The Silver Surfer, Huck Finn and Bilbo (Cas)

            It was 1973 and I was five and I believed I was fully prepared for any encounter life could offer me. I knew this was true because on this particular morning I had not only woken up on time, eaten a hearty breakfast of french toast with peanut butter, washed my hands and face, brushed and braided my hair and scrubbed my teeth all without being prodded, but on this auspicious day my favorite Cubs t-shirt was clean! I put it on with Toughskins, my red Keds and my little league ball cap confident the day would be spectacular. I headed out to kindergarten in the same manner I was accustomed to, my Scooby Doo Mystery Machine lunch box in one hand (with my name on it in permanent marker because it looked just like Toni Erickson’s) and my Silver Surfer backpack over my shoulder. Whatever confidence I felt that morning, would not prove to be adequate weaponry for the battle I meandered naïvely toward.

            It was a requirement that I bring a book from home for free reading period which I was more than happy to do. There were books to borrow in the classroom, but I had already read all the Winnie-the-Pooh and Beatrix Potter books that Mrs. Olsen kept. I could, after all, read any book I chose because Grandma and Grandpa had not only taught me to read when I was three, but the past summer they had taught me to use the dictionary. They emphasized how important it was to look up words I didn’t know whenever there were no adults around to ask for definitions. “Definition” was a word that meant the statement of the meaning of a word, phrase, or term. I was truly ready to conquer with knowledge like this in my tiny noggin.

            The book I brought on this enlightening day was called Huckleberry Finn and it was written by a man named Mark Twain, but that wasn’t really his name. His name was Samuel Clemens, but this didn’t matter much because I could never meet him or write to him because he was already dead. Grandma told me that. Mark Twain was a term used by people who worked on steamboats and Mr. Clemens had worked on steamboats on the Mississippi River. Grandpa told me that.

            The book was very hard because Huck lived a long time ago and talked very differently than people do now. It was also difficult because Huck was older than me and understood things that I couldn’t. I was on chapter two. Within five minutes of the free reading period, I read a word spelled b-e-t-w-i-x-t. I did not know what that word meant. I looked for a dictionary. It was on Mrs. Olsen’s desk. I asked to borrow it. She asked if she might be able to help instead. This seemed reasonable and like her job, so I asked her what “betwixt” meant. She asked to see my book. Then she said she was keeping my book and that I couldn’t read “books like this”. Mrs. Olsen wouldn’t give back my book, either. I know because I tried pulling it out of her hands, but she was bigger than me and this didn’t work. So, I informed her that she was breaking the law and violating my rights. My rights, I knew, had been outlined by a man named Thomas Jefferson in a different book that I had not read yet called the Constitution. I pretended like I had read this book and told her that I was pretty sure she was going to jail because of the Constitution and I got really mad.

            Mrs. Olsen sent me to the Principal’s office. This was bad. I had been there once before and he mentioned that it wasn’t good at all for kindergartners to have to talk in his office. He had said that he hoped we wouldn’t have to talk in his office again. I had really hoped so, too, but it didn’t work and there I was. The secretary in the office told me she had already called my mother and that I should sit and wait for her. This was really bad. She had called my mom the last time I was in the Principal’s office for beating up a second grader in my brother’s class because he had called me a “kindergarten baby” (which my brother told him to do) and I beat him up pretty badly (which my brother knew I would) because he wouldn’t say “Uncle” to a girl (which my brother encouraged him not to). I had gotten in a lot of trouble and I was miserable imagining a repeat.

