Raising Readers: What You Need to Know About Nonfiction (Guest Post)

I discovered Alysa's blog a couple of years ago, and we instantly connected over our love of children's literature.

Alysa is a graphic novel enthusiast (she just finished serving as a Round 2 Cybils judge in the graphic novel category), and since that is not a genre I am particularly well-versed in, I love to go to her blog for recommendations. In February, she made a goal to write a post on her blog every day (every day!), and she totally accomplished it with wit and style and humor.

Today she's sharing some tips about how to raise a reader who loves nonfiction. I feel like I'm constantly on the lookout for great nonfiction books that will please all my kids, but especially my rather picky six-year-old. I hope you find this post helpful, too!

Over the past month or so, I've had a couple of friends ask me about how to help their kids get into reading non-fiction. Perhaps they asked because they know I have an elementary education background. Maybe they asked because they know I judged non-fiction for kids in the Cybils. Or maybe they just asked because we are friends and it was on their minds. Anyway, I thought what I told them might help you, too. 

There are two types of non-fiction: narrative and non-narrative. Actually, there are many types of non-fiction, but they can all be roughly divided into two categories: narrative, and non-narrative. 

You know that a narrative is a story. So, narrative non-fiction is true stories—think about biographies and historical accounts. Non-narrative non-fiction is true facts—think about the Guinness Book of World Records or My First Book of Numbers. 

If your children enjoy fiction, I recommend introducing them to some narrative non-fiction. This category of non-fiction book is designed to be read straight through. My friend Kirstin said that she had tried some non-fiction with her kids but, "they asked me to stop reading! They said they were done. And they never say that they're done with a book." I asked her a little bit about the book, and it was non-narrative. Since her three kids are all pre-kindergarten, I'm not surprised they didn't stay interested in the book. 

What keeps us interested in non-narrative (sometimes called expository or informational) non-fiction, is that it is answering our questions. I know kids who read the dictionary for fun, but I wasn't one of them. I use the dictionary when I have a question. And that's perfectly fine. Informational non-fiction is designed to be dipped into, to be picked up in the middle. It's organized so that you can quickly find what you want and get out. It's a beautiful thing, but it's different from narrative, and kids who don't know how to read in this way might need a little more help from you. Kirstin's kids might have stayed more engaged with their book if she had guided them towards some questions about the subject. If you're not accustomed to pausing during reading and talking with the kids, this could seem strange at first. But if you think of non-fiction books as a way to engage your kids in deep and meaningful conversations, you'll find success. 

It is definitely worth it to help your kids enjoy non-fiction. And it's easier now than ever to get them going on it. Remember when I said you could think of biographies and historical accounts as two kinds of narrative non-fiction? Well there are so many more. There are picture books that tell the story of volcanoes creating island. There are bird watching guides that have a conversational tone and just really suck you in. 

That's the biggest thing that I learned when I judged the non-fiction category for the Cybils. The Cybils only accepts nominees that are narrative, it doesn't take workbooks or collections of facts or other informational non-fiction. And I was totally shocked by how much amazing narrative non-fiction is out there. The quantity and the diversity of the nominees blew my socks off. "This is NOT the non-fiction I grew up with!" I found myself saying. 

So, next time you take the kids to the library, I hope you take a minute to browse the non-fiction in the children's section. (If they have a "new" shelf especially for non-fiction, go praise your librarian.) Now that you know a little more about narrative and non-narrative non-fiction, you'll be better prepared to help your kids pick something they like and learn how to read it.  

Remember, if it's narrative, you can treat it a lot more like a typical read-aloud. If it's non-narrative, don't be afraid to dive in the middle, stop once your questions have been answered, or just enjoy the pictures and captions. Different books are meant to be read differently. 

Alysa makes her online home at Everead, where she has been writing about children's literature since 2008. Her offline home, in Connecticut, is equally well stocked with books, opinions, and optimism. She loves refried beans and being a stay-at-home-librarian to three young patrons.

