Dropping the Mic: School Libraries Require Professionals
There's been news of upcoming transitions in our building, none of which are terribly surprising or inconsistent with what I've known its culture to be. Our students and staff are highly transient thanks to Uncle Sam as well as the distances some educators have to commute daily to and from work. On the upshot, we get so many new faces, young, and not-so-old with whom to work, learn from, and teach. Of course, it makes long-term professional relationships difficult to maintain, and over the past two years, frankly nearly impossible to build as barriers created by both the pandemic and our frenetic schedules have left little opportunity for us to reach out to one another for support, humor, and friendship-growing. Relationships take time, and in my opinion, more than just the occasional team-building exercise, either assigned or offered. Don't get me wrong: the effort and intention behind these attempts to grow connections (we're nowhere near cementing them) are justified and correct, but they haven't been successful, and I worry for my colleagues who will continue to try to soldier on together after summer break should we remain in this holding pattern.
We're not the only school or district experiencing emotional and professional upheavals, but we do consider ourselves especially blessed by the community in which we serve. Most of our families are helmed by parents who are lifelong learners and achievers, who want the very best for their children and their friends academically, emotionally, and physically. Their neighbors often find inspiration and mentorship, and through consistent and caring volunteerism of parents and post organizations, our partnerships maintain safe and purposeful learning and growing environments for our students. Funding can be difficult for us though as we rely upon grants, rather than loans or bonds to build, purchase, maintain, repair, and hire, so the significant tightening of pursestrings has been felt while the construction of a new school and the unanticipated costs of the pandemic have wreaked havoc. Grants can make us feel pulled, sometimes yanked, from program to program as we implement and comply with the requirements of their much-needed financial gifts.
Our library programs were already in decline before blueprints were approved and ground was broken, and the libraries themselves were completely shuttered during the first year of the pandemic. I've written previously of my frustration over the neglect of the once robust program that supported our students and staff in the way in which those previous families perhaps took for granted and of which current families are unaware. But an article shared with me this morning about a neighboring school district's decision to cut staff, specifically certified, licensed librarians, in order to hire other unqualified staff for lower pay in an effort to achieve some sort of financial equilibrium at the expense of student and staff needs has me hoping that a similar decision will not be entertained by my own district. The article itself is not well written as it focuses solely upon the immediate reactions of the librarians who are losing their jobs and mentions nothing of the actual long-term cost of the decision upon students, staff, and eventually, communities. Considering the unpleasant melody behind our society's current mood, the librarians will be lucky if they're even offered a show of sympathy. It's more likely that commentary will include "Suck it up, buttercup" accompanied by false equivalencies touted as truth, offered by blowhards who don't really care about libraries, reading, or students anyway. What's the point, right?
We all benefit if we're all knowledgeable. When only some of us are equipped with the skillsets necessary to pursue our interests, passions, and to create our own paths, a minority of us benefit while the rest of us pay the cost for those who are unprepared and unable. Seeking out, finding, evaluating, absorbing, and implementing information ancient and new is the act required of every single person in order for them to grow, function, become independent, and hopefully contribute to our society. It's illogical to minimize or eliminate the opportunities for students to learn and practice doing just that in the buildings that exist to teach and guide them while supporting their physical and emotional well-being. It's irresponsible to look the other way, insisting via public relation spins that we're trying our best when forced to answer questions of hypocrisy, and we're viewed as hollow brands (or outright liars) as we claim to champion students' and society's "brighter future" while actively demolishing a part of the foundation necessary for us to endure and evolve together. While this may be considered by some or many to be a political issue, it is, more importantly, a moral one. We know better, and we should do better despite our inclination to claim transparency while being very selective regarding what we're being transparent about.
I believe that while essential school-taught skills and concepts made it possible for me to begin my own assemblage of understanding about the world around me as a child of the 1970s and 80s, it was the information I sought out on my own, the samplings of knowledge and ideas that I found appetizing that were only made available to me in libraries, both school and public, that really made me eager to learn more. I chose to endure the tedious lessons (there were plenty), I came to crave those I found enlightening (there were enough, with classmates and friends enjoying their own if we weren't sharing an experience), and I developed self-actualization over time, understanding that I too, could be a discoverer of answers and an explorer of information that my family and friends didn't find interesting. I had help decoding and discerning and I learned that many around me equated polite fiction with truth. I was fortunate to be schooled in this nation where diversity, despite those fearful of it, remains one of its most recognizable features and in my opinion, biggest assets. I've reviewed, used, and evaluated plenty of curricula in my quarter-century of teaching, and as I've watched my students and children grow and learn over the past three decades, I know that they too, have found inspiration, guidance, intrigue, respite, solace, and connections to themselves and those around them in stories and information shared by others. Libraries, be they tangible rooms of walls, shelving and books, or digital addresses connected through hyperlinks and servers are our banks of humanity, and surprise, surprise, they are spaces that require the care of professionals to maintain and grow them.
