and their knowledge of books is vast and wonderful and something I’m very proud of. My eldest has just experienced true pain as she’s finished Amulet no.8 and the last one isn’t out yet. She spoke to her favourite author at one of A New Chapter’s glorious Book Bingo nights and later said it was the best night of her life. My youngest has set up her own book shop in her room. Stuff like that makes my heart sing.

Anyway, back to ME. When I was in class, my final Year 6 class reads were:

Tin by Padraig Kenny

Once by Morris Gleitzman

The Clockwork Crow by Catherine Fisher

Dark Takes from the Woods by Daniel Morden

The Murderer’s Ape by Jakob Wegelius

The Middler by Kirsty Applebaum

I’m proud of that list, but there is not a yearly line up of my class reads that comes close to it. And here is where the regret comes in. I wasted too many years not reading great books to my class, not passionately discussing books with them or finding them books where they could truly see themselves and take hope, pride, strength and comfort from them.

When I was a class teacher I owned no graphic novels…

I can't tell you what to do but please don’t make the mistake I did. Be that teacher who reads. Immerse yourself in the incredible variety of children’s literature we now have access to and share them far and wide. Take book advice from the incredibly generous folk online and stare in amazement at your bank balance when you realise just how many books you bought last month.

You won’t regret it.