Teaching them how to read is probably one
of the most important duties a civilised society owes to its children. Being
able to “lift words off the page” and understand their meaning is transformational as a life skill. It
transports one mind into the thought processes, experiences, and world view of
another, even though the author of those thoughts and views is not physically present (and may even have been dead for several centuries). It enables
mundane but essential everyday life tasks to be effortlessly completed –
reading a timetable, following medication instructions, responding to an email,
checking items off a shopping list…..the possibilities are endless. Much in all as we might like to believe all students will evolve into adults who read for pleasure, many literate adults do not count reading among their leisure activities. It is simply something that assists with business of everyday life, and that's OK.
Of course we would not need to engage in
endless hours of public and private debate about reading instruction, if a
greater proportion of children were achieving (or even better, exceeding)
curriculum benchmarks on time, and going on to engage with their ever more
complex curriculum. This debate would be even more redundant if the children
who start from behind (for a range of biopsychosocial reasons) were seen safely
across the bridge to literacy in the first three years of school, courtesy of
rigorous reading instruction delivered by teachers who are knowledgeable about
the structure of language and how to explicitly and incrementally convey this
knowledge to novices.
Sadly, however, in Australia, we leave a significant proportion of children out in the cold when it comes to the transition to literacy, and their lot in life entails falling further and further behind their more able peers. This phenomenon has been referred to as The Matthew Effect in the reading literature. It casts a fixed shadow over the lives of children who don’t master the basics of reading and spelling in the first three years of school. Our workforce increasingly demands skilled workers, and has less and less on offer for those who exit school without marketable work skills (and make no mistake, literacy and numeracy are still, in 2017, highly valued by employers and likely to remain so well into the future).
Sadly, however, in Australia, we leave a significant proportion of children out in the cold when it comes to the transition to literacy, and their lot in life entails falling further and further behind their more able peers. This phenomenon has been referred to as The Matthew Effect in the reading literature. It casts a fixed shadow over the lives of children who don’t master the basics of reading and spelling in the first three years of school. Our workforce increasingly demands skilled workers, and has less and less on offer for those who exit school without marketable work skills (and make no mistake, literacy and numeracy are still, in 2017, highly valued by employers and likely to remain so well into the future).
In spite of three international inquiries
into the Teaching of Literacy (US, Australia, and the UK), it’s difficult to
see what has materially changed in early years reading instruction in the last
15-20 years. Sure, there has been a strategically savvy re-badging of Whole
Language-based instruction as “Balanced Literacy” – a move that enables a
generally tokenistic (begrudging, some might say) and conditional
acknowledgement of the importance of phonics instruction. However, as I have noted previously there’s phonics instruction and there's phonics
instruction, and I am yet to see a Balanced Literacy article that advocates for
explicit, systematic synthetic phonics instruction as the staring point (and am
always happy to be pointed in the direction of anything I have missed). In
fact, it could be argued that it would be a logical inconsistency for this to
be proposed given that Balanced Literacy draws on such a strong Whole Language
lineage.
There is a great deal of mis-information
circulating in Australian educational circles at the moment, whipped up to new levels in the context of
a proposed Year 1 Phonics Check. Some of this contains emotive references to "heavy phonics instruction" (whatever that is), and "a soley phonics approach" (I don't know what that is, either).
Further, A/Prof Misty Adoniou (University of Canberra) asserts that “We
can be fairly certain that the 15 year old students who are underperforming on
PISA or NAPLAN know their sounds. Phonic knowledge, or lack of it, is not the
problem. They are performing poorly because they cannot comprehend what they
are reading. They have poor vocabularies and cannot follow sentences that
employ more complex language structures. They cannot read between the lines,
they don't pick up nuance and inference.”
There are two problems with this
statement:
- Where is the evidence that makes us “fairly certain” (whatever that means) that struggling 15 year olds have no difficulties with decoding, but are struggling because of poor comprehension skills? Confidently asserting something doesn’t make it so.
- Even if the statement above were true, it would be ironic, given the emphasis on meaning and inferencing that is placed in classrooms across Australia, courtesy of “Balanced Literacy” instruction, which is heavily promoted to pre-service and practising teachers by education academics in Australia (e.g., see here, here, and here).