Poetry Snack Time (the What, the Why, and the How)

I've been talking about poetry snack time ever since we did it for the first time last summer. I mentioned it in two posts, here and here, and I frequently share little glimpses of it on Instagram. I've had a few of you ask for more details, and so today, I'm sharing what has worked, what hasn't worked, and what we're doing now.

But first, a little credit where credit is due: I did not come up with the idea for poetry snack time on my own. Please. All of my brilliant ideas have been stolen from other people. No, the idea was first planted when I listened to Sarah Mackenzie's interview with Julie Bogart. Julie mentioned something called Poetry Teatime, a (usually) weekly event for her kids where she combined yummy food and fancy table settings with beautiful (or silly or interesting) poetry.

I was intrigued with this idea in part because for years I felt intimidated by poetry. My dad had a few poems he used to read to us ("The Swing" and "My Shadow" by Robert Louis Stevenson, " "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer," and "Paul Revere's Ride" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow), but I wasn't the type to just sit down and become immersed in a poetry collection.

But as an adult, I pushed myself to explore poetry. I tentatively picked up a couple of verse novels and made the amazing discovery that I actually love poetry. Truly love it. Then I started to introduce it to my kids. We found a few favorite poetry collections, and they loved to page through them and select various ones for me to read. We also memorized several of our favorites. (I talked a lot more about this experience in this post: "How to Memorize Poetry With Your Kids.")

When Julie Bogart referenced poetry teatime, I knew it was something we had to try, but I also knew that my boys weren't going to go for anything as fancy and frilly-sounding as "poetry teatime." So the very first thing we did was change the name to Poetry Snack Time. Besides the change in name, I had three goals going into it: make it special without making it complicated, encourage good manners and adventurous eating, and introduce new poems and poets.

First, special but not complicated: I knew from reading Happier at Home that even the simplest things can feel special if they're outside the norm, so I bought some new plates and cups and reserved them specifically for poetry snack time. Now before you start thinking I spent a lot of money on fine china, think again. We're talking plastic picnic-ware: turquoise plates divided into sections and plastic cups with a zig-zag pattern. Nothing fancy or expensive, but they were different and therefore my kids assumed they were special. Each time we had poetry snack time, we set the table nicely (meaning, we spread out a tablecloth or set out place mats and laid out folded paper napkins), and my kids felt the out-of-the-ordinariness of it.

Second, adventurous eating and good manners: Hey, as long as we were going to the trouble of a special snack, I figured I might as well get some extra mileage out of it. Each time we have poetry snack time, we have a drink, two healthy snacks, and one treat. One of the healthy snacks is always a fruit or vegetable, and the other can be something like crackers, popcorn, nuts, yogurt, cheese, or chips (so maybe not necessarily "healthy" but not sugary, if that makes sense). The rule is you have to try everything that is being served, and the way we make this fair is by letting everyone have a turn as the snack chooser. Because of this rule, my kids have tried a variety of new things, and you can bet I use this to my advantage when it's my turn to choose the snack. Red peppers and hummus, kids.

As far as good manners, we use our napkins, speak when our mouths are empty, and ask for things to be passed rather than reach for them. In other words, common sense, but you'd be surprised (or maybe you wouldn't) how difficult it is for these things to become habits.

Third, new poetry and poets. We will always love Shel Silverstein, but I wanted this to be a time to explore some of the work of other poets as well. I haven't been very organized about this (as in, I don't have some master list I'm going off of: "Okay, now we'll read some of Emily Dickenson and then some Henry Wadsworth Longfellow..."). Basically, if I hear about a poetry collection, I check it out. I also spend a fair bit of time browsing good ol' 811 at the library. But although my methods are not sophisticated, they've worked. We've read some Marilyn Singer, Jack Prelutsky, Ogden Nash, Robert Louis Stevenson, John Updike, and Joyce Sidman, and we have discovered so many new favorites.

So those were my goals, and for the most part, they have stayed intact even as we've made other adjustments and changes.

But now let's move onto the actual logistics.

