Fine Lines

Believe in Small Things

David Martin

16.4 Winter 2007 Fine Lines

(Often, David Martin stuttered in school, because he could think faster than he could talk. Many times, he felt like a slow learner, but he wanted to become a better student. On his own, he figured out that most class situations revolved around reading issues. If he could read better, he thought he would perform at a higher level. He read as much as he could in his room, alone, and when he started getting better grades, he stuttered less. When he learned to process his answers after hearing the teacher’s questions and was allowed time enough to think his thoughts through, he stopped stuttering altogether. He figured this out by learning to enjoy reading.)

When I was young, I took many things for granted. Like most young people, I assumed things were the way they were for my benefit, and it was hard to put myself into other people’s shoes. I only knew what it was like to have clean drinking water, have three meals a day, have all my limbs working properly, be able to go to school, and receive a college education. I was naïve, self-centered, egotistical, and still had a lot of growing up to do.

Today, I feel like a different person. I do not assume life will work the way I think it should. I see the world through older eyes, and I still count my blessings every day, but I most appreciate being able to read and write.

Only 1% of the people living on this planet have a four-year college education. Although I am the first person on either side of my family to finish college, I knew from the time I was in sixth grade that I was college bound. Mother blessed me with a desire to read. She showed me it was “cool” to go to school. She smiled when I made thoughtful comments. I was no genius, and I was far from the smartest student in my class, but she gave me goals to reach, and those goals included books. She received enjoyment from words, and I could not avoid her enthusiasm.

Before I went to kindergarten, I knew the power of books. Mother read constantly to me and talked about the ideas she learned in those books she brought home from her weekly trips to the library. Next to our church, our town library was the most holy place for her.

At the age of four, I carried her books around the house, one in each hand. I felt older, when I adjusted my stance in order to hold their weight. I was not sure why they made her happy, but if they did, they made me happy, too. I remember sitting on the floor, opening her books one page at a time to feel the different textures of the paper. Some pages were coarse. Some were delicate. I still could not read, but I was amazed at how older boys could, and I knew some day, I would figure out “the code” they learned to decipher the ink marks on all of those pages.

I could not wait to read. I would lie in bed at night wondering what it would be like to read all of those books Mother had in her bedroom and on the bookshelves that were in almost every room of the house. However, my mother refused to teach me. One of her elementary teacher friends warned her about making a mistake if she tried to teach me herself. This teacher friend was worried that Mother would not do it correctly, since she had not attended college. This elementary teacher told Mom that a possible mistake made by her might hurt my chances of performing better, once I reached school, if I did not read properly. Because of this scolding, Mother only showed me pictures from books, talked about biblical stories, and read some of them word for word to me. She would not teach me the alphabet, so I could read myself.

I became so angry, frustrated, and anxious that when I came home from kindergarten, I was crying because I could not read after the first day of school. Mother just laughed and said, “Well, I guess you will have to go back tomorrow, then. Ms. Grimes will teach you some more.”

I started my education feeling inferior. Many of my classmates knew how to read on that first day of school, and I was puzzled. Was I not as smart as those who could read? What was the mystery of all those words on the pages, anyway? I became convinced in my own mind that I would learn what they meant, with or without Mother’s help.

As I got older, I insisted she teach me more than the school teachers tried to do, when it came to reading and communicating ideas. Constantly, I asked her what she was reading and why. I wanted her to tell me what she found interesting in those books. Then, I asked her what the words meant that she used to explain her ideas to me. When she got exasperated after so many questions or when I started asking questions she could not answer, she told me to go outside and play, while she went back to the kitchen.

If Dad happened to be home, instead of going outside to play, like Mom requested, I badgered him to tell me what he was reading in the newspaper before dinner and what he found interesting in those articles. I wanted to communicate with him, but I did not know his vocabulary. While I was growing up, I asked more questions about what my parents were reading than anything else I can remember.

I wanted to tell others what I thought. I wanted to know about life. I did not care if I was smart or not, but I wanted to know what made people wise. I was determined to find out what made leaders find the right answers, so they could lead their people. I wanted to be heard. I knew if I could figure out that code, how to use those letters in the alphabet, I would find out what wisdom meant and how to communicate with others. I felt I had things to say. I had so many questions, and I wanted to discover if there were answers to them. Would people listen? Maybe not, so I became introverted and thought I would be the most important audience for my questions after reading all that I could.

The concept of language centers on having the freedom to know anything. Language unifies people and liberates us. There are languages of anger, music, love, mind, heart, and soul. Language standardizes society and thrives on protest and change.

A healthy language is impure. English is a kind of Creole, a blend, a mixture, a grab-bag language. The English language would not be what it is today without the Angles, Saxons, Frisians, Jutes, Welsh, Danes, Vikings, Celts, Normans, Romans, Greeks, and many other nationalities. What a wonder there is in our words. We cannot refute what moves us. All we have are our passions. We can’t teach others, just inspire them, and words do those things.

