By Poulami Wielga January 22, 2021
I first met Julian in May 2020 over Zoom, just as the school year was wrapping up and everyone was looking ahead to a summer of isolation. I was told he was a very shy, soon-to-be first grader. If I could read with him for twenty minutes, twice a week that would be considered a success. Our first meeting lasted an hour in which I was introduced to the world of Sodor and the cast of Thomas and the other very useful engines. Julian knew everything about this world and was eager to share it with me.
In many ways, he was the teacher and I the student as he pointed out the buffers, funnels and domes of each train. He could name each train if I gave him their number. From day one, he was not the shy, quiet kid that had been described to me. Julian is engaged, eager to learn, goofy and kind. He is incredibly easy to be around and emanates a warmth that makes me feel happy every time we meet.
For the first four months, we read— quite literally— all of the Thomas the Train books available on three different Libby accounts and all of Archive.org. I was running out of questions to ask after the fifteenth time reading “Go Train, Go!” but not once did Julian’s interest wane. Each time we read a book that both of us could practically recite, Julian was equally present with each reading. I began to help try and shift Julian’s interests. There were many Step Into Reading books that had terrific rhyme schemes that were perfect for our next step: read and repeat. The first time we utilized this style of communal reading, I remember laughing out loud as the inflection and tone that I read with were repeated through Julian’s own voice. For a few weeks we read collectively this way.
As a first grader, I knew Julian would be expected to start reading on his own. I was a bit wary about this transition because I didn’t want to mess up the perfect bubble of enjoying listening to and talking about stories. Slowly I began to try to spark the idea of Julian reading to me. I brought in “word games”, which were essentially small tests to see what letters, sounds, and meanings were familiar and what still caused confusion. Julian was quite competent in his ability to sound short words out on his own with ease. However, anytime I suggested reading a page-for-page or each of us reading certain characters lines, he always would respond with, “I’d rather you just read to me.” My goal from the very beginning was always to make reading a joyous exploration. I never wanted it to feel like a burden. So instead of pushing Julian to read independently, I continued to read to him and enjoy the discussions we had around each book.
Just two weeks ago, I asked Julian if he had any books he wanted to show me. He ran out of his room and returned shortly after with Mo Willem’s books, “I Really Like Slop!” and, “Waiting is not Easy!”. Expecting to have to squint and read to him through a blurry screen, I began to mentally prepare. Julian opened the book and began to read to me! I remember smiling and laughing with every page. A huge rush of happiness and joy hit me as I realized that Julian was not only reading to me but enjoying it. Mo Willems is an expert at delivering expression, something Julian has always been eager to embody. With each page, Julian read with gusto, matching Piggie and Gerald’s emotions with accuracy and a clear theatrical delivery. Julian’s confidence was so clear in that moment, something I doubt I will ever forget. Julian is capable of so much. He is determined, thoughtful and all around a delight. My hope for him is that he sees this in himself.
2020 was hard, something Julian and I talked about together. We discussed how much we missed seeing our friends, neighbors, teachers, and family in person. Both of us felt equally isolated, me in Washington state and Julian in Denver, Colorado. Although neither of us has directly said so, I think we both feel grateful for each other during this time. Grateful that we can spend an hour or two a week, together, laughing over books and understanding the world through them.