Literacy Now

I strongly support the claim that children learn best through play. However, as a reading scientist who studies how beginners learn to read, I feel compelled to clarify a few misconceptions about the forms of literacy instruction appropriate during the early childhood years (birth to age 8). The supposition that teachers should not provide literacy instruction to young children is troubling and dangerous, and suggesting that all children will acquire sufficient literacy skills through play alone is misguided.

These claims stem from a misunderstanding of literacy instruction as didactic, teacher-centered instruction. However, literacy instruction and didactic instruction are not synonymous. Although both involve teacher lesson planning, literacy instruction can assume several forms ranging on a continuum from a play-based approach to a direct, teacher-led approach, whereas didactic instruction is more narrowly defined as teacher-centered with students as passive learners. There is a tremendous amount of nuance along the continuum from play-based to teacher-led literacy learning that should be acknowledged, and it should be obvious that didactic instruction is to be avoided.

Teachers may choose to use a more direct, teacher-led approach to teach literacy skills. In the literacy research field, we call this providing explicit and systematic instruction in research-based approaches, and at a certain age this is exactly what some children need to crack the code, that is, to learn how letters represent sounds and how to use this knowledge to read and spell words. This form of instruction involves active student participation and a variety of highly engaging materials (think kindergartner with a wipey board and magnetic letters or shaving cream!). This is a far cry from the conventional view of didactic instruction where a teacher stands at a blackboard with a pointer, or students are mindlessly drilled with worksheets.

Effective literacy instruction for beginners is necessarily teacher centered because the teacher needs to facilitate and scaffold learning on the basis of her knowledge of the skills students need to acquire. This instruction is anything but passive on the student’s end. This form of instruction can be done in small groups or one-on-one. In fact, for children who haven’t developed specific literacy skills by a certain age, it is malpractice not to teach concepts to them directly and give them repeated practice, in a developmentally appropriate and engaging way. Student-centered, discovery learning has its place, but so does direct and explicit instruction, when done properly.

Teachers may choose to teach literacy skills through a play-based, child-centered/teacher-facilitated, exploration mode. This is obviously the most developmentally appropriate way to teach literacy skills to young children. The misconception here is that students are “just” playing. Instead, it should be clear that they are playing in a language- and print-rich environment with teachers interacting with the students and facilitating in-the-moment learning opportunities. Highly skilled teachers who have a strong understanding of the development of literacy skill acquisition intentionally manipulate the environment and scaffold activities and materials to systematically expose children to early literacy concepts. Skills are strategically embedded into play-based activities, which facilitate learning.
High-quality teachers are smart and savvy facilitators of the environment, and they use their creativity to embed early literacy learning and skills into daily activities. This makes effective play-based literacy instruction difficult to do well, but when done so, it results in powerful learning experiences for children. Simply sending kids off to play will not, on its own, culminate in students’ acquiring literacy skills necessary for future success in reading.

Both forms of instruction on the ends of the continuum, explicit and play-based, require highly skilled teachers who have a strong understanding of the development of literacy skills informed by scientific discoveries, which allows them to systematically scaffold instruction. Both forms of instruction also require the use of highly engaging materials. Furthermore, good teachers know when and how to use both forms of instruction depending on the student and the concept. They assess student learning and adjust their instructional approaches on the basis of who is successfully acquiring the skills through a play-based, student-centered model, and who needs to learn the concept in a more direct and explicit manner.

Reading science research has demonstrated that certain skills are imperative for young children to learn in the very early years of life. Specifically, students with stronger letter knowledge and phonemic awareness at school entry have been shown to make greater progress in learning how to read, and experimental studies have demonstrated that when young children are taught these skills they make more progress in learning to read than children who do not receive systematic and explicit instruction in these skills.

In the early years, these skills can be systematically embedded into play-based, child-centered activities. However, early childhood teachers need to be vigilant for children who haven’t acquired these skills at specific developmental time points. These children then need the instruction provided in an explicit way to ensure that they do not fall behind benchmarks in their literacy skill development.

The danger of equating the concepts of direct and explicit instruction with didactic instruction, and thus assuming that didactic instruction should be avoided, has damning implications for students from lower socioeconomic status communities and English learners who are often deficient in these skills. In essence, by adopting a play-only viewpoint, any form of direct and explicit literacy instruction is avoided, and subsequently, the code is held hostage for our most needy children at critical times in their development.

