When I was a young reading teacher, I struggled to understand why my student Buddy hated to read. A walking cloud of dust, Buddy usually wore a dirt-colored tee shirt smeared with grease marks from the many oil changes he did after school daily in a local garage. Buddy was in school to collect a diploma, and he desperately wanted it. But if he couldn’t pass the required reading test, he could not graduate. I, too, wanted Buddy to graduate. But I wanted more. I wanted him to discover the magic of books. My curiosity began to gnaw at me. How could I make that happen?

In a spark of creativity my curiosity drove me to write the story of a fictional Buddy, a student who would mirror the inner turmoil of one of my nonreaders. What made him tick? Where did he work? What car did he rev up in parking lot after school each day?  What music was blaring from his radio? What is the cartoon he kept drawing all over his notebook?

Buddy, the character, began to pour out in a short story, “Buddy and Me.” I began to see inside of this imaginary student. Suddenly I had a new understanding of who he was. Destitute. Sometimes hungry.  Taunted by a brash gang of boys in the parking lot. Happy to end his day at a local garage where he changed oil filters in cars because it steadied him and gave him some spending money. Secretly he did read, but his reading was largely limited to Car and Drive magazine. Possibly Garfield cartoon books.

“Buddy and Me” was the first story I ever published in a teen magazine. Of course this is not what is important. In hindsight I see what matters is that my curiosity, sparked by my creativity, drove me forward to research, study, and write the story of a genuine nonreader, and in the process, I came to see the world through the lens of students like the real Buddy. Disadvantaged students who had an uphill battle when they crossed the threshold into any class. In truth, this writing made me a better teacher. Maybe a better person.

What about the real Buddy?  He learned to find main ideas in passages, and he became good at summarizing stories, especially if it was about cars. These skills helped him pass the required reading graduation test.  While I know Buddy graduated, I cannot remember if he finished reading a book.

But thanks to adolescent writers who became big when I was teaching, many of our nonreaders became genuine readers in high school. Like most reading teachers, I read dozens of young adult books in search of the right stories for my students, and my bet is that I probably handed a copy of S. E Hinton’s The Outsiders to Buddy. If I did, I believe he would have liked it. Why?  Because it is a timeless story that was real for Buddy. Like Ponyboy, Buddy came from a parentless family and had a gang of close-knit friends like the Greasers. Like Ponyboy, Buddy’s friends were mocked in the lunchroom and sometimes attacked behind school dumpsters or in parking lots at night by the wealthier kids. And like Ponyboy, Buddy had suffered painful losses. I have never forgotten when Buddy told our class about how his best friend had been shot and killed at a party. Accidently.

In writing this blog, I realize how important my nonreaders were to me. I learned to understand those who struggled with learning. Those who often came to school hungry. Those who came from homes where reading was not a high priority and those who would need to make a living without a degree. Those with one or no parent. I learned to care about their struggle and to respect them. I learned to advocate for public education for all, and I have always voted with them in mind.

Each story, each experience we have makes us. In writing them we have a chance to see what we have learned. Maybe we can even find a bit of understanding or wisdom to carry forward. I am grateful for the sparks of creativity that ignite my writing and for the unexpected learning that often comes of finding our stories.

May your creativity spark your stories.