Free My Million-Dollar Donkey by Ginny; East Page A

begin and I was armed with information.
    Sixty-five percent of all written literature is composed of 300 “instant” words. Beyond that, reading is simply a matter of building vocabulary. If a person can read only the 300 primary words, they can get by, but there are an additional 600 important instant words that a beginning reader must learn in order to function well. Thanks to the Internet and a book on literacy, I was ready for my first reading lesson.
    I arrived bearing flashcards:
    and, a, to, in, is, you, that, this, the, and it
    The words seemed easy, although I imagined memorizing random words without subject matter to string them together would be difficult. So I wrote Kathy a story, trying to use as many of the above instant words as I could.
    “Kathy wants to learn to read. Reading is not hard, but when you first begin, it feels as if you are facing a big mountain that you cannot imagine climbing. But, if you take it one step at a time, and keep your eyes on the top, you make progress and before you know it, you are up there in the sky, enjoying the amazing view. Sometimes, Kathy will not be in the mood to read... Sometimes she will enjoy the work. She must keep at it when it feels good or when it feels bad, because the top of the mountain is a very wonderful place to be. Once Kathy can read, she will be able to see far and wide and all the words and sentences and paragraphs will have been worth the effort.”
    I knew Kathy wouldn’t be able to read all the other words in the paragraph, but that wasn’t important at this early stage. I had used as many of the little words on the 300 list as I could, and I planned to read the story aloud then let her take the paper home to scout out and circle the instant words as her first homework assignment. I also created an “interest inventory” questionnaire to help me pick material she’d be inspired to read. If she liked cooking, I could bring in cooking magazines. If she liked movies, I could bring in pulp magazines about the stars. I had no shame, plotting ways to conquer her handicap. Once I found out the vacation destination of her dreams, I could find books about that place. I’d use the information to write short stories for her, too, so we wouldn’t be limited to reading preschool children’s books, which I feared would seem condescending to an adult student. Yep, I had this reading thing all figured out, or so I thought.
    I arrived for the lesson early and sat on the reception couch filled with a mixture of anticipation and confidence. The clock ticked away, first for seconds, then for minutes. Eventually an hour had passed and Kathy hadn’t shown up.
    After waiting yet another thirty minutes, I had to accept that my reading student had blown me off. I cried. Left. Cried more on the way home.
    There was a garbled message from Kathy on my answering machine when I got home, explaining that something had come up and would I meet her on Wednesday instead? I was leery of devoting further time to someone whom I now feared was less committed to enriching her life than I was. But I’d said I wouldn’t quit, and here I was with all these nifty flashcards all ready to go, so I agreed to try again.
    “Why are you so upset that she didn’t show up?” Neva asked putting aside her copy of Harry Potter’s newest adventure. At only eight, her nose was buried in a book more often than not.
    “I feel it is important I help this woman so she can read books like you.”
    “Reading is not very hard,” Neva pointed out. “I’d be happy to help you teach her.”
    “Maybe someday,” I said, imagining how self-conscious an adult reader might feel if an eight-year-old showed up to give her instruction. Still, I was moved to imagine my child wanting to help, and pleased to think I was setting a good example for my kids by volunteering time to someone less fortunate. This was a benefit I had not considered before, and now I was more anxious than ever that my new student