The library is the physical and metaphorical center of my classroom. It is a reading world adorned with a carpet, comfy chairs, a lamp, and bins of neatly organized books. When I remember my own childhood, I picture a colorful tapestry woven by the hundreds of worlds I visited through the pages of books.
Imagine my surprise when one of my students commented about what I thought was a magical space, “I’m tired of reading about white kids.”