Author: Diane Kim

I love the tree outside my window. I’ll look up at it from my chair while reading a book, or cast a quick glance as I’m vacuuming. I suppose it’s an unremarkable tree. Not too tall, a thin trunk. It’s a common silver birch. But there is a way it looks, especially in July and August, that has the ability to instantly pierce through whatever worry I am feeling and replace it with a little bit of serenity. 

The view through the glass only allows me to see the topmost branches of the tree, nothing else. The bright green leaves are glossed, giving their surface a bit of a shine. At the slightest breeze the little triangular leaves, like pointed teardrops, begin to wave and flutter in glittering celebration.  And the backdrop to this green and silver splendour is the mid-summer sky, usually clear and bright, its deep blue electrified by sunlight. 

Not bad for a little birch tree. 

Finding grand beauty in small moments is something I’m trying to do this summer. In noticing what is around me, what is wonderful, and what I am grateful for. It’s not unlike teaching, where the most incredible joys can come from those “small” moments: a student’s delight when they understand something for the first time … an unexpected perspective or piece of art created in class … hearing pride in students’ voices as they share important events and people in their lives … camaraderie with other educators as we work together to create the best learning environments we can for students. 

As I look back on this year’s blog entries, I see it was a long, wonderful year full of those tiny moments of joy: students recognizing and celebrating their languages, educators collaborating, conversations, translations, open houses, and pincushions …

I hope this blog entry finds you happily settled into your summer, finding those wonderfully-small, imperfectly-perfect beautiful moments throughout. 

Inna* walked into the library confidently. She had very recently arrived in Canada and was, like so many multilingual language learners, a hands-down amazing communicator. She greeted me in both Ukrainian and English, and sat down to get to work. As we conversed, she continued speaking in Ukrainian and then added some of the English she knew to express herself, and sometimes gestures. I did the same. The conversation progressed this way naturally, as we shared our likes, dislikes, and some of our interests and hobbies. 

The classroom teacher and I had collaborated just prior to that session, a quick yet impactful dialogue about what he was teaching, and how he might make it accessible to everyone in the class. He explained his lesson, which was new learning for me, and I in turn shared some possible strategies and multilingual adaptations that might work to ensure Inna could participate as well. He chose the adaptations that worked best for his set up, and I offered to show Inna some of them in a withdrawal session.

And in this way, I found myself sitting in an empty library across from this resourceful student, using all of the tools at her disposal to communicate. I got out her teacher’s questions, prepared to show her some strategic translation tools that would help fill in anything she didn’t understand, as well as some sentence frames in English and Ukrainian for offering answers. I placed them on the table in front of her.

She regarded the questions on the paper, and then me, with calm awareness. As I reached for my iPad, my finger hovering over that familiar little icon, she gave a quick shake of her head. She swiftly took out her own device, and before I knew it had snapped a photo of the text, skillfully read the translation in Ukrainian, and concluded with an assured nod of the head, “Yes.”

I put my iPad down with a smile.

Translanguaging is a wonderful tool — not only for learning and expanding all languages the MLL speaks, but for accessing curriculum and creating inclusive learning environments. From the Latin word “trans”, meaning “across”, translanguaging is moving “across” and back and forth between languages in order to communicate, think, and learn. This intelligent student demonstrated all of this in just a few moments of interaction. She used both Ukrainian and English to express herself, to check the meaning of words, to access the classroom task, and begin to form answers. 

How much of this learning, this communication, would have been possible had we been using English exclusively?  How much of her personality, how many of her thoughts and contributions, would have been silenced? When you think about it that way, why would we want a school environment that demands answers and learning be conducted in a single language? A learning environment that posits, even unintentionally, a single language as the norm? 

We know that for learning spaces to be equitable, all students’ identities, knowledge, skills — and languages in which they are encoded — need to be centered and affirmed. As Inna demonstrated so powerfully, translanguaging is one indispensable element of such inclusive classrooms. 

*names have been changed 

As I write this blog, there are two school days left. It is that strange time of year when I feel like I can finally, finally start to come up for breath — just a little bit — after a frenetic month of deadlines and demands. 

This June seemed particularly busy … then again, I think I always say that. At any rate, it is inevitably four weeks of non-stop final assessments, transition tours, summer camp sign-ups, parent interviews, presentations, and report cards. By the end of the month, exhaustion makes itself known.

Early this morning, as the sun was just starting to colour the sky, I sat with my coffee at the kitchen table and flipped open my laptop. Weak bluish light from my calendar illuminated the still-dark room, and as I stared at the familiar daily schedules I realized that, all of a sudden, the seemingly endless list of items to complete had dwindled to just a few. The monumental tasks that had stared me down at the beginning of the month, that kept me awake at night and charging full throttle during the day, had all but been taken care of. 

