Earlier in the week, a students asked me to recommend a book for her. I made several suggestions, but none of them sounded quite right to her. As we talked, it turned out that she had just finished a series which she really loved, and she was still in that doldrum period where nothing else could possibly measure up. I understood exactly what she was going through. "I just finished a book I really liked, too," I told her, "and I can't really get into anything else, yet, either." (For the record, it was Moon Over Manifest, the latest Newbery Award winner.) She thanked me and left, empty handed.
Another student overheard the conversation. "Have you read So B. It?" she asked me. I said I hadn't, but I remembered that she liked it enough to write a letter to the author, Sarah Weeks, when we were doing our Letters About Literature assignment. "You have to read it," she insisted." It's the best book ever."
Unfortunately, our library system was being upgraded, and there was no borrowing for two days. On the strength of her recommendation, though, I ordered a copy online. I needn't have bothered though; the next day she brought me her own copy to read. After school, she stopped by my room to see how far I was. I laughed and told her I hadn't had a spare minute to start reading, at which point she picked up the book and read the first chapter to me. It was awesome.
If truth was a crayon, and it was up to me to put a wrapper around it and name its color, I know just what I would call it-- dinosaur skin... The truth is, whether you know something or not doesn't change what it was. If dinosaurs were blue, they were blue; if they were brown, they were brown whether anybody knows it for a fact or not.
This morning I finished the book, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't with a big old lump in my throat. More than anything, though, I'm moved by the adamance of the recommendation, and how right my student was.
Another student overheard the conversation. "Have you read So B. It?" she asked me. I said I hadn't, but I remembered that she liked it enough to write a letter to the author, Sarah Weeks, when we were doing our Letters About Literature assignment. "You have to read it," she insisted." It's the best book ever."
Unfortunately, our library system was being upgraded, and there was no borrowing for two days. On the strength of her recommendation, though, I ordered a copy online. I needn't have bothered though; the next day she brought me her own copy to read. After school, she stopped by my room to see how far I was. I laughed and told her I hadn't had a spare minute to start reading, at which point she picked up the book and read the first chapter to me. It was awesome.
If truth was a crayon, and it was up to me to put a wrapper around it and name its color, I know just what I would call it-- dinosaur skin... The truth is, whether you know something or not doesn't change what it was. If dinosaurs were blue, they were blue; if they were brown, they were brown whether anybody knows it for a fact or not.
This morning I finished the book, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't with a big old lump in my throat. More than anything, though, I'm moved by the adamance of the recommendation, and how right my student was.
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