When we first started doing poetry snack time, I handed out one book of poetry to each child, and we spent the first seven minutes or so quietly reading to ourselves. Then we ate eat, and at the end, each person read their favorite poem aloud to everyone else.

After a few months of this, I realized something wasn't working. My kids looked forward to poetry snack time, but it was so hard for them to endure the seven minutes of poetry reading before diving into the delicious food that sat there tempting them. More and more, they spent the entire time asking me if they could be done reading and if it was time to eat yet and why did they have to read more when they'd already found the poem they wanted to share. I realized poetry snack time was having the opposite effect I wanted it to. Instead of enjoying the poems, they had become the detour between them and the food.

We took a break for a few weeks while I decided what to do. Our current method basically kept poetry and food separate (for obvious reasons . . . I couldn't let them ruin library books by eating Oreos and milk while perusing Robert Frost), but the whole point was to enjoy them together.

So I did what many of you are probably thinking should have been the obvious choice from the beginning: I now read while they eat. I know. Brilliant, right? Their hands and their mouths are occupied, and so the poems take center stage.

If the collection is short enough, I read it cover to cover and then take requests for a few favorites to be read again. If it's longer, then I pick and choose and jump around as I please.

As soon as I realized poetry snack time was going to stick around for the long term, I wanted a way to preserve some of the memories we were making. I picked up some poster board, cut it down to place mat size, and let the boys each decorate one. (Over the summer, Aaron and Maxwell had attended an art class where they painted paper and then cut it up to form collage-type art. We used the extra paper for these place mats.) Then I went to the copy store and had them laminated.

Now when we come to the end of poetry snack time, we have one final task: choose a favorite poem and write the name, author, and date on each of our place mats. Sometimes there's a standout favorite; sometimes we all choose something different. So far, we've been using the back of the place mats, but I anticipate the fronts being used eventually as well . . . littered with dozens of favorite poems and dates, a perfect hodge podge of memories.

I'm sure things will continue to change as this tradition evolves with us, but for now we've hit our stride. Next week, I'll share some of our favorite poetry collections so far, but in the meantime, if you have any questions for me, I'm more than happy to try to answer them.

A Little of This and That in February

Well, friends, we made it! Here we are on this final bonus day of February, right on the cusp of leaving winter behind us. We've already had a few little glimpses of spring, and I can feel my soul waking up from its winter sleep.

That said, I'm happy to say, we didn't just endure February, but really enjoyed it. This month was spent . . .

Escaping . . . the inversion. I love almost everything about living in Salt Lake except for the horribly nasty air that gets trapped in our valley during the winter months. Right around President's Day, we literally had the worst air on record. It gave me a headache, which it's never done before. I really wanted to go to San Diego again, or at least St. George, but we settled for a couple of hours in the mountains instead.

Hosting . . . book club. We discussed The Children Act by Ian McEwan, a book I didn't love but that made for one of the best discussions I've ever been to (in part because my friend, Jen, who was the discussion leader, knows how to ask really thoughtful, probing questions). I always get really nervous to host because throwing a party is not one of my strengths, but it turned out really fun (and now my turn won't come up again for awhile!).

Touring . . . the new Provo City Center Temple (formerly the Provo Tabernacle). The tickets were in high demand, so we settled for Friday morning at 7:00am. That meant we had to be out the door, dressed in our Sunday best no less, at 6:00am (oh, and did I mention that Mike had returned from a work trip at midnight the night before?). But it was so worth it. I have a tender spot in my heart for that building because I spent so much time there during my college days (including my senior recital). The craftsmanship was gorgeous and I was so humbled by the symbolic reminder that Heavenly Father can transform great tragedy into wondrous blessings.

Delighting . . . in all of Clark's new words. In the last month, he has turned into quite the little talker. It still sounds like gibberish to most people, but we in the family can understand almost everything he says. Our favorite words are, "O-tay," "Why?," "I'm fine," Nie-nie [night-night]," "tee-tee [pizza]," "That's Daddy's!," "Addie [his cousin]," "amen," "hot dog," "spidey-spidey [spider]," and "tane-too, Mommy [thank you, Mommy]."