Katharine Pace Miles is an assistant professor of early childhood education at Brooklyn College in New York.

"The most important thing you will do this year is read," I told my students on the first day of school. I looked at their dubious faces and promised, "You will love it."

True to my word, we spent an inordinate amount of the school day immersed in texts. We read newspapers, novels, poems, songs, math problems, comic strips, and recipes. We read aloud and silently, we read in groups and individually, we read with partners in our class and we ventured to lower grades to read with buddies. Before long, of their own volition, students were reading at lunch, at recess, on the subway platform while waiting for the train and on the subway itself while en route to field trips. 

A fellow straphanger, upon noticing half the train filled with kids absorbed in books, once observed, "Your students love to read!" 

"Damn straight," I said proudly. "Eat, sleep, read, baby."

My first year of teaching, I decided nothing I did with my students was more important than reading. Students who read better wrote better, had stronger vocabularies, had deeper analytical skills, and performed better in other subjects, including math. Given that the majority of my students was below proficiency in reading, I was determined they leave my room at the end of the year significantly stronger and loving to read. I reasoned that if they enjoyed reading, they would be motivated to continue to read long after they left me, and if they continued to read, they would continue to grow in proficiency and that this improved ability to read would further nurture their vocabularies, writing skills, performance in other subjects and, more important, their opportunities in life. When people questioned the amount of time and energy I was dedicating to establishing a culture of kids who were absolutely obsessed with reading, I resolutely said, "It's a matter of life and death." 

OK, so maybe that was a tad dramatic, but I needed to get the point across that giving kids as many minutes a day as possible to read was massively important. The Alliance for Excellent Education recently published a report finding 60% of fourth and eighth graders in the United States have “reading issues.” With daunting statistics like this in mind, I cofounded an ed tech company with a K–12 literacy app so even more schools could replicate the literacy best practices I'd honed in my classroom. Yet although I've zealously extolled the virtues of reading for over a decade now, I never stopped to contemplate the critical role of literacy in my own life until very recently.

Six months ago I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma, doctor speak for malignant breast cancer. I have no family history, I do not carry the gene, I exercise, I eat well, I floss my teeth, I am a good person—I help kids read better, dammit! Yet at age 33, after only recently becoming a new mom to a beautiful baby girl, I discovered a lump in my left breast, and it was cancer. So what did I do? Well, first I cried. A lot. And then I got down to business and started reading.

I immediately researched my diagnosis and its treatment options. I learned about lumpectomies and mastectomies and reconstruction and radiation and chemotherapy and hormone therapy and recurrence. When my breast surgeon asked me, "What do you want to do?" I confidently told her, "I want a double mastectomy with reconstruction." I knew without a doubt this was the best course of action for me. When I met with my oncologist, I was equally confident. Sure, she had loads of medical training, but I was a Google genius. I’d decoded my pathology report prior to the appointment and thoroughly understood my cancer. I was not intimidated by the fancy words she used because those words were now also part of my vocabulary. When she told me I would need chemotherapy, I was saddened, but not shocked. I understood that because of my age and because of the nature of cancer in general and breast cancer in particular, I had a higher chance of recurrence in the future. When it came time to pick my chemo cocktail, I understood which one was best for me and felt secure in that choice of treatment. 

We so often think of literacy as the ability to read a passage and answer multiple-choice questions, to write a college essay, to apply for a job, to pull a lever in a voting booth, but how often do we think of the role literacy plays in our health? Because I am literate, I could own and understand my diagnosis. I could self-advocate. I could navigate the overwhelmingly complex healthcare system in the United States—the preapprovals, deductible requirements, out-of-pocket responsibilities. I could harness the organizational aptitude required to maintain order during a wildly disorderly time in my life.

Never did I imagine that my fervent belief in literacy would someday save me. Now I think about my own child, all the children I once taught, and those I'm reaching through my company, and I know lives are being saved in more ways than are conceivable. Reading is fundamental and foundational to learning and life requires us to be learners every single day. Consider the importance of literacy in your own life and the times your ability to read damn well empowered you. Now consider the implications for your classrooms, schools, and districts. Are you empowering your children to be literate beings?

