When I was in second grade, I was taken out of class several times a week for additional reading instruction. I found this baffling, even then. Not only did I barely do the reading I was assigned during this extra instruction time (it was booooring!), but I would go home and read voraciously. Long before I went to school, I was known for conning my parents' friends into thinking I could read because I had thoroughly memorized my favorite book. To this day, the only reason I can think of for me to have been in that class was because I was (and still am) bad at reading aloud.
We went on vacation when I was in sixth grade, and I missed a few days of school. My English teacher asked me to take a couple of books from our classroom shelves to read while I was away. I may have had to write a book report; I don't remember that part. What I do remember is picking Go Ask Alice off the shelf and spending my vacation ensconced in the overwrought tale of a nice teenage girl who goes from being dosed with LSD at a party to a full-blown addict over the course of a few months. Back then, I believed the book was really someone's found diary. Today, I know the whole thing was a hoax.
I'm sure there are parents out there clutching their pearls, shocked that I was allowed to read this book so early. It was the '80s and '90s; no one paid much attention to kids. That was also the year my science class was taken over by Drug Abuse Resistance Education (D.A.R.E.). A couple of local police officers would come to our classroom and try to terrify us all into never touching drugs or alcohol. (Fun fact: D.A.R.E. doesn't work.)
Later that school year, we had a writing contest, and my short story was chosen for an award of some kind. It was called Mother Dearest (yes, I also really loved that terrible movie, Mommie Dearest, as a kid) about a girl whose abusive mother is struggling with, of all things, a PCP addiction. I didn't even know what PCP was until the good officers at D.A.R.E. taught me all about it. When I was called down to the guidance counselor's office after my teacher reported my admittedly disturbing story, I told the counselor what I'm telling you right now. I'd just read Go Ask Alice and taken D.A.R.E. so I had drugs and violence on the brain.
"But, it's so realistic," the counselor said.
"Isn't that the point?" I asked.
She sent me back to class.
The truth is, though, like many kids, I already knew people who struggled with addiction of various sorts. Kids live in the real world, and fiction is often a great way to learn more about the challenges that will face them and others as they age. More often than we would like to admit, fiction is also a way for kids to feel less alone when they are already dealing with tough things in their lives.
Author Katherine Paterson wrote Bridge to Terabithia (which left Yours Truly in tears) after her eight-year-old son's friend died from a lightning strike. Judy Blume made a career out of helping kids cope with adolescence. I'm sure other people could continue listing authors and books that helped them cope with any issues in their young lives, but I can't because I skipped over Y.A. and went straight to reading Stephen King and other "inappropriate" novels for my age. If anyone had tried to take the books I was gravitating to away from me and force me back to "age-appropriate" books, I may have lost my love of reading. Luckily, no one did that.
The summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school (I would have been 14 going on 15), I took our summer reading list to the local bookstore, and one of the workers spotted A Prayer for Owen Meany on the list. She insisted I take it home! It's still my favorite book and is regularly banned, though I am mostly shocked to find out any school systems were considering teaching it in the first place.
I spent the rest of high school tearing through John Irving's catalog, which at the time included The Cider House Rules and the unhinged The Hotel New Hampshire. Thanks to Oprah's Book Club, I discovered Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon long before we read Beloved in school. (Actually, I read Beloved twice. Once in an American Literature class when I was a junior in high school and then again in college, and it is, in my humble opinion, the great American novel.)
I write all of this because, at a recent Board of Education meeting, a few of the board members took issue with books purchased for Stafford High School's library. The books were flagged for things like violence, racial insensitivity, or sexual content. Every one of these content warnings could be applied to the books I listed above. The Pulitzer Prize-winning Beloved contains all three.
I didn't find myself confused and bewildered by anything I read in these books, even the ones I read on my own, without any guidance or input from teachers or parents. (Though Oprah did help me out with Song of Solomon.) Rather, reading these stories broadened my understanding of the world. From the haunting (literally and figuratively) legacy of American slavery detailed in Beloved to The Cider House Rules' depiction of what happens to women in a country that doesn't allow them full autonomy over their bodies, I learned a lot from those books. And while I'm sure it's up for debate, I don't think I'm any worse for the wear.
More important than any of that, though, I think it's crucial to acknowledge that kids, especially high schoolers, are already dealing with things like violence, racism, and sex. According to RAINN, one in nine girls and one in 20 boys under the age of 18 experience sexual abuse or assault. Additionally, females ages 16-19 are four times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault. Meanwhile, 10% of Black children ages 10 and 11 reported being discriminated against because of race, ethnicity, or color, according to the American Psychological Association. The National Children's Alliance reports, "More than 600,000 children are abused in the U.S each year."
That is the world kids live in, like it or not. Books can help those already experiencing these kinds of trauma feel less alone. For the kids who are lucky enough not to have to deal with these issues, books help them build empathy and understand that their experience is not universal. Moreover, letting young readers choose what interests them ensures that you do not unintentionally squelch their desire to read. If the material makes parents uncomfortable, that's on them to explore and maybe even discuss with their kids. Ignoring reality doesn't tend to work out well. So, if you have a young reader in your house who wants to dive into the twisted world of Stephen King or, for some reason, read an anti-war novel about a dwarf with a wrecked voice who believes he is an instrument of God, I say let them. They'll be fine.