On My Commitment to Reading
Imagine this: A younger version of me, sneaking out of bed to catch episodes of Futurama on Adult Swim. My mother soon caught on to my late-night TV habits and decided to limit my access. With both of my working-class parents often away due to long commutes, I spent most of my summers at home with my sister, turning to books for entertainment. Honestly, I had little choice; both the cable box and VCR were off-limits.
Despite these constraints, I became enamored with titles like The Nancy Drew Mystery Stories and Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. I eagerly looked forward to trips to the local and school libraries. Each book transported me—from solving mysteries to embarking on adventures off the coast of France—all within the walls of my own room. I breezed through these books, thinking I was quite the reader.
However, for a long time, my reading was fairly superficial. I was content with what each story had to offer on the surface and didn't engage critically with the text. It took me a while to understand that truly connecting with a story requires endurance, patience, vision, and a willingness to probe deeper. At that point, I hadn't yet developed the skills or the curiosity needed to fully explore the layers hidden between the pages of a novel.
As school reading assignments became increasingly complex over the years, I found it challenging to keep up. Completing readings on time, understanding classroom discussions, and even seeking extra help became difficult tasks. What was once a beloved activity—reading—had turned into a chore. Amidst this struggle, I also grappled with my place in a predominantly white educational environment, questioning whether I truly belonged. The characters and their experiences in our class readings felt foreign to me, exacerbating my sense of isolation.
My perspective changed dramatically when I transferred schools and encountered two Black teachers simultaneously for the first time in my educational journey. This experience was transformative, not just for me but for many students of color. These two educators, Doc Brains and Brother Gricks, had a profound impact on my life.
As a first-generation American, my understanding of what it means to be Black in predominantly white spaces was limited. My parents hailed from countries where being Black was the norm, so the discussions about the African American experience were largely absent from my upbringing. While I was familiar with the feeling of being marginalized or unwelcome, I lacked the tools to understand the underlying attitudes towards Black individuals in America.
Having two Black teachers in one academic year equipped me with the knowledge and context I needed to navigate these complex dynamics, significantly enriching my educational experience.
I've been fortunate to form enduring relationships with various teachers, coaches, and colleagues, learning invaluable lessons through these connections and mentorships. Specifically, when it comes to reading, two figures stand out: Doc Brains and Brother Gricks.
Doc Brains was like the aunt I never knew I needed—cool, tough, unique, and ambitious. She introduced me to the rich tapestry of African-American Literature. From diving into the pages of 'Native Son,' which quickly became a favorite, to studying various forms of poetry and narrative, her class opened new dimensions of thought for me. The contrast was stark: the books I'd read before her class paled in comparison to the authentic, deeply resonant stories she introduced me to. The characters felt real, their struggles palpable, and the language resonated warmly. Doc Brains welcomed me into a vast and enduring community of Black art, thought, and life.
As for Brother Gricks, he was unlike any teacher I'd met before. His genuine care and concern were undeniable; you never questioned his deep-rooted commitment to your success. He was full of life and celebrated his own Black identity daily, inspiring all who were privileged to learn from him.
As an activist from the Civil Rights Movement era and a Social Justice Educator, Brother Gricks never sugarcoated the truth. He armed us with facts, spoke with unyielding conviction, and held us to elevated standards. Annoying uncle? Perhaps. But irreplaceable? Absolutely. Brother Gricks led me and my classmates on a transformative trip to South Africa. Most of us were born just as apartheid came to an end, and he designed an experience that brought the harsh realities of apartheid to life for our generation. Both Doc Brains and Brother Gricks clarified for me the systematic injustices affecting people of color globally. I was so moved that I pledged to take action, committing to promote well-being and humanity for people in my communities and around the world.
Books were my starting point; they were the resources readily available to me. I began to critically examine what authors were saying in their texts. However, it wasn't until I took a Black Feminist seminar and a course on African Americans in the Pastoral in college that I truly found my calling.
Now, the story became about me—about my body and my experiences, as articulated by some of the most intellectually stimulating theorists of our time. I began to see my history through the work of powerful women like Michelle Alexander, Gina Ulysse, Lois Brown, M. Jaqui Alexander, bell hooks, Patricia Hill Collins, and Audre Lorde. After much preparation and hard work, I discovered the toolbox I never knew I needed. This toolbox serves as a constant reminder:
I am more than enough.
My uniqueness is my strength.
I deserve forgiveness for my mistakes.
My body is an extension of my own will and desires.
My self-worth is not defined by my productivity.
I am deserving of happiness.
I've always had a love for reading, but for a long time, I carried a sense of shame for also enjoying TV. Nowadays, I understand that my fascination with TV shows and movies aligns with my interest in plot dynamics, conflict, character development, and drama. It took me a while to recognize that films, movies, and documentaries are also forms of writing, storytelling, and preserving oral histories. My passion for stories now encompasses both mediums.
What I find puzzling, though, is the difficulty many students experience with reading. While the relatability and relevance of a book's content play significant roles, there's more to it. I believe students also need to build what I like to call "reading muscles," approaching reading as an "extreme sport," if you will. Many people mistakenly believe that the ability to read words on a page equates to understanding the material. As educators, it's our job to emphasize the importance of mastering reading skills—not just for immediate needs but for lifelong learning as well.
We need to encourage students to approach a new book like meeting a new person: be inquisitive, attentive, and empathetic. Just as crucially, we adults must commit to ongoing learning and recognize the cyclical nature of becoming a successful reader and educator: it's all about practice, receiving feedback, more practice, and yet more feedback.
In truth, most of us are readers and educators in some capacity, even if those roles aren't explicitly part of our job titles. We consume news, blog posts, social media feeds, and audiobooks. We also educate others by listening to their needs, offering advice and resources, solving problems, and genuinely supporting people as they grow into their own identities. Moreover, each of us is a survivor, navigating the complexities of life every single day, armed with lessons from our experiences. Here are three such lessons I hold dear:
To read is to connect with the past.
To read is to shape the present.
To read is to understand oneself.
The act of reading and sharing stories serves as a way to transfer knowledge, affirm our identities, and actualize our sense of self. It's our collective responsibility to continue crafting narratives that speak of unity, courage, and ethical living. Let's continually reimagine ourselves through actions, dreams, and the pursuit of peace.
As a first-generation American Black woman, I am steadfast in my commitment to reading. The historical fact that Black people were once legally prohibited from reading in this country underscores the immense power of both the written and spoken word. Understanding that my ancestors risked their lives to acquire the ability to read highlights the vital role that language and stories play in preserving history and achievements. Recognizing the wealth of knowledge available in the art and literature of Black people and other communities of color empowers me to believe that the tools for success are already within my reach. In facing the challenges and tribulations of today's world, I take solace in the knowledge that I am the living embodiment of my ancestors' wildest dreams.
