CHAPTER 4
That’s How My Students Feel!
Lori Whatley
I
t’s one of our family get-togethers. The kind where all thefemale adults try to visit and have a civilized conversationwhile the children are running wild and the male adults aremad because they are trying to watch some type of ballgame andthey can’t hear the television. Between fussing at children,complimenting the cook, and cleaning up dishes, the question iseventually asked, “Have you read…?” It’s as inevitable as UncleDavid’s stories and Aunt Rannie’s picture taking. I sit and listen, a wave of jealous heat washing over me, wishing I had more time toread. The lively discussion continues, and I make mental notesabout which book I would like to read next if I could find the time.As a teacher, mother, wife, daughter, and graduate student, readingfor pleasure is usually one of those activities saved for
the
week atthe beach.Every year, I search for the perfect book, one about which Ican say, “Oh, it’s to die for” and join in the conversation of “Haveyou read…?” I usually find what I am looking for before we leavefor vacation. I make the annual trip to the local Borders, waltz inlike I am someone with a frequent-reader card, hang around thevarious specialty tables, read the backs of books, and sip espressoto give the illusion that I am a regular. I buy the book and thenleave it lying on my bedside table to gather dust. When
the
week arrives, I place the book in my beach bag very carefully as if it werea recently discovered buried treasure.Flash forward—it is
the
week at the beach with the samefamily, all 21 of us. Needless to say, I am unprepared. No preemptivetrip to the bookstore has taken place—no time. How disappointed Iam as I stand in front of the measly bookrack at the Jekyll IslandPharmacy. Where are the Oprah Book Club selections or some of
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