Learning to Read with Jona

Personal Note: I had a really difficult time learning to read. I have to imagine my visual imparity caused a lot of this struggle, but I’d be naive to overlook the emotional struggle that still follows me around on bad days. These shameful memories flash in and out of my recollection with blinding confusion. From what I recall, I was always bad at reading and the idea of messing up, mispronouncing a word, my classmates all seeing just how dumb I really was-- it was too much for me to hold in my tiny hands. My siblings would call me stupid when I wasn’t able to pronounce simple words like Aisle or Breakfast. My mother would stand over me, frustration and impatience mounting as I fumbled through yet another sentence. I would get so scared of messing up that I would just start guessing words based on the first two or three letters. During school. I would leave the Language Arts lessons every morning and shuffle, slow and solo, to whatever windowless room in the basement of the school that year was called “The Reading Lab”, a sad attempt at making us struggling children feel less shame for our “inconvenient limitations.”

Eventually, I learned to love the act of reading, finding its embrace particularly comforting during those lonely teen years. But I am 26 years old and I am still entirely terrified to read aloud in the presence of others. The potential to make a mistake, the burn of embarrassment and how bad it would sting! It’s a nightmare ripped straight from my childhood, and truth be told, my struggle to read is one of my greatest shames. I needed to see it done differently, better than how it was handled with me. I longed to see someone stumble over our clunky language and have their adult there, by their side, reassuring them it’s alright to make a mistake. Ask for help because a mistake was made, and that’s okay. It’s okay to struggle when everyone else isn’t. Just keep trying. I promise you’ll get it <3

Reading Lessons with Jona

Before meeting her father when she was thirteen and beginning reading lessons under his tutelage, Yara was otherwise illiterate. Like so many others from Tabitha, the illegitimate child of a Cat, Yara had no chance of ever receiving a formal education. As she put it, she knew enough to get by. But she could never learn the three elemental reactions without being able to read. And so, daily lessons began.

At any given time Jona traveled with no more than two very intentional texts. The map they heavily relied upon to keep from dying, and the Desert Almanac, the book Jona used to see how poisonous the thing he just ate was. Most, if not all, of Yara’s reading was done using the latter. This made for interesting reading, as she selected at random, eyes closed, pointed finger diving into the pages. One selection defines the three basic categories of rock formation. The next one could be about the proper number of berries to go into a cactus pie. But one thing was consistent; for every completed section she read aloud, Yara received one dried apricot tossed her way. It was a simple system, but it showed positive results.

"...Of all the sand…urchins, this is the most toxic, and must be ah- av- uh- mm…”

“Avoided,” he offered to her from the other side of the smoldering fire pit. Breakfast was just finished which meant they only had another hour of usable daylight before the heat would overtake either of them. The region they were sifting through got so hot they had to swap their sleeping schedule to during the day, so at least they could be out and do work during the night. They were active when the rest of the desert came to life, when the suns finally set for the day. But that was bomb defusal training. This was reading lessons. And reading lessons took place every day, before sleep.

“Oh, avoided,” she nodded. “...and must be avoided, avoided, avoided. “ She raised her gaze from her lap where the Desert Almanac lay open across the tops of her legs. There was a disgruntled expression on her face. “Why does OI make an “oy” sound?”

“Because our language is garbage.” Jona answered without looking up from the fusion cube in his hands.

“That’s what you always say.”

“It’s never not true,”

“Okay, well cool. I finished another entry.” Jona shifted the cube so he held it in one hand. With the now free hand he plunged it into the bag of dried apricots at his side. A solitary apricot was lobbed across the camp. Yara and Jona had developed such a routine that she didn’t need to look up from her book in order to pluck the tossed apricot out of the air. At their best, the two made for an effortless machine.