Read it again. Libraries require professionals. To effectively help students combine mechanical reading strategies with the elixir of curiosity, librarians and the collections that they carefully curate, develop and tend must be at the ready. In elementary schools, they have to be prepared for this spontaneity while also being knowledgeable of the stages of development and learning styles of four-year-olds through those of staff members likely in their thirties through fifties. We ensure that resources are easily located and in a condition that makes them able to be utilized. We understand how to organize the materials and teach others how to navigate systems in place to foster independence. We encourage learners to question information and to seek out credible sources of it so that it can be applied appropriately and effectively. We assure learners that their feelings are valid, even though their opinions do not always match others'. We provide books and resources so that knowledge becomes more common, so that empathy can grow, and so we can learn more about ourselves and others. In this country, it's important that we remind learners that they have choices and that their individuality isn't a threat. Librarians have to be the best of us and highly qualified.
It is not good enough to simply assume that a randomly grabbed book once a week (or month) and/or four teacher-selected and assigned stories each year will meet the needs of learners. Students certainly won't develop a love of reading with the adoption of some less-is-more spin, either. Not every family takes their children to public libraries or bookstores, so issues of equity will widen the chasm that already exists between learners. The answers to questions that students won't ever ask of parents, teachers or siblings that can be provided by books will increasingly be unavailable to those who will have to navigate new and difficult situations blindly. While some readers might develop an immediate lump in their throat assuming I'm referring only to topics of sexuality, you should know that six-year-olds wonder how they might feel when their sick dog dies, and fourth-graders very much want to learn words in other languages so that they can make friends with non-English speaking students at school. There is no magic wand, canned program, or one-time video that can teach kindergarten through sixth-grade students how to search for, locate, borrow, return, repair (if needed) and then reshelve shared resources after a single wave, lesson, or viewing. There are plenty of teachers and school staff who also require help utilizing OPACS and other digital resources when creating lessons and units of study. Oh, and that 1980s biography about Magic Johnson? It's not terribly helpful to students wanting to learn more about snowboarder extraordinaire, Chloe Kim. Want more books for your buck? Then you'll want a librarian trained in cataloging and in-processing so that funds don't have to be spent on company pre-processing which regularly results in mistakes that have to be corrected before books can even be distributed to readers. When teachers new to the profession assume they can dictate the Lexile level or topic of books that their students are allowed to select for enjoyment, it takes a librarian knowledgeable in state standards to explain exactly how students' needs, academic and otherwise, can and will be met through choice.
While old libraries and collections certainly exist, the need for accessible repositories of knowledge isn't antiquated. The information, mirrors and windows that books provide learners aren't frivolous. Online search engines, despite their speed and numerous search results, often steer consumers to the most popular (or paid for) links, and most readers absently assume that rank results of a search equate solely to accuracy and quality (they don't). Students cannot "wait until they are older," hope for parents to miraculously decide to make books available to them, or effectively build their schema by reading through outdated, inaccurate, and biased information. Classroom storytime (if it happens) isn't enough. The good intentions, spotty availability and lack of library media knowledge of volunteers or student helpers might contribute to the illusion libraries are still viable resources to students, but appearances are certainly deceiving, and students are simply treading water if and when they get to visit. Teachers need librarians, too. There is no fully-automated library, no matter how much administrators might want one to exist. All students deserve to have access to as many book lovers as possible, to people who make books come alive, but often, there's only one... their librarian.
I'm hopeful that the library program updates that I've been advocating for this year will still come to fruition despite the anticipated changes that could pause their momentum. Our students and staff deserve the very best, even if they aren't knowledgeable of every task and process operating behind the scenes that provide them their resources, or the time needed to adequately (FULLY) address the responsibilities required of my librarianship. And district administrators and community shareholders should be able to trust that their investment in such an important component of students' resources (nearly all of our collection's growth is due to funds raised by parents' purchases during book fairs) is being properly maintained and utilized at all times, not just when haphazard scheduling might allow for it. Despite the fate of our fellow colleagues in nearby districts, full-time librarians in our buildings remain an essential investment that benefits thousands of learners daily, and easily hundreds of thousands over time and across the world. Quick fixes rarely, if ever, solve long-term problems.
*****
I used the word "elixir" earlier in this post, lingo perhaps inspired by some magic I experienced this week when a kindergartener who was building with Legos approached me with his creation during his visit to the library:
"These holes are where the paint comes out so that all of the pictures are colored."
"These are the buttons where you can say all of the words you want in your story or you can type them in or you can do both and the words will just show up on all of the pages." As for the opening that appears midway to the green base, he said "This the tray where the books all come out, and the tray can hold little books or big books or lots of books." I thanked him for inventing such a wonderful machine for me, and told him that other librarians might really enjoy a bookmaker too, to which he responded, "Mrs. Sommerville, why do you keep saying you're a 'librarian?' You're not a librarian, you're MY-brarian."
I know. I know.
Aw.
#outofthemouthsofbabes
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