Reading Made Us Both Cry
We were in the truck on the way home from a field trip, and I decided this was a good moment to practice reading.
He had read a page from Magic Tree House just fine a few days before. I had seen it with my own eyes. So I thought: let's keep the momentum going.
I asked him to read something.
He refused.
I pushed.
He went somewhere else entirely — not arguing, not fighting, just gone. That particular kind of gone where a child is physically present and emotionally unreachable. Eyes forward. Jaw set. Done.
And I kept going anyway. "You need to learn how to read. This is not optional. Every person needs to be able to do this."
True. Completely unhelpful. Not what he needed.
The more I pushed, the further he went. And the more frustrated I got, because I could not understand what was happening. He could read. I had watched him do it.
Why was it gone?
I had never been taught to read. Not systematically. I learned letter sounds, learned what digraphs made, and then at some point I just — read. Constantly, until speed and pattern recognition did the rest. And I thought that was how it worked.
So when his reading was inconsistent — when he would forget the sound a blend made five minutes after reading it correctly — I didn't know what I was looking at. My brain is built for pattern recognition. And here was my son, giving me no consistent pattern to recognize. I didn't understand it. And what I didn't understand, I pushed against.
What I was watching wasn't inconsistency for no reason. His brain was working hard in a way I couldn't see. The concentration required for him to decode words was exhausting — neurologically, specifically, really — and fatigue set in fast. What looked like forgetting was a tank running empty.
And I was in the driver's seat asking him to keep driving on fumes.
He wasn't resisting reading.
He was resisting the way I was doing it.
I kept pushing for another year before I finally made a phone call I should have made months earlier.
✦
A question I've been sitting with: What if the thing I was pushing against wasn't his resistance — what if it was the gap between how I thought learning worked and how it actually works for him?
Love,
Claire