Hope is what appears when people discover that progress is actually possible.
Amy Pleet-Odle recently wrote about how the world looked different after cataract surgery. The flowers were not brighter. The leaves were not sharper. The garden itself had not changed. She was simply seeing clearly for the first time.
I think Paul Thomas is asking the wrong historical question. (Scroll down to see Paul's full Substack post)
The issue is not whether every generation has complained that "kids today can't read." Adults have always complained about the young. Complaints about declining standards, declining morality, declining discipline, and declining literacy can be found throughout recorded history. The existence of the complaint tells us very little.
A reply to Paul Thomas on the reading “crisis,” the cracks, and the ten-minute check left unanswered since 2020.
Here is my comment on Paul Thomas’s Substack post - https://paulthomas701128.substack.com/p/the-kids-today-cant-read-problem
You are right that “kids today can’t read” is an old complaint, and Gray in 1942 is a fair exhibit. You are also right that the United States did not collapse because some children left school weak readers. Dominance is a poor measure of whether a preventable failure was allowed to stand.
For more than 15 years, I have worked with children who struggled to learn to read. Many of them had already been labelled "dyslexic." Yet in case after case, I found children who were bright, curious and eager to learn, but who had become confused by the way reading had been taught.
This observation led me to write Teach your Child to Read.
One of my favourite observations from Charlie Munger is his comparison of the human mind to a human egg. Once a sperm enters an ovum, a membrane forms around it to prevent other sperm from getting in.
Munger suggested that something similar happens in our minds. Once an idea takes hold, we often become resistant to alternatives. Instead of objectively examining new evidence, we begin defending what we already believe.
‘The attitudes of some teachers who continue to battle against any change, desiring full autonomy to choose the assessment and instruction with which they are comfortable, is beyond aggravating.’ (Kylie Hoey)
The above coming from Kylie Hoey is ironic.
I remember a discussion in April this year, where she insisted that High Frequency Words should not be rote-memorised. I have taught over 80 dyslexic children who learn to rote-memorise the Dolch words with ease. LINK LINK
She reminds me of the Tamil fable of the prince who caught a three legged rabbit and declared that all rabbits are three legged.
I recently joined a lengthy Facebook discussion about reading instruction. Before long, the conversation followed a familiar path. Some argued that phonics is essential. Others argued that whole-word or visual approaches can work. The discussion drifted into the National Reading Panel, No Child Left Behind, teacher training, reading scores, legislation, history, dyslexia, and even what people did before the Phoenicians.
After a while, I stopped reading. Not because the topic was unimportant. Quite the opposite. I stopped because the discussion was no longer about the question that interests me most.
I recently read an excellent article on Substack arguing that self-regulation may be one of the strongest predictors of later success.
The evidence is impressive. Children who can manage their attention, emotions, and behaviour tend to do better not only in school but later in life as well. The discussion that followed was equally interesting. Teachers, parents, paraprofessionals, and executive-function coaches all shared their experiences. A recurring theme emerged: children thrive when adults help them gradually develop the ability to regulate themselves.
Someone on Substack argues that we read by word shapes. He posted the above image to prove his point.
No, I don't think this supports Whole Language, whole-word or word shape reading at all.
In fact, the famous paragraph is often misunderstood.
Dr. Sam Bommarito’s latest post argues that districts should “seek research‑based methods that best fit their population” and that teachers should be free to apply the art of teaching within those frameworks.
It sounds reassuring, but the reality is troubling: despite decades of “research‑based” phonics programmes, the percentage of children leaving school as functional illiterates has remained stubbornly flat. If research were truly guiding us toward effective solutions, shouldn’t those numbers have shifted by now?
One of the most surprising things I've discovered during recent discussions on Substack is how much confusion still exists about memorization in reading.
When I say that children should memorize high-frequency words, many people assume I mean visual memorization. Some still imagine that skilled readers recognize words by their shape, as though the brain stores a photograph of each word and retrieves it when needed.
A recent Facebook exchange captured a familiar debate. Robert Zenhausern argued that “decoding comes after meaning” and that phonics interferes with speed reading. Maria Kay countered with the Simple View of Reading: Decoding + Comprehension = Reading. The discussion raises a deeper question: does meaning precede decoding, or does decoding unlock meaning?
October is once again branded as Dyslexia Awareness Month. Predictably, the same slogans resurface: “1 in 5 process written information differently,” “It’s not about intelligence,” “It comes with unique strengths.” These lines have been recycled for decades by vested interests, and yet the rate of functional illiteracy remains stubbornly flat.
Why credential talk keeps children illiterate while real questions go unanswered.
For more than a decade, I have asked direct questions about why intelligent children fail to read in English while succeeding in languages like Malay and Pinyin. Again and again, the responses I receive from educators and academics are evasive. They speak of expertise, developmental science, or research-based practice — but they rarely, if ever, confront the substance of the questions.
