Mireille Silcoff
This summer, I gave my 12-year-old daughter $100 to read a book. Of course, it was a last ditch effort as far as mom maneuvers go, and the payoff was exorbitant. I can't say I'm proud - but I'm extremely pleased. Because the plan worked. It worked so well that I would suggest to other parents of reluctant readers to open their wallets and bribe their children to read.
My daughter is a smart kid, definitely smarter than I was when I was 12. But until I used the "bribe", she had never read a whole book, just for pleasure. She read books for school, but getting her to do that task was like pulling teeth, and she herself had read a few graphic novels, or listened to audio books of the Harry Potter series. None of these opened the door to that habit of what I might call classic deep reading—with two eyes fixed on the page, and ignoring everything else around.
When I faced this truth a few months ago, I felt like a failure as a parent. Although we had read many storybooks when she was younger, and we live in a house full of books, I failed to instill in my child one of the basic pleasures of life.
Shortly before the pandemic, a depressing study revealed how much reading for pleasure among children had declined. Almost 30 percent of 13-year-olds said they "never or almost never" read for fun, a significant increase from 8 percent who said the same roughly 35 years ago. As children's screen time also increased significantly during the pandemic, it is fair to conclude that leisure reading for children is an activity increasingly at risk of disappearing.
For those of us who have read all our lives – who cherish nights spent in rooms filled with towers of books; those of us who keep in mind, as if we had friends, the ideas and characters we have collected over the years from the printed pages - conveying the importance of reading to children should not be difficult. We are all aware that reading strengthens the fabric of how we experience life, every day. However, I found it surprisingly difficult to communicate these to my daughter, who was reluctant to read. She told me she didn't like reading. Besides, he didn't even care that she liked him. And he didn't see any of this as a problem. Many of her friends, she explained to me, simply "didn't feel like it" about reading. I realized that if I wanted to communicate the joy of reading to my child, I needed to clarify what that joy was, for myself.
Sigurisht, fakti që i bleva një telefon inteligjent vitin e kaluar – një iPhone i dorës së dytë me një milion kontrolle prindërore dhe kufizime kohore – është pjesë e problemit. Përpara telefonit, kisha një fëmijë që ishte shumë e shoqërueshme, që klithte me kënaqësi edhe për gjëra shumë të thjeshta, si fjala vjen, një ëmbëlsirë e sapobërë që ftohej në frigorifer. Pasi i dhashë telefonin, kisha tashmë një vajzë që komunikonte vetëm me fjalë njërrokëshe, e cila donte vetëm të rrinte në dhomën e saj me perdet e ulura, me derën mbyllur, nën jorgan, duke e mbajtur fort në pëllëmbë atë pajisje të vogël drejtkëndëshe, a thua po ta lëshonte, do i zhdukte krejt jetën e vet sociale. Po të mos ishte duke u marrë me shoqet, ose me telefonin, për çdo gjë tjetër kishte veç një fjalë: “Boring!” (e mërzitshme).
A keni provuar ndonjëherë t’i kërkoni një 13-vjeçari, që ndodhet nën regjim disa orësh ndalimi përdorimi të celularit, që të nxjerrë setin e vjetër të lapëstilave? Apo që të merret me origami? Nëse nuk doni që t’ju bien flokët prej vështrimit gjithë inat, që del si rreze lazer nga sytë e adoleshentëve, mos e bëni!
Por mbajta një farë shprese tek leximi. Sepse mund të shihja që ajo çfarë vajza ime kërkonte, si shumë bashkëmoshatarë të tjerë, ishte “arratisja”. Dhe kjo më dukej e përshtatshme nga ana zhvillimore. Problemi ishte se mënyra më e kollajtë për të për të gjetur shpëtimin ishte të zhytej në kaosin e varësisë prej telefonit.
Kështu që, bëra fushatë. I thashë se duhej të lexonte sepse romanet janë mënyra më e mirë për të mësuar se si funksionon brendia e njeriut. Ajo më tha se mund të mësonte më shumë nga shikimi i njerëzve që ndiqte në mediat sociale, të cilët sipas saj flisnin aty gjithçka që ndjenin së brendshmi.
I thashë se librat të ofrojnë RRËFIMIN. Ajo më tha: “Po Netflix”-i?
I thashë se librat të mësojnë historinë. Ajo më tha: “Po Interneti”?
I thashë se leximi do ta ndihmonte të kuptonte veten, dhe ajo ma ktheu: “Hmmm, jo faleminderit. Thjesht do jetoj.”
I premtova, në mënyrë ekstravagante, se do t’i blija të gjitha librat që donte dhe do të ndërtoja rafte librash në dhomën e saj, në mënyrë që ajo të mund të shihte kolonat e të gjithë librave që donte nga shtrati i vet. Ajo ma ktheu: “Mami, mirë se erdhe në ëndrrën tënde!”
Kuptova se nuk mund t’i fitoja debatet me të, sepse vetëm pak prej argumenteve të vajzës sime kundër leximit, më dukeshin të gabuara. Po, leximi është një mënyrë për të zgjeruar universin dhe për të zbuluar botë të reja – por kështu është i gjithë interneti. Kështu që këto debate, të cilat na bezdisnin të dyjave, do të reduktoheshin pashmangshmërisht në dërdëllitjet e mia për aftësitë njohëse dhe se si “leximi është i mirë për ty”.
That's not why I wanted my daughter to pick up a book. It wasn't about optimizing her brain function, but that I wanted to make it clear to her that she was missing out on experiencing some magic. You know that moment when a writer sums up a feeling you didn't even know you had and immediately 100 light bulbs go off inside your head, like some sort of epiphany? I wanted her to have a chance to experience that. As Neil Postman wrote in 1982 in The Disappearance of Childhood, a screen-based medium such as TV or video cannot create this kind of relationship because, by its very nature, the medium must fill in all your gaps. . Books leave room for blanks – and for the inner creations they can inspire.
So I decided to cut through all the excuses with a cold, hard practice: money! I told my 12 year old that I would pay her $100 if she would read a novel.
She said: “What? Really?”
Then, of course, he said yes.
I discussed with friends who have teenage children which book would work to spark her desire to read. While some of them, to my surprise, suggested titles like The Little Prince and Wuthering Heights, the book most often suggested by people who know my daughter was Jenny's The Summer I Became Beautiful Han, which had become a hit series on Amazon Prime. My daughter had seen it and loved it.
I brokered the deal between us: $100 if he finished the book in a month. Then we went on a beach vacation, together with my boyfriend, on a romantic Greek island.
The vacation lasted eight days and before the seventh day was over, my daughter had finished the book. When we got home, she asked for the extension, which she completed in about two weeks – at no extra charge.
Will this lead my daughter to reading the book "Little Women"? To drink "Catch in the Rye" or "White Teeth"? Will it result in a long life filled with reading, with stacks of books, which he will see as friends, teachers, stimulants and balms for any ailment?
I don't know. What I do know is that my daughter now has $100 worth of new Sephora items that I refused to buy for her last year. I also know that together, we finally opened a new gateway for her, to the printed page: a quiet personal place that I imagine – I hope – will serve her for the rest of her life. I have a feeling it's 100 best spent.
Originally published on bota.al