We sat in the sparkly white hallway, our backs against the wall. Owen’s knees were propped up, a place to rest the book he was reading. “”Get the carrots,” said mom. I put s…”
His eyes looked to me then back to the book. I watched him do all the right things, all the strategies we had been practicing. He looked at the picture, then back to the words. He studied that word that caused him to lose his reading flow. I silently cheered him on, not wanting to interrupt his work.
Just as I considered telling him the word, he said, “I need to reread this page again,” already pointing and reading each word on the previous page. He knew he would find what he needed there.
“‘Get some carrots,’ said mom. I put SOME carrots in the cart.”
A smile crept onto Owen’s face before his eyes rose from the page and found mine. My smile matched his.
These smiles are why I teach. There is beauty in watching someone do something they couldn’t do before, in the realization that they can.