One out of every five people in the U.S. cannot read (illiterate) or can just barely read (functionally illiterate).  Almost two out of 3 fourth graders read below grade level and that number holds true for students graduating from high school (National Center for Educational Statistics).

Alabama has the lowest literacy rate, followed by Florida, New York, and California.  The highest are New Hampshire, Minnesota, and North Dakota. When you look at the statistics for below grade-level reading, this is not a racial issue:  Whites 35%; Hispanics 34%; African Americans 23%; and “other” 8%.

Although there are multiple factors in causation, there is one that stands out:  poverty.  It can be a lifetime issue, even a generational issue.  Think of things poverty negatively impacts:  education, employment, housing, crime, health, opportunity, geography, government, neighborhoods, households – more.

If we can see what happens when people can’t read, and we can trace the critical years for learning to read, why aren’t all of us working together to do something about it? Why aren’t we all bombarding our Birth-6 year-old’s with words?  Fun, delicious, action and descriptive words?  What about making up stories to tell?  Books to read?  OK, even tablets and TV.  Why aren’t we doing everything we can to eradicate this deficit that hurts us all?  Why are kids graduating if they can’t read?

I’m so lucky, as are many of you reading this blog. This poem is about me and I hope it’s about you:

I HAD A MOTHER    

I had a Mother who read me lays

Of ancient and gallant and golden days;

Stories of Marion and Ivanhoe.

Which every boy has a right to know.

I had a Mother who read me things

That wholesome life to the boy heart brings –

Stories that stir with an upward touch,

Oh, that each mother of boys were such!

You may have tangible wealth untold;

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.

Richer than I you can never be –

I had a Mother who read to me.

                                      -Strickland Gillilan

I have a Call To Action for you:  Go volunteer at your school or public library to read to or play word games with children up to 6 years old.  My first husband, Tom, read to his grandsons as often as we got together.  Once during a treasured conversation with then three-year-old-Fletcher, he said, “I love Grandpa every time I see him.”  “Why is that?” I asked.  “Because,” he smiled, “he always has time to show me worms and important stuff.  Sometimes it’s the real stuff and sometimes it’s the surprise stuff in books.” 

Let me know what you think, what ideas you might have, and how you might help.  We can start a movement.  Inexpensive, impactful. And don’t forget that this is about traveling, about words, about service.  We can all go show some worms.

That about says it for now.