Sharing: An Intersection of Reading and Shame

I was reminded at a conference recently how shame emerges from students who struggle with foundational skills and illiteracy. The shame of not knowing how to read. It seems to me the discussion of shame in reading is still focused and concentrated here, which is unsurprising. It was clear in the Science of Reading courses I took and an essential premise of childrenofthecode.org.

My primary problem remains is shame isn’t incarnate only because of foundational skills and phonics. I contend that executive functioning, comprehension, and reading identity are far more affected by shame. Nonetheless, I still spent plenty of time reflecting on shame in reading. I ponder what aspect of reading most likely brings shame in our reading classrooms. I found myself a bit surprised thinking about the role of sharing.

Sharing is a comprehensive concept in education. Sharing can be as minor as contributing to morning meetings. It can be as exhausting as presenting in front of a class. It could mean discussing a perspective or perception in a small group. There are many ways “sharing” occurs in our literacy classrooms. We’re supposed to share in school because, on the surface, it reveals our cognition and affect, or how we feel, to an extent. Meaning, sharing is somewhat obligatory. Shame, however, works underneath the surface.

Just as sharing has a range of opportunities, it has a range of consequences.

Shame is present in my classroom because of sharing. I could simply be holding a discussion about reading in a small group setting and students melt because they’ve been asked to explain.  Explaining a thought about reading vs. retelling or summarizing, which are stoic, sterile responses to texts, requires depth. This depth comes from affect and cognition (combined) during reading.

Tragically, I’ve found in the past decade, that many students who read for pleasure don’t often have much to say about their reading. I used to think it was because of Reading Comprehension Difficulties (RCD) alone. However, I found students who read to comply or to keep themselves busy (perhaps emulating home routines) have little understanding of what they read. They demonstrate an emotional disconnect. When they arrive in their small group, they’ve done their reading, know what they read, and can share what they know. They don’t know what to share, perhaps because they’ve never been taught or had the opportunity.  These students read for themselves and find reading gratifying and an approach to self-care. That is until they hate reading because I want to talk with them about it and they’re stunned.

For other students, sharing is the “gotcha” moment. The moment of truth where they’ve been found guilty of not reading. For others, it’s the fear of exposure that they didn’t read, they didn’t understand, they couldn’t perform like their peers. And it doesn’t matter what book it is, or the level, complexity, or genre, that’s different. Here it’s about possessing the right processes to read, the right purpose, or being able to communicate on par with “smarter” peers or those with more social capital. It’s the risk, fear, and vulnerability of being seen in a light, the reader doesn’t want to be seen, but cannot avoid because “sharing” is an essential component of all classrooms.

I for one, don’t participate in book groups. Never will. I have a problem. I like reading and I become insanely excited talking about books and sharing perspectives, perceptions, and connections. It’s worse with professional development texts.  I am enamored with the hope inspired by such books, the promise, the validation that what I do is right, and ways to strengthen my practice. I become overly impulsive and carried away. I get loud and emotional, and I can’t settle down. I stopped participating. I was offending people or “sharing the air.” Worse, too many book studies were simply procedures, with no follow-through. I stopped attending because the emotional nature of my reading, the vulnerability of sharing, personal boundaries I was invited to forsake in the name of “everyone has a voice” had little relevance. I thought what I said mattered until it didn’t because what I considered an authentic reading experience and discussion was a formality.

I recognize this doesn’t happen to such an extreme at the intermediate level or middle school, but it happens.  Students know that small-group reading is procedural, a formality. It has to be done because that is what we do at school.  Assigned books, that are traditional canon, doesn’t inspire readers. It’s something done to them. They oblige silently because the outcome is the same whether they share or not. I don’t mean in the way of grades; I mean that it will be over one way or another. Why should any student add their voice to something that is a routine? Those who will speak and want to take something away, will.  They have a personal investment that counts. Some might have had a personal investment but have learned it doesn’t matter. More, why would they produce responses if there is a right or wrong designation, manufactured, or not in line with what they’re supposed to say? That’s not inclusive of students intimidated by social capital or who succumb to silence because no place exists for them where “everyone has a voice.”  Or worse, not appreciated.

I’ve seen students who are ridiculed by peers for how much they read, how much they can talk about a text, and how much they know because they’ve read. It’s heartbreaking and damaging. While it’s impossible to understand how much a person knows or how much they read, it’s not impossible to respect a person for those attributes. Why would a person share if they faced kickback about their knowledge from their personal investment in reading?

This is why sharing has more implications for shame than foundational skills, in my opinion.

Sure, illiteracy is nothing to discount, and the shame associated with it is incomprehensible. The shame of being silenced to the point of abstaining from reading? Aliteracy can be equally shameful.

By no means should sharing be abandoned in our classrooms.  Awareness of how sharing impacts people and what it could mean for students. It’s important to account for. It doesn’t mean students should abstain from participation because of fear, anxiety, or shame. No. It means, students need to be provided pathways to represent themselves, which might start with what a student’s process for reading is and what “thinking” they have available to share successfully.

This means, that we need to understand where our students are and what capacities they possess to share comfortably be it academic ability, personal initiative, or emotional security to do so. Learning and reading give people the power of knowledge. When your knowledge doesn’t matter, there is no merit in reading. When no one cares what you think or how you feel about what you read, pack it up. It’s over.  At the deepest roots of “I Hate Reading,” you’ll find this to be true.

Giving voice to students is not as easy as it is virtuous.  There are many emotional underpinnings as to how and why students may or may not share.  Much of the time it takes a deeper look into students, a deeper connection, and the trust that student will be valued at the end no matter what they say, explain, or present.