Like everywhere, school is back in session for the guys at Hanna Boys Center where I’m a volunteer. There’s something wonderfully grounding about the beginning of a new school year. It’s a fresh start, a clean slate. There’s a hunkering down for the long educational haul ahead, and there’s a sense of renewed commitments to learning. At least that’s the rosy way I see it. The students? Maybe not so much with the optimistic outlook. Did I hear a collective groan of dread?
I find people often misunderstand what HBC is. It’s not a juvenile detention center. It’s a residential, fully accredited, Catholic high school for troubled boys. The students who attend must advocate for themselves to get in the doors. They’re not court appointed. It’s that self-advocacy that makes all the difference when it comes to their attitudes. Not that they’re all thrilled to be there, but they’re willing to try. The school’s tag line is, “Where hurt is turned into hope.” And it is that noble mission statement that makes me so proud to be a part of the campus activities.
What I do is read individually with the ones who are having the most difficulty. Because I struggled so much with reading as a child and young adult, I have a rather keen sense of where the guys stumble. I know what it is to plod through a row of word and never get what’s being said. It’s my job to slow them down so they can catch the meaning of a sentence, a paragraph, the story.
One of my best examples of this came when I was reading Born On a Blue Day with one of the boys. It’s a memoir written by Daniel Tammet, an autistic savant. His gift with numbers had landed him a spot on The David Letterman Show. Tammet was describing his trip to New York and walking around Times Square. When I asked my student if he knew what Times Square was, he said, “No.” He could read the word “Times,” and he could read the word “Square,” but he hadn’t made the connection in the story. So I asked him to take a guess. He guessed that Times Square had something to do with math. Of course he would think that; the whole story up to that point had been about the importance of numbers and numerical calculations in the author’s life. “Times” tables, “Square” roots, that’s math. When I told the student that it was the place where they drop that huge crystal ball at midnight on New Years Eve, his face lit up with instant recognition, and he exclaimed, “Oh, that place that looks like Tokyo?” Yes! Exactly! And we gave each other high fives. I’ll never forget it.
I have this sort of exchange with the students just about every session. When there’s a disconnect between the student’s understanding of the world and what they’re reading, then they become lost, frustrated, and disgusted. I tell them, “Ya, I hated to read too, when I didn’t know how.” Word recognition is obviously an essential component to reading, but developing a mental picture of what’s being described is what turns readers into lovers of books.
This is my second year on campus, so the guys are getting used to me and how I work. They seem okay with the focused attention and a couple have even requested to sit and read with me. What’s not to love about that. I’m so lucky.
I hope you have a lovely Labor Day ahead, and I’ll post again next Friday.