Jessica Sliwerski is cofounder and Chief Academic Officer of LightSail Education, a literacy software company dedicated to improving reading outcomes for all children. She is an educator with K-12 teaching and coaching experience, a literacy specialist and former school administrator. Jessica lives in Brooklyn, NY, and enjoys reading, traveling and yoga.

I’ve carried four backpacks.

My first, la mochila azul, was given to me in elementary school. I had little-to-no homework in it, but it carried words that weighed me down like bricks. Bastard—my father walked out when I was 2. Abandoned—my mother left me in México when I was 5 to cross that border to, one day, make a home for all of us in the United States.

Years later, I reunited with mom and met a new father, a man I desperately wanted to hate because he was not my papá. This new father used his sense of humor to ease the pain, of heart and belly combined. I remember enjoying dumpster diving amid trash and feces to look for cans and cardboard because he made it a game that we could play. “Pobrefication,” he’d said in broken English, diagnosing our economic situation. We escaped to a world of “Ricolandia” where we dined at imaginary restaurants passing the “greipoopon,” even if we were really in a Compton alleyway digging amid trash for cans. We’d raise just enough, by selling cans and well-stacked cardboard, so that we could taste a little bit of meat once a month at the local taquería. The other days we wined and dined on gourmet meals that mom cooked up making “a dollar out of 15 cents.”

Home—in the United States—meant never getting to keep a friend, constantly moving to dodge immigration and high rent. On three occasions, mom was deported. Each time, I’d cry myself to sleep thinking mommy would never return. This second backpack no longer carried just words, now it helped me “handle it.” It carried rubber cement glue and a plastic bag. That glue’s chemicals danced in a plastic bag that I’d place over my head to numb me to sleep and knock out from feeling as if my heart would rip out of my body.

Escape—there were many of those. “Handling it” wasn’t all bad, though. At times, I cried myself into a stupor remembering the pueblito where I was uprooted from, but could still exist with the power of a pen:

there's a place on an unpaved road called memory
where having "nothing" becomes a blessing,
and in that place callous hands salt tortillas
and Holy Ghost believers crawl
adorned with crowns full of thorns.

These words would tear (llorar) onto a napkin, practically writing themselves, and later a teacher would call them poetry. I’d write under the riverbed for months, years. Who knew writing could provide a release, an escape, a potential path towards healing?

Hitting helped. I’d hit the daylights out of baseballs and became a great batter. But it certainly didn’t start out that way. This hidden talent came from ticking off my little league coach as he’d say, “Just bunt the ball will you?!” After three quarters of a season on the bench I had enough. I took a shot. I swung, ever so awkwardly, and pounded the ball to deep right field. I hit it so hard that I fell to the floor. All I could hear was screams of, “run, run, run.” So I ran, to batting cages, to poetry events, to anywhere that would help me find my hidden talents so I, too, could exist with purpose.

It was there in that third backpack that I found not just a pen or a bat, but also Grandma Socorro’s picture. Torn edges, a black-and-white staged photo from the 1940s, of a stoic woman, failing to capture her vibrantly colorful spirit, serving as a reminder of lessons unlearned. I can still hear her whistling “La Prieta Negra,” as she boils water for “te de yerba buena” to help me relax. She’d stretch out her droopy arms, God manifest, and I knew that once again there was refuge in her loving embrace. It was there I found peace.

When she passed, the woman who helped raise me became a megaphone in my ear. “Por algo sobreviviste, por algo estas aquí. ¿Que aprendiste?” (You survived and are still here for a reason, what have you learned?) Although she was the one with cataracts, it was I who couldn’t see. Her death was like laser surgery to my vision. I found a metaphorical box labeled “hidden gifts.” With new eyes, I could see:

My father leaving, a blessing, he stopped hurting us.

My mother’s deportations, a blessing, I learned that nothing can stop us.

Digging through the photos of my mom I found a warrior who fought like hell to dodge immigration, a grandmother who survived revolutions in México, and it is they who gifted me the will to deal.