“About 93 million adults out of a total adult population of around 221 million (42%) are at basic literacy levels or below. People who are below basic literacy levels can’t carry out the everyday functions that they would normally pursue in American society. They can’t read a bus schedule and see how to get across town. They can’t use most of the self-service ATMs. They can’t fill out the average job application to try to get a job or get a better job. Those who are considered at basic literacy levels are still operating on a very rudimentary level in terms of math skills and in terms of reading capabilities, being unable to draw simple conclusions from reading a column in a newspaper (fifth grade level) or reading a newspaper editorial that may be comparing candidates in a local election” (Robert Wedgeworth, President, ProLiteracy, a comment on the 2005 National Assessment of Adult Literacy Report, ChildrenoftheCode.org).

“There is a profound reading crisis in the United States. Almost 40% of fourth graders do not read even at the basic level, and a majority of students do not read at the proficient level” (James Wendorf, Director, National Center for Learning Disabilities, ChildrenoftheCode.org).

Writing is collected intimacy, a warm hug when the world falls apart, a good looking woman just out of reach, a steaming cup of coffee in the kitchen while the blizzard outside threatens to blow the roof off, seeing a pair of bright eyes across a crowded room, a red-rubber clown nose on a man in a business suit, and stringing sentences together from 3 a.m. to 10 a.m. without moving once from the chair. Writing is more about finding the important questions in life than the correct answers. Discovering what we need to know, what we can’t stop thinking about, what have become our obsessions, and what our passions will do for us – these are the reasons we need to read and write well.

The best teachers are story tellers: Jesus and his parables, John Steinbeck and the Joads, Ernest Hemingway and The Old Man and the Sea, Natalie Goldberg and Writing Down the Bones, Lynne Truss and Eats, Shoots and Leaves, Victor Hugo and Les Miserables.

In school, I disliked history classes because the focus in each one was learning dates and arranging unconnected information. Now, I find myself addicted to the History Channel. Its television programs tell such well written stories, and history is now interesting.

Writing is humanity’s most far-reaching creation. Words convey meaning, are flexible, have magical powers, overthrow governments, and change history. Its forms and designs are endless. Sumerians started writing 5,000 years ago, and today, 85% of the world’s population writes in some form. Writing has the power of innovation and can move hearts and minds. The Egyptians’ phonetical alphabet occurred 3,500 years ago, but there was no mass literacy until after Johann Gutenberg invented the printing press in 1440. Now, there are more than 800 font styles of type.

The Greeks created the first alphabet to have one symbol for each sound. The Latin alphabet evolved from Greek in the sixth century BC. However, Chinese is the only one with individual characters representing individual words.

Writing combats loneliness, creates a sense of self, shows affections of the soul, alleviates depression, boosts the immune system by increasing T-cells, lowers blood pressure, and lets individuals be heard. More than 10,000 languages have been spoken throughout history, but most were never written down. Pages were created in place of scrolls in the second century AD, and spacing was not placed between words until the seventh century.

Reading aloud died slowly. Making sounds while reading was an honor and a mark of distinction showing one’s intelligence. Only recently did we learn to appreciate reading silently. Sharing written language unites people. It is a miracle when a child first puts thoughts and emotions onto paper. Writing requires work at both ends, forming thoughts and reading them.

John Gardner said, “A writer seldom exceeds in quality the books he reads.” Writers, if they are serious, should read all they can, experience life all they can, and write all they can. Only in this way will they acquire worthy content.

William Least Heat Moon, author of Blue Highways, said, “Get off the main roads like the Interstate. Follow the blue roads, the small ones that go through the small towns. Meet the people who really make this country work.” If we want to see the world and pursue our own paths, the most exciting and worthwhile knowledge and wisdom will come to us on those small roads that lead us away from the massive crowds and toward roads less traveled.

According to Bill Wheeler, “Good writing is clear thinking made visible.” Increased clear vision arrives with good prose and poetry. We do not need more “stuff.” We need to use the “stuff” we have in different ways. Let’s make sure our “stuff” has juice in it, the essence of creativity and vision. Good writers and artists of all types transform the ordinary into the extra-ordinary. Do we really need $12,000 of new photographic equipment to take that picture? Can’t we use words to place a “photo” in the reader’s mind of what we want them to see?

Celebrate what is “write” with the world. Use words every day to see the world with new eyes. Focus on clear thinking. Turn mistakes into opportunities. There is more than one right answer. Some people say the answer to good communication is to act like a radio. As far as I am concerned, we need more listeners, because this is the primary aspect of good, specific communication.

John Muir was devoted to nature, and his photos and writing made going into the wilderness attractive to many people. For him, life was beautiful in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Art is the ultimate objective for those who wish to communicate, and he tried to make his life a work of art. Shouldn’t we all?

Artists have three steps to remember. They feel curious and vulnerable while taking risks to capture their passions in their chosen medium. Focusing on the right perspective with the metaphorical right angle and right lens brings clarity to the object. Using the proper technique reframes the difficulty addressed into an opportunity for understanding.

Writers of all ages must remember that good writing is specific writing. Let’s do what we do best and do more with less. Life does not make appointments. It just keeps coming at us. The angles, the colors, the courage, and the joy point our words at universal themes. Keep searching. Believe in small things to make big things happen.

Mother did not have an advanced education, but she possessed the knowledge of many scholars. She read, voraciously, and I saw her wisdom increase with each trip to the library. One of the most important things she taught me was that I must take some time to read every day for pleasure.