Journelism

It seems to be human nature to stay with what is familiar—even if painful or counterproductive. Most of us have had the experience of staying in a job too long or hanging on to a relationship that is no longer supportive. I’ll spare you my complete litany and just share one story.

For 8½ years, I worked as a clerical employee for the FBI (yes, the Federal Bureau of Investigation). I was a stenographer and then a secretary. During my first seven years, many FBI agents told me I should go to college and become an agent. I always brushed off those suggestions.

Attempts to change my mind often included pointing out agents who messed up somehow, and saying things like, “If he can be an agent, so can you.” I believe people thought I was afraid I would not succeed in college or as an agent, and I thought that for a while, too.

At some point, though, I realized that I was comfortable with my job and identity. My parents were very proud of me, and I had many good friends in the Bureau. I could do my job without much effort, and had lots of free time after work for other pursuits. Although I had not gone to college, I had always taken pride in the fact that I was very well read. Change, and even success, would mean a whole new identity, and that scared me more than anything. I could not imagine who this new person would be.

I did eventually go to college but did not return to the FBI. Once I had let go of my identity as high-school graduate/FBI secretary, I became open to opportunities I had not been able to envision.

Many of the people who come to the Literacy Council are working through similar identity dilemmas. For many of them, negative messages have shaped how they see themselves and the world.  Even though they know their limited literacy skills are holding them back, imagining a new identity and different way of life is not so easy. They come to us with hopes of something else, but usually don’t know or can’t say what that means.

Each adult who comes to us is asked, “What is your goal?” “To read better,”  “to speak English” or “to get my GED” are common answers. If pushed, “To what end?” there is usually no answer.

Dare people even imagine getting a job in a field they love? Can they voice the dream that might be deeply buried?

It is most often the tutors who discover the yearnings of students’ hearts. They build positive relationships in which lifetimes of negative messages are replaced with affirmation and praise. Over time, the fear is replaced with trust and confidence, invariably accompanied by meaningful progress.

One of the classrooms in my junior high had an Abraham Lincoln quote framed and hung on the wall: “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

I always thought it an odd quote to have in a classroom because I did not see how I could learn anything if it was foolish to speak up. But I read that quote every day and it did a good job of keeping me from asking questions or offering answers.

I am sometimes reminded of this quote when I observe our adult literacy tutoring sessions. I think that many of our adult learners probably read the same quote—or were silenced by other means. At some point in their lives, they equated asking questions and learning with being put down or made to feel foolish, and so they kept quiet.

Many of the adults who come to the Literacy Council have huge gaps in their knowledge.  They may not know how our government works or how many states make up the United States. World geography can just be foreign to them. Even ordinary things like weights and measurements may be unfamiliar territory.

For most of us, the early school years lay the groundwork for our education and we then build on that base. Many of our students lack such a foundation and have to start at the beginning. It can be humiliating to have to acknowledge that lack of the basics. It can also look like an insurmountable task.

Yet by the time they muster the courage to seek help, these adults know they must start asking questions if they want their lives to change.

I think I would rewrite Mr. Lincoln’s admonition to something like: “Better to ask questions that may seem foolish than to remain in ignorance.”

Many of the adults who come to the Literacy Council for help improving their literacy skills believe that they can’t learn. They often were not successful in school and have low self-esteem and a great deal of shame because of their negative school experiences and low literacy levels.

But the truth is that they have learned a great deal. They have often mastered a field involving manual labor or learned a skill as an apprentice. They usually work at something that does not require much reading or writing.

They have also developed all kinds of techniques for covering up their low literacy skills; I marvel at the ingenuity of some of their coping mechanisms.

As adults, we are all learning new things every day, whether it is from watching a TV show, reading a book or surfing the web. What we don’t do is take the time to mark our learning experiences, to say, “I have learned something today.” But I am sure that each of us can look back over the last week and name at least three things we have learned.

What we are learning on a day-to-day basis may not be life changing, but it is still learning. This kind of learning just sort of happens, in a non-structured way and without much effort on our parts.

Then there is the more formal learning—attending a workshop, taking a class or pursuing a degree. This kind of learning requires a commitment and usually some changes to our daily routines.

For the adults who come to us for help, their learning is the latter type. They have to commit to attending tutoring sessions at least twice a week for an hour and a half each time and doing homework. They have to carve out time from lives full of work and family responsibilities.

Last summer I went to Poland; upon returning I began to study Polish. I bought a computer-based language program and spent at last one-half hour a day learning Polish. I had to make some adjustments to my daily routine to fit in my lesson and did that willingly.