Basking . . . in the warm, spring-like weather we've had the last few days. Max has picked up right where he left off in the fall in his search for bugs. Mike has been anxiously checking his raspberry plants that he transplanted in the fall. The soccer ball has come back out, as well as the bikes, scooters, and wiggle cars. Everyone is coming out of hibernation, and it feels like our neighborhood is alive again.

Listening . . . to Anne Bogel's new podcast What Should I Read Next. Oh my goodness, I'm obsessed. Anne asks her guests for three books they love, one book they hate, and what they're currently reading and then gives them three recommendations for what they should read next. The book talk is perfection. Her guests are well-spoken and witty, and even when they're talking about a book I know I'd never want to read, the discussion itself is just so interesting. Of course I've thought about how I'd answer those questions for myself, and man, it would be hard to decide (although I know exactly which book I'd mention for one that I hated).

Celebrating . . . Valentine's Day with chocolate waffles, origami hearts, date night, and, of course, books.

Beginning . . . a "no treats for a month" fast. I'm dying. I knew I was addicted to sugar, but it's been two weeks, and I'm still absolutely craving it. I think, according to Gretchen Rubin's definition of it, I'm an abstainer rather than a moderator, but I don't think I can give up treats long term. Nor do I want to.

Judging . . . the easy readers/early chapter books for the Cybils Award. This is definitely something I hope to participate in again in the future.

Teaching . . . joy school. More than half-way through the year, and I still think they're the cutest little group we've ever had. Plus, Bradley has a crush on Jane, which is super adorable.

Writing . . . a guest post for What Do We Do All Day. We played with our city of Lemonopolis all month, and it was so much fun.

Welcoming . . . a new niece to the family. My brother and his wife had a baby at the beginning of the month, and her two older siblings stayed with us for a couple of days. We loved having them, and I just love new babies.

Reading . . . quite the variety of books. Everything from a reread of The Happiness Project to some medieval fantasy to some nonfiction with Aaron.

Stressing . . . about school decisions for 2016-2017. There's nothing to decide yet, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about it. One thing I can tell you though, we just can't do the two schools thing again. I'll write more about it later. (And if you know me in real life, I'm sorry. It seems I can't have a normal conversation without bringing it up at some point!)

What were you up to this month?

Keturah and Lord Death by Martine Leavitt

You know that uncomfortable feeling you get when you really like a book and then everyone else hates it? Or, conversely, when everyone else raves about a book and then you read it to see what all the fuss is about and it falls totally flat? It sort of makes you question everything about your reading taste, especially if you're disagreeing with someone whose tastes generally match your own.

That happened to me with Keturah and Lord Death, but I'll hold off telling you if it was a love/hate or hate/love scenario until after I've briefed you on the plot.

Despite living in the poorest village in the kingdom, Keturah and her grandmother are happy. Keturah hopes to one day find her "one true love," but she isn't in a hurry. One day, she follows the great white hart into the forest and becomes lost for three days. Her life is slipping away when Lord Death appears to escort her the rest of the way. Keturah is desperate to hold onto her life and so bargains with Lord Death with the only thing she can think of: a story. She weaves a tale of loss and love and then cuts it off abruptly, promising to tell the rest at the end of the next day. Lord Death agrees and even promises to spare her life completely if she can find her "one true love" before her time is up.

Keturah returns to the village with a determination to do two things: find someone to fall in love with and warn Lord Temsland about the impending plague that will surely ravage their village if they don't do something. But both tasks prove more difficult than anticipated, so Keturah keeps holding off Lord Death, but with a price.

I have so many friends who adore this book. In fact, I think I first heard about it from Julianne Donaldson (author of Edenbrooke) who listed it as one of her very favorite books. I value and respect the opinions of these friends. I've loved some of their other recommendations in the past. I share many of the same favorite books as them.

And so I can't figure out how my experience with this book could be so vastly opposite of theirs.

