Report from the Field

image credit: http://www.betterworldbooks.com/no-tito-no-no-no-titus-id-0735820759.aspx

My report from the field is about my experience reading with children at St. Andrew’s School in Richmond, VA.  The very first day I went to St. Andrews, I was paired with two young girls–one a second grader, the other a third grader. Both girls were little giggle-boxes and bursting with excitement. I hoped the small loft room we were in could contain all of the energy that seemed to radiate from my group and expand toward the outer walls of the room.  Daylight savings had just ended, so at 5:00pm, it was already fairly dim in the room, so we used flashlights to help us read. I was not sure if the flashlight was really to help us see the pages of the oversized book, that was at least as tall as the second grade girl, or if it was just to add to the magic of the experience. Either way, it worked out great. The girls took turns reading one page each and passing the flashlight between turns.

The book was called No, No, Titus! by Claire Masurel , Shari Halpern , Diego Lasconi.  The story was about a puppy named Titus who arrives on a farm that will be his new home.  However, Titus cannot figure out what it is that he is actually supposed to do on the farm. He tries to go to school with the children, chase mice, lay eggs, milk the cows, and plow the fields–but all he hears is “No, no, Titus! Dogs don’t ______.” Poor Titus is so confused. What IS it that dogs do? His questions are soon answered when one night a fox sneaks on to farm, sure to wreak havoc in the henhouse. Brave little Titus chases away the fox and saves the day. The farmer is so proud. Titus had finally found his purpose on the farm.

However, the funniest part of the whole experience was that whenever the name “Titus” was encountered, one of the girls always pronounced it [tit-uhs]. Despite my multiple corrections to the girl, she still continued to pronounce the name incorrectly. Hearing the name mispronounced was such a distraction to me that I could hardly concentrate on the simple plot of the story.

Then, when we read Feed, by M.T. Anderson, whenever I read the main character’s name, I could not help but pronounce Titus as [tit-uhs] in my head. Every time I read the name, I was reminded of my experience at St. Andrew’s and what a fun and inspirational time it was as I was able to see firsthand the joy that reading brings to children rather than just talking about it  in class.

When I got into the car after volunteering that day, my fiancé was waiting for me. I told him the story about what [Tit-uhs] the dog and how the girl had continuously mispronounced it. As an elementary school physical education teacher, he could definitely relate and see the humor of the situation in which children often mispronounce words. I found the book at a local library and read it to him a couple of days later. We both loved the book and mispronounced Titus’s name throughout the whole story. Now it is an “inside joke” between us. Whenever one of us does something wrong, the other says “No, No, Tit-uhs!” We both laugh and remember not only the joys of learning how to read ourselves, but also the joy of seeing other children LEARN.

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What’s in a Name?

Naming things—people, objects, places, etc. is itself a form of communication.  As we have discussed in class, naming is one of the most elementary forms of communication used by infants and young children. By naming objects, we identify them in terms that have meaning to us.  Once we have made this identification, we can then attempt to communicate this meaning to others.  After the trauma that Melinda experiences, she is left is silent shock—just as she was that night at the party when her lips couldn’t seem to form the word “NO.”  After the incident, her communication with others is seemingly non-existent. The novel Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson is the story of how Melinda re-discovers her own identity and re-learns how to communicate her thoughts and feelings to others.

In Speak, instead of naming objects, Melinda mostly names people. In the first half of the novel, we mostly notice Melinda naming her teachers and fellow students. She names them based on their most noticeable or most striking feature. For example, when “a predator approaches: gray jock buzz cut, whistle around a neck thicker than his head—probably a social studies teacher, hired to coach a blood sport”, Melinda aptly names him “Mr. Neck” due to the perceived large girth of his neck (pg. 5).  Similarly, when Melinda meets her English teacher, she quickly notices her uncombed stringy hair that is mostly black, except for the frizzy ends that are neon orange. Melinda concludes that she cannot decide whether this woman has “pissed off her hairdresser or if she is morphing into a monarch butterfly” (pg. 6).  For this reason, Melinda adopts the name “Hairwoman” for her.  Then at lunch, as Melinda scoots her tray down the line as it is filled with untasteful, unidentifiable foods, an eight-foot tall senior in front of her gets “three cheeseburgers, french fries, and two Ho-Hos without saying a word” (pg. 8).  Due to the boy’s extremely tall stature, Melinda names him “basketball pole.”

As we have discussed in class, small children also attach a lot of meaning to their own name. Discovering one’s identity by learning his or her name is a major point of development in a child’s life.  It is a phase of development that must occur before further psychological development can correctly continue.  Interestingly, in the novel Speak, the reader is not even made aware of the narrator’s name until page 24! Furthermore, even when the reader learns the protagonist’s name, it is not from the mouth of the protagonist herself, but rather a friend states it. The fact that Melinda does not introduce herself at any point in the first part of the novel and does not even mention her own name in any way, shows that she is not yet secure in her own identity.  The only name the reader is presented with in order to identify Melinda is “Outcast”.  This is stated by Melinda herself.

Further on in the novel, we see that Melinda uses naming people and things as a stepping stone to coming to terms with her own identity, which later results in her stored communication with others. This restoration of communication completely transforms her life and thinking.

“I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it.”
― Jerry Spinelli

In the same way, the protagonist does not retain her initial name of OUTCAST. It gets worn. She outgrows it. She changes it. She learns instead how to become “Melinda.”

The Beginning of the End

We as adults are aware that ALL children (except one) grow up.  However, through a close reading of Peter and Wendy by J.M. Barrie and Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis, it seems as though children, too, recognize their current state of “childhood” and realize that this is not a permanent phase.  Often this recognition or realization comes through the reading of Children’s Books, which seem to point out the value of the childhood experience.