Much is also made in Australian education circles of the importance of "authentic literacy experiences" as a counterpoint to spending (aka "wasting") time on explicit phonics instruction. Contrast this position with the views expressed by
Harvard University reading expert Professor Catherine Snow (no relation) and her colleague at Stanford
University, Emeritus Professor Connie Juel who observed in 2005 that
Explicit teaching of
alphabetic decoding skills is helpful for all children, harmful for none, and
crucial for some.
When I taught my now adult children to
drive, I did not do so by offering them “authentic motoring experiences” from
the outset. Instead, we started in safe, uncomplicated places (in our case,
because we live in a rural area, the local cattle sale-yards on a Sunday
afternoon). As they became familiar with the role of the three pedals (yes,
dear reader, my children learnt to drive manual cars), the response of the
steering wheel to being turned, the pressure needed on the brakes to come to a
gradual, as opposed to a sudden stop, and the intricacies of operating windscreen wipers and indicators, they developed a degree of automaticity
with the driving process. Only then, with the cognitive load associated with
handling the car under control, did we venture into “authentic” driving
experiences on the road – and even then, this was graduated. We did not
progress from the sale-yards to peak-hour traffic in Melbourne, or Victoria's beautiful but challenging-to-drive Great Ocean Road in one step. Along
the way, of course, they accrued hours and hours of practice, in different
driving conditions, and we all became more confident in their emergent skills.
Similar 101 learning principles can be
seen at work across a range of skill areas. Do children become proficient
pianists by being asked to read (and play) Mozart sonatas at the outset? No. Do
children learn to ride bikes by being placed on a two-wheeler and given a push
from behind? No. Do we expect surgeons to learn how to perform coronary artery
bypass procedures by being thrown a scalpel and told to “just have a guess” at
which artery of their anaesthetised charge to snip? No.
Strangely, however, these 101 learning principles do not seem to apply to the teaching of reading, where instead, there is an emphasis on the “authenticity” of the literature experience at the outset.
Strangely, however, these 101 learning principles do not seem to apply to the teaching of reading, where instead, there is an emphasis on the “authenticity” of the literature experience at the outset.
I am as much a fan of beautiful children’s
literature as the next person. I am a speech pathologist and I love language –
in all its guises and levels. I am a mother and grandmother and have a home
full of beautiful children’s literature. Nothing gives me more delight than
sitting down with my nearly two-year old grandson and sharing a beautiful
children’s book with him – typically one of his choosing, sometimes a picture
book, sometimes a story book. It’s too early to say of course, but by virtue of
a happy planetary alignment, he is likely to be one of those children who skips
seamlessly across the bridge to literacy in his early school years (if not
before). What of his peers who are not so blessed? Will immersion in beautiful children’s
literature in the early years of school allow them to catch-up and make the
life-changing transition to reading? The evidence suggests the answer to this question is no.
I “get” why early years teachers and their
umbrella organisations are enthralled by beautiful children’s literature. I am
too. What I don’t get, is why it is OK for this fascination to take precedence
over the actual learning needs of actual children who don’t cross the bridge to
reading and writing via these “authentic” experiences.
All children need to learn to decode. Some do so easily, while others require explicit and prolonged instruction on this aspect of reading. Who
will teach the children who do not learn to decode via standard-issue incidental, embedded
approaches attached to “authentic” texts? Such approaches fail to address the need many children have for
incremental and explicit mastery of the knowledge and skills needed to get off
the decoding blocks and into the world of beautiful literature. Is this the job
of speech pathologists, with their limited time and availability to work across
three tiers in Response to Intervention models in schools? Do parents need to
pay for remedial teaching? Do tax-payers need to keep putting their hands in
their pockets to fund Whole-Language-based fixes for Whole Language based
instructional casualties?
If
we’re going to use the word “authentic” then let's also stare down the inauthenticity of putting educator preferences (ideological and aesthetic)
above the educational needs of children – in particular those who start from
behind, and are doomed to stay behind.
(C) Pamela Snow, 2017.