Because, if you must know, I didn't really like this book. In fact, even though it's only 200 pages long, it felt like it dragged on and on forever. However, instead of just saying, "Hmmm, I guess that one wasn't really for me" and moving on, I feel compelled to somehow hash out my experience and figure out what went wrong. Here are a few guesses:

•  Listening to this book was a huge mistake. In fact, I might even go so far as to blame my whole negative reaction on the fact that I listened to it instead of read it. I checked it out from the library through their One-Click Digital program, which doesn't let you speed up the tracks. I've become pretty accustomed to listening to things at double speed, but since it was such a short book, I didn't think it would really matter. Oh, but it did. Every sentence felt stretched out to the point of distortion until I thought I was going to scream at the narrator.
• The phrase "one true love" (which I normally only associate with Disney movies anyway) was so overused, I thought I was going to gag. (Again though, the way the narrator elongated "onnnne truuuue lovvve" certainly couldn't have helped.)
• Keturah was about as dimwitted a heroine as they come. She spends all of her bargained time perfecting her pie-making skills in hopes that she will win Ben Marshall's hand in marriage, but she freely admits that she doesn't even like Ben. Her friends, Beatrice and Gretta, are not much better. It's one thing for a reader to be privy to some important information and watch in great suspense for the characters to figure something out. It's another to want to reach through the pages and throttle them because they are so imperceptive.
• The ending was so unsatisfying . . . and not for the reason all of you who have read it are probably thinking. It didn't surprise or disappoint me. I expected it and saw it coming from the beginning. But I wanted to want it. And I thought that I would want it by the end. But I didn't. And a love story that doesn't make your heart flutter even once feels like a failure. 

One of the reasons everyone seems to love this book is because of the beautiful and unique perspective it gives to death, and for this, and this alone, I will whole-heartedly agree. Here are four favorite quotes:

"If untimely death came only to those who deserved that fate, Keturah, where would choice be? No one would do good for its own sake but only to avoid an early demise."

"She knew it was Death who sweetened the apples."

"His voice is cold at first . . . It seems unfeeling. But if you listen without fear, you find that when he speaks, the most ordinary words become poetry. When he stands close to you, your life becomes a song, a praise. When he touches you, your smallest talents become gold. The most ordinary loves break your heart with their beauty."

"Tell me what it is like to die."
"You experience something similar every day," he said softly. "It is as familiar to you as bread and butter."
"Yes," I said. "It is like every night when I fall asleep."
"No, it is like every morning when you wake up."

I have a feeling that if I read it again (and actually read it this time), I might have a different overall opinion, but I'm not willing to risk such torture again in order to find out.

Come on, friends who love this book: Tell me why you liked it! Defend Keturah and her "one true love." Show me what I was missing. And, in contrast, is there anyone who can commiserate with me? I know the majority of readers love this book, but surely there must be someone out there who was as disenchanted with this book as I was.

Katy and the Big Snow (a Guest Post on What Do We Do All Day)

Today I'm over at What Do We Do All Day sharing a favorite winter picture book and a sensory activity to go along with it.

From the post:

"One of our favorite spreads in [Katy and the Big Snow] is the map of Geoppolis. All of the buildings are numbered, and then, along the perimeter of the page, there's a closeup of each labeled building. It's one of those pictures you really have to stop and study for at least five minutes before moving on.

That picture was the inspiration for this fun, sensory-related extension activity. We decided to make our own city with various types of "snow" that Katy could dig her way out of."

To read the rest of the post and see just exactly how we made it snow, head on over to What Do We Do All Day. (And while you're over there, be sure to check out Erica's two most recent book lists: one for kids who love Roald Dahl and the other for kids who love The Chronicles of Narnia--I added a bunch of books to our future readaloud list.)

There was something really satisfying in seeing the realization of this activity because it was something I'd had in my head for a long time. Every time we read Katy and the Big Snow, I'd think, Wouldn't it be fun to create our own city, and if we did, what types of materials could we use for snow? My kids really took control of the project and were even more creative and excited (and, I admit, messy) than I imagined or hoped they would be. It was exactly the kind of activity we needed to get us through February.