A recent study in New Zealand suggests that children can correctly recall experiences from when they were two years old. (http://io9.com/5870377/new-evidence-that-children-start-forming-solid-memories-when-they-are-2-years-old)  This is apposed to the earlier held theory that conscious memories begin to form in children around the ages of three or four.  The first passage of Peter and Wendy is in agreement with the results of this new study, as it states: “You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end” (55).  By this statement, the author is suggesting that after a child is two, he or she knows that they must grow up. It is at the age of two that a child becomes aware that childhood is finite.  This realization can be called “the beginning of the end” because it is here that one knows that the end of childhood is coming.  This is illustrated by Barrie’s retelling of a scene from Wendy’s childhood. As Wendy is playing in the garden one day, she plucks a flower and takes it inside to her mother, Mrs. Darling, who puts her hand to heart and cries “Oh, why can’t you remain like this forever! (55)” Barrie tells us that Wendy was two years old when this happened.  Even though no one directly points it out to Wendy, we are told that she knew from this point on that she “must grow up” (55).

Interestingly, in Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis it seems as if Curtis feels that six, rather than two, is “the beginning of the end.”  We see this as Bud shows apathy for his friend Jerry, who is six years old. Bud says: “six is a real rough age to be at. Most folks think you start to be a real adult when you’re fifteen or sixteen years old, but that’s not true, it really starts when you’re around six” (4). Bud points out that six is a real though age to be at because adults start to treat you differently and scary things start to happen to your body, like teeth loosening up on you and falling out. Bud also states that “it’s at six that grown folks don’t think you’re a cute little kid anymore, they talk to you and expect that you understand everything they mean” (4). However, we also find out that for Bud, the age of six was a very influential, and possibly traumatic time for him in his life. We find out that Bud was six when he came to live in the home for boys and that he was six years old when his mother died.

It’s interesting to note that Wendy identifies that adults are noticing that she will start to grow up soon when she is only two years old. However, Bud seems to think that adults will not identify that he is growing up until he is fifteen or sixteen years old. Nevertheless, Barrie seems to portray that two is the age when one really begins to grow up, and Curtis seems to portray that six is the age when one begins to grow up. Why could this difference be?

Choose your words wisely–or eat them.

In the first 100 pages of the novel The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster’s use of word play and puns becomes apparently obvious.  Juster uses the double meanings of words and phrases to not only create humor, but also to educate. Interestingly, more often than not, it seems that Juster’s word play results in Mino learning an important lesson. This is demonstrated in Chapter 7 in the Royal Banquet scene.  For example, when Milo orders a “light meal” at the banquet, he and King Azaz’s guests are literally served a platter containing light.  Next, when Milo suggests they have a “square meal” the waiters reappear carrying plates heaped sky high with squares of all colors and proportions, which are decidedly inedible.  When the King comments on his disapproval of Milo’s meal choice, Milo objects, “I didn’t know that I was going to have to eat my words” (88).  To this hilarious, yet thought provoking statement the King replies, “You should have made a tastier speech” (88).  From these two examples of word play, we can see the lesson that Juster intends to convey: words have great power, and one must learn to use them wisely.  During the banquet scene, Milo realizes the power that spoken words hold and it appears as if he intends to take greater care to choose his words more wisely in future situations.

The banquet scene from The Phantom Tollbooth seems similar to the tea party scene from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Both scenes use word play and puns both to create humor and to educate.  Both Milo and Alice receive lessons in manners and in word choice during these dining experiences that seem to influence their future actions.

 

Journey from pawn to queenhood: teaching what it means for girls to be girls

The article “Children’s Literature” in KEYWORDS, attempts to discuss whether or not “children’s literature” is in fact an actual entity.  The presence of “the hidden adult” is noted in almost all texts for children, while conversely there is expressed denial that “children’s literature” is something that exists independent of adults.  On this topic, Matthew Grenby asks “Is there such a thing as children’s literature?” Grenby suggests that it might it be more accurate to talk of “a boys’ literature and a girls’ literature.” In agreement with Grenby, Perry Nodelman points out: “A defining characteristic of children’s literature is that it intends to teach what it means for girls to be girls and boys to be boys.” This definition of “children’s literature” can be applied to our discussion of whether or not Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll is indeed a children’s book.

There are three distinct examples in Through the Looking-Glass in which Carroll indirectly teaches what it means for girls to be girls.  First, we see a focus on the important of gaining knowledge through “lessons” as Alice continually recites facts and poems that she has learned such as her recital of “Jaberwocky.”  Secondly, we observe the importance placed on good manners and discipline as demonstrated in Alice’s interactions with Kitty. She scolds Kitty telling her to “Sit up a little more stiffly, dear! And curtsey while you’re thinking what to purr.”  Next, we become aware of a focus on attention to appearance in Alice’s interactions with the Queen. It is apparent that the Queen is a bit out of sorts when it comes to her appearance and Alice helps the Queen to repin her fallen shaw and rearranges her hair for her: “Come, you look rather better now!” Alice exclaims excitedly.

Through Carroll’s mention of lessons, manners, discipline, and personal appearance, a reader can begin to construct an image of what it means for “a girl to be a girl” in the actions and experiences of Alice in Looking-Glass Land.  While Carroll’s attitudes toward adulthood are not completely apparent in this book, Through the Looking-Glass itself can be seen as a motif for the developmental advancement from childhood to adulthood.  This is best represented by Alice’s venture from a pawn to becoming a queen when she reaches the edge of the forest.