Free A Flower for Angela by Sandra Leesmith Page A

each other. They know far more than we give them credit for.”
    He cast her an indignant scowl, which she ignored. She walked to Carlos's desk. When she realized Ricardo’s gaze was drawn to her body, she trembled slightly. She shook the wide-lined papers out to distract his attention from her and direct it back to the issue. The movement also helped to calm her nerves.
    "Look at Carlos's story as an example." She perched next to him to show him the child's work. Awareness of him charged through her. Her fingers shook as she pointed to the words. "Would you believe that a six-year-old has mastery of such rich language? Look how he sets mood and emotion with these adjectives. You heard the reaction of the class."
    "Yes, but—"
    "First-grade preprimers don't use words like this. They use one-syllable, flat vocabulary that says nothing—and do you want to know why?"
    Caught up in the conviction of her beliefs, she missed the gleam of amusement in his eyes.
    "Why?" he asked as his breath fanned her cheek.
    Losing her train of thought, she peered at him and saw the humor lurking around the curves of his mouth.
    "Because." She stood, miffed that he found her speech entertaining and disturbed because he could fluster her with a sensuous look. Determined to convince him, she continued. "Because those in charge of curriculum think six-year-olds don't know any complex words yet. So they stifle and bore the children with subhuman language."
    "But if they can't read—"
    "That's the whole point.” She threw her hands in the air for emphasis. "They aren't going to want to read when there's nothing meaningful in the content of the books."
    "I admit your students want to read, but can they?"
    "It's hard to believe, but most of these first-graders do know how to read and write. What's more, they do so at a level way above their grade."
    With a sweep of her hand, she grabbed several books published in class from the bookcase. "Look at these. They were written by the children, using their language, telling stories that mean something to them." She paused for effect and took a deep breath. "They can read these."
    He thumbed through the pages while avoiding her eyes. "Of course, they can read these. They've memorized them."
    "But don't you see?" She tapped a coral nail on the large print. "Through familiar language they figure out the written system. It's like learning how to talk. You listen to language around you and from what you hear, you generalize and expand your vocabulary. It's the same premise whole language is based upon."
    "That doesn't make sense." He set down the books and grabbed Carlos's papers. Angela couldn’t take her eyes off his blunt tipped fingers. "Look at this kid's writing. Who's going to teach him to spell, use proper punctuation and grammar? You need to teach him that."
    "I do." She focused on his words in disbelief. Did he actually think she sat doing nothing all day? "When they’re ready they bring me their work and we conference and edit. That's what I do at the table."
    "But it's only one child at a time, when you should be working with all of them."
    "It’s hard to get to all of them when I have such a large class—I admit that." She began to pace, forgetting about the disturbing quality of the man as her defenses rose.
    A strand of hair fell across her face and with an unconscious gesture she brushed it back. When she turned to face Ricardo, she caught the admiration in his glance. A thrill raced through her, but she suppressed her reaction. She had to persuade him that the children did in fact learn more through this "holistic” approach.
    "When I do get to that one child, he learns what I teach him because it's relevant to what he needs at that moment , for his work." She began to pace again, this time conscious of his gaze following her every step. "When a teacher stands in front of the class and lectures, maybe the child learns, and maybe he doesn't. He might not even be listening. There’s no way