WordSisters

Category: Change

  • Disappearing—The Joy of Reading?

    I was sad to hear a book group friend say her 11-year old-granddaughter didn’t consider it a treat to go to a bookstore to choose a book—she doesn’t read books. I was slow to realize the books I’d been gifting my 10-year-old niece weren’t a hit. Not because I’d chosen boring stories but because she doesn’t enjoy reading. It saddens me they won’t have the pleasure of being immersed in the imaginary worlds I have so enjoyed.

    Although it sounds counterintuitive, fiction presents truths through the lives of made-up people.

    I’ve learned about worlds I wouldn’t have access to any other way. Through novels, I’ve entered the lives of a Black Texas Ranger, an 15th century Chinese physician, an escaped enslaved woman, a modern-day reporter in India, Korean deep-sea divers, and more. I’ve gained insight and empathy by seeing cultures beyond my own and feeling the dilemmas of people unlike me. Memoirs also offer me inspiration and perspective for my own life.

    Recently, the disinterest in reading novels and the related inability to read whole books has been receiving attention. Several theories may explain the change.

    Instead of reading whole novels, many middle school students read excerpts and are tested on their ability to write critical analyses of the excerpts. To be sure, critical analysis is an important skill, but it appears to have the unintended consequence of editing out the joy of completing a good, satisfying story. 

    Reading whole novels requires skills many high school students aren’t taught. They grow bored, can’t follow the plot, and don’t connect to the characters or themes.

    That puzzles me, because TV and movies still engage us. With “Game of Thrones,” “Succession,” or “Slow Horses,” viewers enter into invented worlds and can track the plot and characters, so why not in novels and memoirs, whether paper or Kindle books? Perhaps nonreaders have lost the ability to imagine. With TV and movies, the visuals are supplied.  

    Shorter attention spans are also part of the problem, and students aren’t alone in this. Myriad distractions clamor for our attention and our culture serves up lots of information in short bits—texts, Instagram posts, 35- to 50-word news summaries. In 20 minutes, I might read a dozen short clips instead of one 3,000-word article. Constant interruptions have diminished my powers of concentration. I can still enjoy a 400-page novel, but these days, I get restless and impatient with longer novels.

    I learned to love reading whole stories as a girl when there were far fewer distractions. At 8 years old, I draped myself across an upholstered chair and devoured Nancy Drew mysteries. By 14, it was Daphne du Maurier. Often, I wonder about the characters in novels I’m reading and am eager to find out what happens next. 

    I wish my niece, my friend’s granddaughter, and their peers could experience the gift of being immersed in good books. The joy of being transported to another time or culture. The hours of pleasure, escape, and knowledge.

  • Another Crisis

    My family moved from Luxemburg, Wisconsin, population less than 500, to Milwaukee during the summer of 1961. From a grade school with eight grades spread over six classrooms, my brother and I were enrolled in a Catholic elementary school with 150 kids in every grade. We had never seen so many kids. 

    The first year was rough on my mother who no longer had a part-time job, a bowling league, or knew the names of everyone in the parish. She didn’t even know the names of women on our block. By the summer of 1962 life could be testy in our household. My great-grandmother moved back to Luxemburg and took me with her at the start of summer. 

    Our second school year began with more confidence and my mother found a seasonal job. She was happier. Until October 16 when the beginning of the Cuban Missile Crisis moved the world toward danger. People were deeply afraid that Cold War was morphing into actual war with Russia, including missiles falling on the United States. Adults knew about the horror of war. Kids were directed in useless duck and cover drills, crawling under our desks with our hands over our heads.

    My mother wanted to be in our Luxemburg home with its dug-out basement, food cellar and indoor pump. Our Milwaukee ten-year-old ranch offered no place to hide. It was too late to build a bomb shelter. She emptied the clothes closet in a spare room, brought in blankets and pillows, water jugs, crackers, peanut butter and other food plus towels, tissue and a bucket. She listened to the radio constantly. We went to bed fully dressed. October 28, she woke us with orders to get into the closet. Blankets had been placed over window curtains, a rug rolled at the bottom of the door. We listened to news coverage throughout the night. The crisis was averted. Nerves remained raw for years.

    We’re back to practicing some odd form of duck and cover. And it is just as useless. The stakes are high for every citizen and much of the world.

    Square

  • Traditions Evolve

    Great Aunt Wilma was a fixture at our Thanksgiving gatherings during her latter years. She was widowed with no children, so my parents invited her to join us. 

    Elegant with her silver French twist, stylish earrings and deep brown eyes, she preferred to sit with the guys talking sports or politics (back when that was an acceptable topic). We had plenty of help and cooking wasn’t her forté, so she didn’t don an apron and join the women.

    We gathered at my sister’s home in Ohio. After years of hosting, Mom was ready to let her kids handle holiday meals. Until my parents died, our sons, my husband and I traveled from Minnesota to celebrate Thanksgiving with my extended family. My husband’s family had different Thanksgiving traditions, so we didn’t have to choose.

    For years, my husband and I have been the creators of holiday gatherings like Thanksgiving and Christmas. Days before, we’d clean the house, finalize the menu, make an epic shopping trip, check the table linens, plan the flowers, and start prepping dishes that could be made ahead, then cook and clean up on the actual holiday. As our sons got older, they and their wives also prepared key dishes. However, my husband and I were the event managers who were responsible for making the meal go smoothly. We were happy to do it.

    But family traditions evolve. When our sons married, we began sharing them with their wives’ families. Each year we’ve had conversations about which day to hold our Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings. After a bit of trial and error, we determined that Thanksgiving dates could be flexible but Christmas was less so. 

    When grandchildren came on the horizon, my husband and I understood our traditions would change again. We are welcome and important, but as grandparents, we are stepping back to a supporting role for holiday gatherings. 

    The focus has shifted to our granddaughters’ needs. Younger babies might be content to be held during a lengthy Thanksgiving meal, but older babies are not. They get bored and want to play. Ideally, both babies should have a quiet place to nap. This year, that will be at the home of our oldest son and his wife, where both babies can be accommodated. 

    Shortly before the hungry horde descended last Sunday

    Similar things are happening in the larger circle of my Ohio family. My sister no longer hosts a large family dinner at Thanksgiving. Now she visits two of her daughters who live in a nearby state. My brother and his wife will join friends for Thanksgiving since their children are also hours away.

    My bachelor brother, who used to help my sister and me with cooking and cleaning up at our large Thanksgiving gatherings, is now slated to become a guest at a niece or nephew’s Thanksgiving table. When we spoke of the changes, my brother and I joked that now he has become Aunt Wilma.