There is no better way for me to communicate my values and teaching philosophy than to wax rhapsodic about one of my favorite subjects—free independent reading. If you were to walk into my classroom during the first fifteen minutes of any class period you would see 20 plus students (and me) engrossed in books, magazines, and newspapers of our own choosing. You could hear the proverbial pin drop. Few, if any, students would acknowledge your presence except, perhaps, to register their slight annoyance at being disturbed. This deceptively simple scene, repeated five times a day, still gives me goose bumps. It is a source of wonder and pride. It is my greatest success as a teacher. The intellectual and emotional alchemy that occurs when the right book finds its way into the hands of the right student is, simply, breathtaking. I remember the first time it happened. I was a novice teacher at the inner city high school where I have taught for more than a decade. A tough-talking, tattooed, gang-attired, ninth grade girl approached me with a copy of Judy Blume’s young adult novel Forever, and said, “This is a nice book, Miss. I never read a book before. You got any more nice books like this one?” I may have been inexperienced, but I knew, instinctively, that there had been a profound shift in this student’s consciousness. A switch flipped, a door opened, a light turned on. Pick your metaphor. She was a reader. Books were no longer foreign or boring. Rather, there were boring books and “nice” books. She realized one might read for pleasure. My student was now poised to make huge academic strides, to attempt to meet or surpass “the standards”. There were no guarantees and it wouldn’t happen overnight, but over time she could become profoundly literate and reap the educational, emotional, and economic benefits of literacy. All I did was make an appealing book available. That student inspired me to build a classroom library, regularly attend young adult literature conferences and haunt the school librarian for the latest titles and trends. There are no bookstores in the poor violence-plagued neighborhood my students navigate daily. My students don't have the financial resources to regularly purchase books. Even libraries are often out of the question because of gang violence in the neighborhood. My students are starved for high interest reading material. California state budget cuts will really limit, if not eliminate the amount of money spent on classroom libraries. Your support will help to cultivate an environment where curiosity is sparked, passions are uncovered, knowledge is expanded, questions are answered, emotions are stirred, and solace and escape are provided. More than anything I want to continue to hear, from those young persons who have never read a book, “This was a nice book, Miss. You got any more nice books like this one?” My classroom seems to revolve around reading—daily sustained silent reading, 30-60 minutes of nightly homework reading, book talks, literature circles, close reading, oral reading. The more my students read, the more I see improvements and growth in concrete things like vocabulary development, writing, speaking and, over time, test scores. Harder to measure, yet equally important, is the social and behavioral growth that is exhibited—increased focus, longer attention spans, greater confidence in approaching more difficult texts, and a rise in curiosity and wonder. Despite its almost magical aspects, helping students expand their literacy through free independent reading is not always neat and linear. It can be rather messy, maddening, and mysterious. Last year I had a ninth grade student in my first period class. She possessed innate intelligence, some athletic ability and few academic skills, all wrapped up in a brittle and hostile exterior. She liked to tell me in graphic detail about the violent crimes she had witnessed and her less than stable home life. She also let me know that reading and books were “boring”, “stupid”, “for losers”, “not her thing”, and other adjectives which involve swearing. I would NEVER, she claimed, get her to change. Well, I suggested a book a day for thirteen weeks straight. We had a routine; I’d suggest a title, she’d read anywhere from a page to a chapter and reject it, saying, “BORING!” She was relentless. The other students in the class became invested in her reading experience and also suggested titles. No luck. Week 14. Alice Hoffman’s young adult novel Green Angel. I waited for the rebuff. It never came. I restrained myself from doing a victory dance. My reluctant student finished the book and tossed it on my desk, remarking in a disinterested tone, “That was not too bad.” The class broke into applause. I suggested another title. The young lady rolled her eyes. When I see her now, a year later, I always ask what she is reading. She looks at me with a mixture of indulgence and pity, still bemused by my obsession with books and reading. She usually mentions a title.