My life’s calling, that fourth backpack, made me a street pusher, dumpster diver, sniffer of pain, and hidden gift finder, in a school setting with a formal title of “teacher”:

There’s no branding or lining kids up
there’s no Mr. Cruz, just césar
no memorizing the 38th president
merely asking kids to observe 38th avenue

i ask questions
make students feel comfortably
uncomfortable

i start with me
where am i from
opening my own wounds
most with little to no prodding

if i want them to open up
i take that first step

I ask youth
to consider that the ‘downest’
homegirl on the block
may be grandma

then I deal

I slang hope
harder than corner(ed) drug pushers deal dope.

I teach.

With everything I have, by observing what kids carry, what they show and what they hide.

I pay attention to their first backpack.

I notice when they act disposable, disengage to numb the pain, how they graduate into coping.

With time, exploration of self, and an “I’ll-take-a-bullet-for-you” love, I help them see what’s already inside of them, their gifts, talents, and resiliency.

If I can help a young person explore his or her life’s calling, my job is done. That doesn’t make me exemplary or revolutionary, but merely blessed to carry a lot, and privileged to pass it on.

César A. Cruz has dedicated his life to fighting for justice, from marching 76 straight miles to hunger striking for 26 days. He was born in Guadalajara, Jalisco, México and migrated to the United States at a young age with a single mother and grandmother and grew up in South Central Los Angeles. César graduated from UC Berkeley with a B.A. in history and has been an educator for 20 years, most recently serving as Dean of Students at Arise High School in Oakland, CA. He cofounded the independent school, “Making Changes,” out of his home, and has sought to create autonomous education spaces. He has overseen the Homies Empowerment Program serving trauma impacted/gang involved youth in Oakland. He is the author of two books, Revenge of theIllegal Alien and Bang for Freedom. Currently, he has completed the second year of a doctoral program in Educational Leadership at the Harvard Graduate School of Education. Last summer, he served as the Assistant Dean of Harvard University’s Secondary Schools Program. During the third year of his doctoral program, César joined the staff of Homeboy Industries and will conduct a 10-month residency at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles. At Harvard, he is part of a great teaching team that has officially brought Ethnic Studies course to HGSE. Amid all, he is proudest to be a husband, and father of three children: Olin, Amaru, and Quetzali.

As I was walking on the beach one day, I found a Slinky toy sitting on the sand. I smiled because I remembered playing with one as a kid. The interesting thing about this toy is that it can’t properly move in or out, up or down, or side to side if any part of its coil is dysfunctional. It can’t operate freely if there are any kinks in its design. As I played with the Slinky, I reflected on how similar it is to the reading–writing process.

Let’s examine a few kinks that prevent kids from flexibly moving in and out, up and down, and side to side, independently:

Not enough practice

As kids learn to read, they must read and write constantly to become better at reading and writing. Without practice, they lack proficiency, confidence, and independence with a variety of genres. Without practice, they struggle to read on or above grade level. Kids need to practice with a Slinky!

Not enough text levels

Kids who are learning to read must be taught to read using increasingly difficult text levels. Without the right books, they begin to develop inappropriate behaviors for coping with—and avoiding—texts that are too hard, frustrating, and complex. Without the right books, an incremental staircase on which to learn, practice, reinforce, and master internal strategies, they will not be able to read independently. Kids use a staircase to operate a Slinky!

Not enough sight words

Readers must have a strong base of sight words that serve as lifelines while learning to read. Without enough sight words under their belts, kids’ brains have to figure out every word, which slows down the process. What’s the best way to teach kids how to read sight words quickly and accurately? Have kids write them, fast. Kids learn swiftly to manipulate a Slinky, automatically!

Not enough phonemic awareness and phonics instruction

The code must be cemented into the brains of young readers in order to decode accurately and read fluently. Without phonemic awareness and phonics instruction, kids lack proficiency with the code needed to read and write. They must know how the code works, which takes knowledge, practice, application, and mastery. There’s no way around it. Kids can’t make the Slinky perform without the coils!

Not enough background knowledge

Talk to kids. Read to kids. Write to kids. Ask good questions that encourage kids to think, share, learn, and express themselves. Without enough background knowledge, readers may be able to decode words, but they have difficulty comprehending what they mean. Kids can’t make the Slinky work in different ways if they don’t watch, learn, and interact and experiment with a slinky!

Not enough daily reading and writing instruction

Teachers are essential. They are not optional. Kids must be taught by teachers who know how to teach reading and writing. Without daily reading and writing instruction, the process of learning to read and write is difficult, delayed, frustrating, tedious, and self-defeating. A Slinky can’t be easy and fun for kids to play with if it doesn’t come out of the box often!

