ABSTRACT
I thought it would be so easy. I had done everything correctly. I had even gone on Newsnight at the start of yet another reading standards storm and confidently predicted that, because I had done all the right things, my son would be a proper reader, an independent reader, a reader who would read because he wanted to not because he had learnt how to decode print in a meaningless way. He was seven then and could read; he was able to pick up quite difficult books when asked and confidently and fluently decode the words. If the National reading tests for seven year olds had been around, he would have reached the above average level of 3, maybe even level 4, and all this had been achieved without a dreary reading scheme or phonic building blocks. His Primary school enthusiastically embraced ‘The Real Books’ method for teaching reading. This did not mean he was left amongst a pile of books to learn to read by some process rather like osmosis; rather he could choose books he wanted to read and his choice and progress were carefully monitored. He brought home the books as part of a PACT (Parents, Children and Teachers) scheme so we felt involved in his development.
