Literacy: Foundation of Democracy

I took advantage of our recent school break to head back to Vermont and reintroduce myself to my partner and daughter. Both seemed glad to see me, although for quite different reasons: Andrea needed me to fix the leaky kitchen sink, stack the three cords of wood I cut last summer, and provide her with an all-too-brief respite from her responsibilities as single mother; Cady Scout needed me to help her pick cherry tomatoes from the garden, play tag, and read book after book after book to her.

It was wonderful to be back in the arms of my family and to be back East. The leaves were on the verge of bursting into the myriad colors for which New England is famed, the days were crisp, and we spent several nights curled up in front of a crackling fire.

But we didn’t spend every night in front of a fire because whoever built our chimney didn’t build it high enough. Whenever the wind blows from the southwest, it swirls over the peak of our roof and heads straight down the flue into the house. As one might imagine, a roomful of smoke has a tendency to ruin whatever romantic ambiance had been anticipated, not to mention making it impossible to breathe.

Because my limited Mr. Fix-It skills do not include masonry (in fact, I’m much better at destruction than I am at construction), I tracked down a mason who had done some work for the neighbors down the lane. When he showed up at the back door, Ralph didn’t look like someone who owned his own masonry company: his long hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his arms were covered in tattoos. But he clearly knew what he was doing, for it took him only a few minutes to calculate the number of bricks he would need to send the chimney up another 10 feet and to figure out an estimate of what it would cost, including a down payment that he wanted in cash right then and there.

Since I didn’t have a thousand bucks in cash lying around the house, I convinced him to take a check. He asked where the bank was; I pointed out where the name of the bank was written on the top of the check and, when he looked confused, explained that it was on Main Street right next to the barbershop.

Then I told him about a buddy who also needed his stone steps rebuilt. When I offered to write down directions to my buddy’s house, Ralph said quickly, “It’s better if you just tell me because I remember better if I hear ‘em.” And then it suddenly occurred to me— Ralph couldn’t read; he was illiterate.

I know it was irrational, but I immediately felt guilty, and sorry for him, and angry at the schools that had failed him. I felt sick that in America a student—someone’s son—never learned how to read, never had the chance to participate in the wonderful world of imagination created by words. I didn’t know what to do. I felt small, inadequate, as though I had personally failed him.

I have been reflecting on this for the last couple of weeks and still feel a pit in my stomach, still feel helpless. Even though I believe that it is the responsibility of every humane society to ensure the literacy of each and every one of its members, it’s obvious, even in 2005, that we can’t take education for granted, that our schools are failing some of our citizens.

The fact that schools are failing some of our students is an ugly reality, one that is difficult to face, and even more difficult to address. But unless we acknowledge it, we, as a society, will never be able to ensure that in a democratic society, one founded on the principles of civic participation, education is everyone’s responsibility: parent, student, teacher, principal, and politician. Education is my responsibility, your responsibility, and, most importantly, education is our communal responsibility.

--Steve McKibben
10/23/05