Truce by Jim Murphy

A couple of months ago, I wrote a post about how I was changing my approach to selecting books for Aaron to read. I'm happy to report that it's going very well on all fronts. The best (or should I say most rewarding) thing I've done so far is just making an effort to read some of the same books as him. When I made my goals for the year, I included one geared towards this specifically: "Read six of the same books as Aaron." I actually hope to read more than six with him, but that seemed like a good starting point.

Awhile back, one of my favorite Instagram accounts mentioned a nonfiction title by Jim Murphy called Truce. I'm always on the lookout for nonfiction authors who write about interesting subjects in an engaging way. A quick look at my library revealed that Jim Murphy has written dozens of books on everything from tuberculosis to crazy inventions to a huge blizzard. I felt like I'd struck gold (or at least, I hoped I had). Such a find could potentially keep Aaron going for years.

I checked out Truce from the library and then decided it would be the perfect book to kick start my goal with Aaron.

In 1914, World War I broke out after a sort of misunderstanding (if you can call something as serious as an assassination "a misunderstanding." There was already quite a bit of tension between Germany, France, Austria, England, Russia, and other countries, and so maybe World War I would have happened at some point anyway, but to this day, it is often viewed as the war that never should have been.

Most people thought it would end as quickly as it had started. Men signed up for duty with promises to their loved ones to be home by Christmas (a "quick and glorious adventure"). But when December 1914 rolled around, the war was far from over. In fact, soldiers were just barely figuring out how to fight in this modern age of tanks, machine guns, and poison gas. They began digging trenches into the ground to protect themselves, and the weather forced the fighting to a standstill.

It was during this month that a rather remarkable thing began to happen. Across the miles and miles of trenches and against the express orders of their commanding officers, men began calling truces. The most widespread one happened on Christmas Day when thousands of soldiers on both sides crawled out of their hiding places and entered No Man's Land. Not a shot was fired. They greeted each other, shook hands, and shared what little they had to offer. In the enemy, they saw men just like themselves, "good fellows" who were just trying to follow orders and get home. In some places, the truce lasted just a day, but in others, it continued until spring.

One of the things I really appreciated about this book was that it focused most of its attention on one specific part of the war. It didn't try to cover all four years or give a chronological recap of everything that happened, which I'm sure would have resulted in both Aaron and myself feeling completely overwhelmed. Instead, it set things up by going over the events that prompted the declaration of war and then spent the rest of its time on this remarkable truce.

I thought it was interesting that Jim Murphy mentioned in an author's note at the end that he originally planned on writing a book that focused on the role of African-American soldiers in the war. However, after he was well into his research , several books on this same subject happened to be published, and so it seemed redundant to write about it again. Rather than move onto something else entirely, he continued to read about World War I and became intrigued by the accounts of this practically universal truce that happened on Christmas Day. And that's how the book came about. It's short (right around 100 pages), but it's not a book I'll be forgetting.

Jim Murphy doesn't have the same gripping narrative style as Steve Sheinkin (author of Bomb), but I liked it nonetheless. It was compact and clear-cut and drew on many personal histories and photographs to make it come to life.

It ended up being a great one to read with Aaron because we both learned something new (I've read far more books on World War II than World War I), and it was nice to be able to discuss it in between chapters, summarizing what had happened and clearing up anything we were confused about. Jim Murphy is definitely going to be one of my go-to nonfiction authors from now on.

Have you read anything by Jim Murphy? Who is your favorite nonfiction author for kids?

On Being Authentic

Recently I was at a meeting which focused on improving teaching skills. The meeting was two hours long, and all of the information was presented by one person.

One of the main points I took away from the class (and probably the one that was given the largest percentage of the two hours) was, "Don't talk too much." This simply meant that the teacher should be a facilitator of discussion rather than a lecturer because the students would remember the information better when they took an active role in the discovery and application of it.

