What Happens When Teachers Don’t Read (And The Quiet Lesson It Teaches Kids)
I leaned against the doorframe of my 5th grader’s classroom last fall, waiting for our parent-teacher conference to start, and counted the reading-themed decorations first: three neon “Reading Takes You Everywhere” posters, a bulletin board covered in student book reviews, a stack of upcoming book fair flyers by the sign-in sheet. What I didn’t see was any book that looked like it belonged to the teacher.
Ms. Henderson got to Leo’s reading progress first, just like I expected. “He’s not turning in his weekly reading logs half the time, and when he does pick a book, it’s always a graphic novel. He says he doesn’t have time to read at home, but I’m just not seeing him buy into the habit.” I nodded, and glanced at her desk: a stack of ungraded math quizzes, a stapler, a water bottle, her phone propped against the keyboard, screen lighting up with Instagram notifications every two minutes. No open book, no dog-eared paperback tucked in a drawer, nothing that said she read for anything other than lesson planning.
It took me back to my first student teaching placement, 12 years earlier, when I worked alongside a 3rd grade teacher named Mrs. Lopez. She had a beat-up copy of a YA fantasy novel sitting on her desk corner at all times, the spine held together with packing tape. During daily 20-minute silent reading, she never graded papers or answered emails. She sat in the rolling chair at the front of the room, and read right along with the kids. Once, she slammed her book shut halfway through silent reading and groaned loud enough for everyone to hear: “She did not just trust that guy. I can’t believe this.” By recess, half the class was crowded around her desk asking what happened, and by the end of the month, every single copy of that book was checked out of our classroom library.
A couple years ago, I helped run a casual roundtable for new elementary teachers, and I asked everyone how many had read a book for fun in the last 30 days. Out of 14 people, only four raised their hands. Most of the others laughed and said the only reading they do after school is scrolling social media and permission slips. I get it. I’ve had weeks where I grade, cook dinner, help with homework, and fall into bed scrolling until my eyes burn, too. No one has extra time these days.
But the thing no one talks about is the quiet lesson we send when kids never see us reading. We tell them reading is important, that it’s fun, that it’ll help them in school and life. But if the only time anyone reads in front of them is when they’re forced to do it for homework, the message that sticks is: reading is a chore for kids. It’s not something actual grown-ups do for enjoyment. That’s the wrong lesson, no matter how many posters you hang on the wall.
This doesn’t mean every teacher needs to carve out five hours a week to read a new novel, or that anyone’s a bad teacher if they don’t finish a book a month. There are tiny, low-effort changes that make a huge difference. Keep the book you’re reading open on your desk instead of your phone when you’re waiting for kids to line up or taking attendance. Spend two minutes a week telling your class about whatever you’re reading – it doesn’t have to be a kids’ book, either. If you’re reading a true crime paperback or a gardening guide or even a romance novel, tell them that. I once told my 4th graders about a true story I read about a lost dog, and three of them checked it out of the public library the next week. Most importantly, read during silent reading time. Even if you only do it three days a week, and grade on the other two, that’s enough for kids to see you doing the thing you’re asking them to do.
For parents, if your kid’s teacher doesn’t do this, it doesn’t mean all is lost. You can model it at home, and the steps are just as small. Leave your current book out on the coffee table or kitchen counter instead of leaving your phone faced up there when you’re done with it. When you’re waiting for their soccer practice to start or for food at a restaurant, pull out your book instead of opening TikTok. Mention what you’re reading in casual conversation, no big speech required. “I’m really liking this book I’m reading about a cook in Paris” or “I can’t believe the main character made that dumb choice” is enough.
After my conference with Ms. Henderson, I picked up Leo from the playground and we stopped for ice cream on the way home. He pulled his latest graphic novel out of his backpack and started reading while we waited for our order. I told him I was 100 pages into a new mystery novel I’d picked up, and I couldn’t figure out who had stolen the museum painting. He put his book down for five minutes and walked me through his theory, pointing out all the clues I’d missed. That’s the thing: he already likes reading. He just doesn’t like that the only reading anyone asks him to do is for a grade.
Last week, I got the new classroom newsletter, and there’s a new section at the bottom: Ms. Henderson’s Book Pick. She wrote that she’s reading a thriller about a small town, and she stays up too late reading it even though she has to wake up at 6 a.m. It’s a tiny change, it didn’t take her more than five minutes to write. I don’t know if it’ll make Leo suddenly turn in all his reading logs on time, or fall in love with the assigned historical fiction chapter book they’re reading this semester. But it’s the right start. The lesson we need to teach isn’t that reading is good for you. It’s that reading is something you do, just for you, no matter how old you are. That’s the lesson that sticks, long after the posters fade off the bulletin board.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » What Happens When Teachers Don’t Read (And The Quiet Lesson It Teaches Kids)