How to be a Reader
July 30, 2025
Back-to-back with the spring and summer semesters for grad school, I had to take prerequisite and required courses on Teaching and Assessing Reading. If you’re unfamiliar, the science of reading relies heavily on hearing sounds, also known as phonics, to help students become fluent readers. The downside is that many of my deaf students cannot utilize phonics to read. Being Deaf myself, these courses were often irrelevant to my teaching experiences, and I consistently struggled on every phonics test I had to take. Fun, right?
However, there was one thing I enjoyed from these classes, which happened to have the same professor. She asked us not when we became fluent readers, but what made us fall in love with reading. Skills are important, of course, but a love for reading motivates us to become the best readers we can be. I remember the first assignment asked us to reflect on when, what, and how we fell in love with reading. At first, it completely stumped me. My relationship with reading and writing had always been tumultuous, and it took a long time to articulate my answer. I realized that the nurturing of my love for reading came from one person: my mom. Here is a snapshot of my 4-page response to the prompt.
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I am D/deaf/Hard of Hearing (whichever people want to label me as). That means I have difficulty hearing and processing what people verbally say to me. English is not my first language; American Sign Language is. In fact, I did not have a true language until I entered kindergarten, when I enrolled in a Deaf Education program. Before that, I communicated through gestures, pointing, facial expressions, and occasional shrills of frustration, but that was not language. Once I was exposed to ASL, I quickly acquired language and could express my thoughts in a way I had never been able to before.
But as I got older, the challenge of learning to read and write English became overwhelming. English felt like a jumble of letters and words that made no sense. My difficulty understanding English caused me to resent it and pushed me away from reading. My poor mom, an avid reader herself, was heartbroken. She could see that I struggled to understand even simple sentences, and by second grade, I was reading at a kindergarten or first-grade level. This is unfortunately a common experience for many deaf students, and it did not help that my family did not use ASL at home to support my English development. They assumed that if they spoke and I wore my hearing devices, I would magically pick up the language. Yeah, right.
When teachers expressed concern, my mom took action. She asked how she could help me improve my reading and writing. She was a doer. If achieving something required extra effort, she would do whatever it took. Every night, we read together for at least thirty minutes, no matter where we were. Sometimes it was in the car while waiting for my brother’s basketball or fencing practice to finish, sometimes sitting on her bed, even after she had done four surgeries that day. She never wavered.
Even with her support, I still hated reading. I complained, I cried, and I did not see the purpose of learning English when I had ASL to communicate. So, my mom went back to the basics. She reintroduced picture books and comics, like Garfield. She bought me entire collections and even saved the Sunday comics for me. I did not understand all the words at first, but the illustrations, the characters’ expressions, and the storylines were easy to follow. Slowly, I started reaching for those comic books on my own, laughing at the illustrations, and sharing the funny moments with my mom.
This was my first spark of motivation. I wanted to understand what the characters were saying. I wanted to challenge myself. My mom guided me patiently as I transitioned from Garfield to Dick and Jane, Biscuit, and eventually Junie B. Jones.
By fifth and sixth grade, I was still reading lower-level books while my peers had moved on to young adult novels. Again, my mom took charge. She created structured reading exercises, including dictionary work, spelling practice, and detailed reading logs that I had to complete, rewrite, and review. Even with the loss of my Deaf peers and community after moving to California, she insisted I practice ASL daily, even if most of it was fingerspelling practice. Slowly but surely, I improved, little by little.
Seventh grade changed everything. At that time, I was still reading at a second- or third-grade level, and my mom decided to challenge me in a new way. We went to Barnes & Noble, and she told me to choose a book from the young adult section that looked appealing. I was skeptical, but I followed her guidance. I picked a popular book called Divergent. At first, I could barely understand a paragraph and needed her help constantly. She patiently explained every word, every sentence, and every paragraph. Some nights, we would look up thirty new words together. It was exhausting, but somehow I finished the book.
Finishing that first thick book filled me with immense pride. I felt what joy and accomplishment from reading really were. I was motivated to continue. With some support, I finished the second book in just three days and eventually read the final book on my own. I had discovered the joy of reading, and it felt almost like a superpower.
From there, my love for reading expanded exponentially. I devoured books of every genre: young adult fiction, murder mysteries, WWII memoirs, poetry, classic literature, and more. I went from reading at a second- or third-grade level to at or above grade level within 2 or 3 years. By high school, I was enrolled in honors and Advanced Placement English classes all four years, something the younger version of me could never have imagined.
What changed my heart? Having someone who believed in me. Someone who pushed me, guided me, and reminded me that I was smart, capable, and worthy of growth. That person was my mom. She was my first and best teacher, the one who not only taught me to read but also to love reading. She helped me discover confidence, curiosity, and a passion for learning that I carry to this day.
I hope I can inspire the same love of reading in my students, whether it is through English texts, ASL stories, or even a fat orange cat eating lasagna. My mom taught me that reading is not just a skill, it is an experience, and that lesson has shaped the bookworm I am today.
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Until then,
Katie