In order to read and write with proficiency, accuracy, independence, and confidence, kids must receive the following:

• Practice
• Text levels
• Sight words
• Phonemic awareness and phonics instruction
• Background knowledge
• Daily reading and writing instruction

So what exactly is The Slinky Factor? If there are any kinks in the coils that make up the system for reading within the brain, kids won’t learn to read properly. How do we identify the kinks? We do this by observing kids read and write, by assessing what they can do and what they need, by using formal and informal assessment data to drive instructional decisions, and by fixing the kink immediately.

If a kid is not getting enough practice, we should increase the amount of time he or she actually is reading independently, daily. If a kid isn’t being taught using increasingly difficult quality texts, we need to buy more books and use them for instruction. If a kid can’t read common sight words with ease and accuracy, we should increase the amount of time kids read and write until sight words become automatic. If a kid has had limited exposure to letters, sounds, onsets and rhymes, common chunks, oral and written language, and working with words, we should use every resource to teach him or her the code. If a kid has been isolated from books, travel, life experiences, environmental print, and role models, we should plan as many vocabulary activities, book handling opportunities, questioning strategies, literature experiences, and storytelling moments as we possibly can. If a kid is not receiving daily reading and writing instruction, we should ask why not, and fix that—fast.

When was the last time you played with a Slinky? Maybe it’s time to get one as a reminder of what happens when there are no kinks in the Slinky…and what happens when there are.

Connie Hebert is an international literacy consultant and the author of Catch a Falling Reader, Catch a Falling Writer, and The Teachable Minute. She can be contacted at www.conniehebert.com.

1995 is a dual landmark in the history of literacy studies. First, because the International Literacy Association (ILA), formerly the International Reading Association, published the pioneering book The Literacy Dictionary. Second, because the word literacy is used in the book’s title.

Inspired by the extensive changes in education theory and practice, The Literary Dictionary both defines terms and delves into the social components of language. Intended as a resource for educators, the book is a reference tool that serves to update and expand upon information introduced in its predecessor, published more than a decade earlier.

This lexicographic resource is significant, as it provides readers with a comprehensive list of 38 representative types of literacy, a full-page essay on literacy by Richard L. Venezky, a two-page entry on literacy, and five entries on specific terms: literacy event, literacy fallacy, literacy gap, literacy involvement, and literacy laboratory.

If I were asked to update the list of literacy types with an example of a relevant concept, I would make a case for “Global Peace Literacy.” This compound term combines globalization and peace, two challenging, life-changing, life-supporting, life-sustaining forces that characterize humankind’s current educational efforts toward deeper knowledgeability.

How can Global Peace Literacy be implemented? By engaging literacy educators in initiatives including:

1. Helping readers/viewers (of all ages) access and make the most of peace-inspiring publications, print or online, in as many languages as possible. In short, creating a world of peace-loving and peace-promoting readers/viewers.

2. Advocating the inclusion of Global Peace Literacy in K–12 curriculum, along with Global Human Rights Literacy and Global Dignity Literacy.

3. Supporting the establishment and operation of Global Peace Literacy centers in a variety of public spaces, including schools, places of worship, and other gathering places.

4. Providing financial support to intraeducational/cultural/intereducational research on Global Peace Literacy as a sustainable commitment to cultivating what I would call LIF PLUS: the life-improving force of peaceful language use.

5. Recognizing the need for Global Literacy to take a peaceful dimension, given the increasing threat and destruction brought about by terrorism, especially of a cultural nature. In such spirit, a Global Peace Literacy educator would help prepare today’s and tomorrow’s citizens to cope with culturally/communicatively harmful practices and to learn to prevent and overcome violence .

6. Encouraging education leaders to take part in a sustained campaign for a world in which Global Peace Literacy thrives through communication including reading, writing, speaking, and listening.

In the revised, expanded edition of ILA’s The Literacy Dictionary, perhaps a prominent place will be reserved for Global Peace Literacy.

Francisco Gomes de Matos is a peace linguist in Recife, Brazil and a word list reviewer for The Literacy Dictionary. He welcomes feedback on his suggested addition.