            When mom got there she was mad, she had a conversation in the Principal’s office without me and then took my arm and marched us back to my classroom. She asked Mrs. Olsen to speak with her in the hall and to bring my book. Mrs. Olsen told my mother that she believed certain books should not be read ever and that I most certainly shouldn’t be reading the likes of these books without adequate supervision and besides it had way too many words outside my vocabulary level. It was really never a good idea to be confrontational with my mom; she was wicked smart and stunningly quick on her toes with comebacks. In this moment mom paused and glared at Mrs. Olsen. That meant she was going to get mad, but I still wasn’t sure why. Then mom narrowed her eyes and spoke rather quietly, almost slowly, AND APOLOGIZED!! I was stunned, and like Huck a bit clueless. Mom said, “I am sooo sorry. I had quite unforgivably and negligently assumed that you were capable of providing adequate supervision and that like me, you were eager to help my child encounter challenging vocabulary and new relevant ideas. I was utterly and completely mistaken.” Sorry? Mistaken? What was she talking about? What had I done? I was nowhere near as shocked as Mrs. Olsen, she seemed completely out on her feet…from an apology(!!!)…what if mom would have given her a full strength come back? I must be in a great deal of trouble if my mom was apologizing to my teacher. Mrs. Olsen said that I could be assigned to another teacher. Mom said that it was very nice they were on the same page about something and that I had in fact already been assigned to another teacher. Then she said “Good-bye” over Mrs. Olsen trying to say anything else.

            We went to the car in silence and after we drove a few blocks I asked if mom was really mad. She said she was furious and that we were going to Grandma and Grandpa’s. The longer she waited to talk, the worse I felt. There generally seemed to be some sort of elusive mathematical equation between how long mom took to be calm enough to talk to me and how much trouble I was actually in. At Grandma and Grandpa’s, mom told me to go sit in the kitchen, the three of them went into the library. Mom was yelling….a lot. So I cried. After a few minutes, Grandma came in and asked what was the matter, why was I crying, had it been a really emotional day? What was she talking about, I wondered, emotional? Well, yeah. Fear of getting in trouble was an emotion alright. I told Grandma I was scared of how much trouble I was in. She laughed and hugged me and said, “Oh Honey, you’re not in trouble, here have some pie.”

            It would be a few years before I really understood what had happened, what censorship was and why it was dangerous, and perhaps a few more years before I fully understood sarcasm. Eventually, I got a grasp on all of it. Many years later, I had a child of my own and so we fast forward to last week, 2015. My son is in third grade at what we believe is a pretty progressive school, one we have been really pleased with all through kindergarten to second grade. Third grade in our state is controlled, dominated and fully redirected toward state standardized testing which different schools handle in a variety of ways.

            Last week my son came home and told me his teacher told him he couldn’t bring The Hobbit to school for free reading anymore, because he had to read a book from the list. My hair prickled, my teeth clenched and my hands formed fists. I took a breath. “What list?” I asked calmly while suppressing images of book burnings and fascism. “There’s a list of books that have the right vocabulary words for me” he informed me. Okay. Stay calm. This is the 21^st century, we aren’t censoring books, there is a rational explanation and I will get to the bottom of this. He asked what he should do. Nothing, I told him, I’ll talk with the teacher. He wanted to know if he should bring the book tomorrow. I told him that of course, he should.

            There was a rational explanation. It turns out a computer has generated a list of books that are recommended for having vocabulary words that will help get kids prepared for the state standardized test, which seems innocuous enough on the surface. The Hobbit isn’t on it for third grade. Or any Tolkien. Fair enough, I would admit Tolkien is well above a third grade reading level. There is no C.S. Lewis, no Phantom Tollbooth, no Roald Dahl, no Spiderwick Chronicles, nothing from Chris D’Lacey’s Dragon Fire series…(yes, there is a trend in his favorite reading taste) I will be completely open, I don’t give a flying rat’s patootie about scores on standardized tests. As a former educator, I can assure you they have no bearing on academic or, more importantly, life skills. Struggling students may test well and gifted students may test poorly, happens all the time. Here is the real dilemma, what are we saying to our children about life, learning and basic joy if they are only allowed to read books that might improve a grade standard test score? Really what is the difference between full-on, backward thinking censorship of ideas and this new “list of grade level vocabulary appropriate books”? I have read the list and there are great books on the list, many my son has already read or might enjoy. My issue is simply that there is a very thin line between actively and with malicious calculation excluding ideas (and people, and cultures) and merely not including them…on the list.