Two months later, I got a new puppy and had to make more adjustments to my daily schedule. I hadn’t anticipated the amount of time this puppy would take up, but quickly learned that something had to give.

My Polish lessons shifted from one-half hour every day to an hour on Saturday and Sunday; supplemented by listening to a Polish CD when driving. I am still intent on learning Polish; only my method and timetable have changed.

My experience with studying Polish has given me a new insight into how difficult it is to squeeze one more thing into my already-full days. No matter how strong my desire, I just cannot always give as much of my time or energy to Polish as I want.

For our students, the demands on their time may be new jobs or the opportunity to work extra hours. It may be new responsibilities with children or grandchildren or having to take care of a sick relative. They are in the same predicament as I am with my Polish—they want to improve their literacy skills, yet family and other obligations impinge on their time.

I am committed to learning Polish—and to being more compassionate toward our students who need to make adjustments to their timeline for improving literacy skills.

Charlotte had an associate’s degree and worked as an aide in an institution for children with developmental disabilities. At one point in her career, licensing requirements changed and she had to pass a test to continue in her job. After failing the test, her supervisor recommended that she come to the Literacy Council to improve her skills.

When Charlotte first came to us, she tested at a 3^rd-grade reading level. She began working with a volunteer tutor and after a few years was able to pass her licensing exam. She continued to work with a tutor to bring her reading up to a 9^th-grade level.

I often ask Charlotte to accompany me when I speak to community groups; she has a bit of an actress in her and loves to be in front of an audience. She is also very articulate, open and honest about her experience as an adult learner. She talks about the ways she covered up her inability to read and write, and the shame she experienced because of her low literacy skills. She also expresses pride in all she has accomplished—maintained steady employment, got her driver’s license and bought a house. Most recently, she welcomed a foster child into her home.

Charlotte came into my office one day just to chat. She was bubbling over with stories of a new life with her foster child, Chris. He had just started attending the local middle school and seemed to be adjusting well. She helps with his homework and reads with him every evening. She has bought a computer for him to use and he loves it. Then she fell silent and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

I waited a moment and then asked what was wrong. “I don’t know how to use the computer,” she sobbed. “It’s my new shame.”

Fortunately, we have volunteers who help with computer literacy and Charlotte soon began working on her computer skills. She now uses email and is more comfortable working with Chris on the computer.

We have some volunteers who don’t use computers—by choice. For many adults who have low literacy skills, not using a computer is not by choice. Computers have become as ubiquitous as books; how easy to take their successful use for granted.

All of my grandparents came from Poland at the beginning of the 20^th century. My parents spoke Polish as their first language; I grew up hearing Polish and understood some, but never learned to speak it.

When I was growing up, we had supper at my grandmother’s house on Sundays. My grandfather had died before I was born, and my grandmother lived with one of my uncles. The dinner conversations were all in Polish, as was the music on the radio.

My parents believed that children should be seen and not heard, so my two brothers and I would sit silently at the dinner table and then on the sofa until we were told we could go out to play. As we were dismissed, my grandmother would give each of us a jumbo Hershey’s chocolate bar (which may explain my abiding love of chocolate!). We would thank her (in English), go outside and chomp on chocolate.

I was always overwhelmed by my grandmother’s generosity. I could not imagine her spending so much money on me, week after week, especially because (I thought) she did not even know me. She spoke no English and we never had a conversation. Yet she knew the perfect gift to give me.

I have thought a fair amount about my grandmother since coming to work at the Literacy Council, because about half of the adults who come to us for help are immigrants who want to learn English as a Second Language (ESL).

I have grown accustomed to the blank looks when I speak to newcomers; they don’t understand a word I am saying. But I keep talking to them anyway. Then one day it happens. I ask “How are you?” or say “Have a good weekend” and the empty stare is replaced by recognition and a halting response. I rejoice in those breakthroughs!

I suggest to our ESL students that they watch television programs and listen to the radio in English. I encourage them to speak in English, even though it is uncomfortable, maybe even embarrassing.

When I meet the children of our students, I encourage them to speak in English to their parents, even though they may respond in their native language. Hearing English will hasten their parents’ fluency.

When my grandparents came to this country, their options for learning English were virtually nonexistent. Their children learned English in school and then became the translators for their parents. That pattern still exists among some immigrant families, even though opportunities to learn English are available.

I wish my grandmother had learned English so I could have had a different relationship with her. I don’t think she ever knew how much I appreciated her abundant gifts or what her extravagance taught me about generosity. I feel a sense of urgency for our ESL students because I want a different reality for them and their own grandchildren.