The irony in this situation was that the teacher who was presenting the information was doing quite a bit more talking than the class members. She asked some questions and was always extremely respectful and attentive to whomever was answering, but she seemed intent on saying everything she'd written down even when many of her points had already been mentioned by members of the class.

Early on in the evening, she said something like, "If this was a regular classroom, I would be doing very little talking, but tonight's format is going to be a little different. There will be a little of, 'Do as I say, not as I do,' so please don't go home saying, 'Oh my goodness, she talked so much!'"

Unfortunately, that's exactly what I went home saying.

The whole class seemed to be a study in contradiction, and I had no idea why a class focused on teaching skills couldn't benefit from employing the same techniques it was teaching. It made no sense to me. Furthermore, I've been in other situations with this same teacher, and all of them have been very lecture-heavy, so it was hard for me to believe that this was the exception to her normal teaching style.

This past month, I've been rereading Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project for one of my 2016 reading goals. The day after the above experience, I read a portion of the book that not only gave me insight to the experience from the night before, but also helped me understand myself better.

Gretchen was talking about some of the anxiety she felt while working on her project. Sometimes she would imagine what her various critics might say: "You have it easy...You're not depressed...You're not spiritual enough...You just talk about yourself." It bothered her, but then she realized, "If I do the project my way, I'm unspiritual and gimmicky [according to her critics]; if I tried to do it a different way, I'd be inauthentic and fake. Might as well 'Be Gretchen.'"

I read that paragraph. And then I read it again. And then again. Everything from the night before gained clarity when I looked at it through this lens of authenticity.

The teacher in question is a gifted speaker. I think she feels quite comfortable behind a microphone with an audience in front of her. She delivers her words with authority and conviction. This is one of her talents, one of her strengths.

And yet, the information she had to present stressed, "Let the students do the teaching. Open a discussion. Don't feel bound by your prepared agenda."

It was in direct conflict with her personality. She might have believed it. She might have wished she could teach that way. But it wasn't who she was.

And so, she did what she felt comfortable with: She presented the information as a lecture.

Once I came to this realization, I felt much more forgiving about the two hours, but I also felt sad. Although, in the end, she'd been authentic to her preferred teaching method, her words didn't have as strong of an impact because she couldn't back them up with her actions. I wondered if it would have been better for her to share teaching techniques she could have supported through example and left the ones she couldn't to another day and another teacher. Yes, the current trend in teaching is to guide the students to make their own discoveries, but there is more than one way to teach just as there is more than one way to learn. What a stagnant world this would be if we all taught in exactly the same way using some proven method for success.

This whole situation has made me reconsider my own actions. Am I being authentic? Or am I trying to fit some pre-prescribed model? Are the clothes I wear and the books I read and the music I listen to dictated by other people or what I'm truly interested in?

I've mentioned before that I've never thrown a friends birthday party for any of my children. Sometimes I feel guilty about this, especially when my sister-in-law gives me a little nudge, "Maybe just when they turn seven?" However, organizing a birthday party that involves twelve seven-year-olds sounds chaotic and noisy and crazy to me. If such a party were in my child's best interest, I think I'd force myself to make the sacrifice, but I'm not sure it is. So can't I just acknowledge that birthday parties aren't my thing and celebrate and make my children feel loved and special in ways that I feel comfortable with? Can't I just adopt Gretchen's first commandment and "Be Amy"?

Of course, this is not to say that I shouldn't be making the effort to seek improvement and become better. The decision to "Be Amy" shouldn't become a crutch or an excuse for mediocrity. But there are many, even hundreds, of ways I can improve and stretch myself and grow within my own sphere of interests. I can "Be Amy" even while striving to "Become a Better Amy."

Going back to the teaching experience from awhile ago, I almost wish I could sit through the two hours again. I know I would be less critical and more attentive. I know I would look for the bits of wisdom that resonated with me rather than focusing on the little contradictions. I know I would embrace my own uniqueness even while embracing this teacher's. I know I would recognize the simple wisdom of being authentic.

I'm curious to know your thoughts on authenticity: How do you stay true to yourself even while striving to improve? Are there things you don't do that everyone else does?