fairly standard thursday afternoon educational musings.

This winter, more so than at any time before in my life, I've fallen into a rhythm.

Every morning I drag myself out of bed, plug in the kettle and fix myself a nice hot beverage (coffee, tea, hot chocolate, chai, accidental mixture of above) and take a nice, long hour to slowly wake up.

It suits me - I'm generally a morning person, but I have the instincts of a bear: the short days and long nights send Stu into a six month long nap-cycle, one only broken by sounds of honking geese and running water.

The best part of it, though, is that once my brain starts to wake up again I start wanting to read.

When I finished university I couldn't stand the sight of a book. I tried to read, but every attempt sent shivers down my spine.

Which was uncomfortable for me: I can't remember not being able to read; I can't remember not having a three of four books on the go at any one time - so it was with a sigh of relief that I read my first novel without breaking into tears.

And, of course, since I started reading again it's been awfully hard to stop.

Which is why, dear reader, I'm baffled by how hard it is to get my students to read.

Back in my day even the non-readers would flip through a magazine. Or read a comic book. Or look for dirty words in the dictionary.

I've tried comic books. I've tried magazines. If I wasn't concerned about angry phone calls I'd tell them where all the dirty words are in the dictionary.

I've come to the sad conclusion that, unless it sings, dances, and exists on a screen, no student will pay attention to it.

The education gurus, in thier infinite wisdom, tell me it's okay, just give them what they want and it will be alright. Meaning that I'm left feeling like one of those roller-skating monkeys with the accordian on the street corner - amusing, perhaps, but certainly pathetic and probably abused.

It would be silly to say that the world hasn't changed from what it was a hundred, fifty, twenty or even five years ago. But it's equally silly to say that we should cater to a lowest-common-denominator that's becoming more common all the time.

I don't imagine commenting on this here will do any good - I suspect the powers that be don't much care to listen to the low man on the totem-pole in Armpit, Alberta.

Maybe if I attached some letters to the back of my name I might matter. Look into it and let me know.