In that moment, I felt that first small calm before summer. And that feeling stayed with me through the day, as I went about finishing off the final errands of the year. After school, as I walked into the sunny afternoon, I could feel the warmth slowly start to pull at the the tangle of deadlines that had matted in my thoughts, unravelling them to complete. Calm.

With school ending for another year, I am looking forward to welcoming more of that calm this summer. Whether it is spending time with my family, meeting with friends, walking in the woods, or simply taking time to listen to myself, to what I need … those are the wonderful beginnings I want to focus on now.

May you also find beautiful beginnings this summer, that the months ahead bring you what you need to rest and restore. 

I love a good quote. And quotes are ubiquitous in the education world, thankfully. They pop up on email signatures, inspirational posters, and in scholarly articles. Many deal with how an educator’s impact can flow through generations, reaching ahead into time beyond what we now see, and how we will never know the ways in which our teaching today shapes the lives of tomorrow. Such musings often centre on how teachers can impact the lives of students. But in this blog, I want to discuss the impact educators can have on other educators.

I have been fortunate to work with amazing colleagues over the years. And the educators I work closely with now seem a concentrated microcosm of all that is good about collaboration in education. The free flow of ideas. The dialogue. The trust in one another. The courage to say, I don’t know. The humility, and sometimes bravery, it takes to try something new. Where would I be without these conversations? These gifts? My practice and approach has changed over the years, shifting in response to new information, new needs, and inspiration from colleagues. Like any practice, teaching is one that cannot remain stagnant. We always search for the best ways to educate, to affirm. 

So, with another year nearly at the close, this blog is a thank you note to all the teachers and educators that I work with. Thank you for sharing your ideas with me. Thank you for listening when I have been stumped by a challenge. Thank you for supporting me when I set out on new waters, and for having my back when the seas are a little rough. Thank you for your dedication and excellence, the passion with which you support students every day. Thank you for challenging me to see what I previously could not. Thank you for making me a better teacher. 

With increasing demands placed on teachers and educators everywhere, finding those colleagues, those mutually-supportive communities, is more important than ever. I wish you all the most wonderful luck in finding those safe harbours, those adventurous journeys, and the unifying strength that comes from it all.

 

Today was a beautiful day. I spent it at a school that sits on a large green field in the middle of the kind of urban vibrancy I grew up in. The expanse of grass is so wide and empty that it almost looks out-of-place compared to the wonderful density that surrounds it. The busy city streets leading to the school are lined with apartments, homes, businesses … an eclectic mix of buildings, some new, some many many decades old. Smack dab in the middle of one of the through-streets is a community garden, a jumble of interesting plants and floppy leaves that pops up out of nowhere, nestled behind a busy intersection, and which I always strain to see as I drive by. The June sun tends to warm this end of the city in a heightened way, and when a breeze blows across the grassy field as I walk up to the school, I can feel summer in its touch. 

This school, like so many I have taught in, is full of amazing students and dedicated teachers. Even in the final days before summer, when the academic year is winding down, the educators here are busily supporting students, and each other. Today, I arrived at classroom doors, taking students for end-of-year conferences and reading celebrations, and at each turn I chatted quickly with teachers, exchanging on-the-spot observations, progress and strengths, hopes for next year, plans to meet in September … all in a matter of seconds. These educators never seem to stop thinking about their students, and with the increasing demands and dwindling timeframes educators everywhere experience, being succinct and supportive is something of a necessary art these days. Teachers across our schools are exceptionally good at it.

Today was a beautiful day, full of engaged students, multilingual books, centres and math and outdoor games … and that quick collaboration between educators that helps hold it all together. It always gives me pause, that we manage to do so much when more and more resources and supports seem to slip away by the day. And I often imagine all that we could do if they were given back …

If we had class sizes that were manageable, that allowed every student an optimal learning environment …

If support programs for students with varying and wonderful and unique needs were properly funded … 

If we had time — real time — to collaborate and communicate with one another to best serve students …

Like that garden so close to the school, lovingly attended by neighbours and community members, I am continually proud of all teachers do to support their students’ growth. And I am also continually proud of our students, who bring so much knowledge and hope and joy to their classrooms, growing stronger, insights expanding throughout the year into new and glorious blooms. 

Summer is a time for dreaming, and this year my summer dreams are for all educators to rest and rejuvenate, knowing they did their absolute best for students. And for students, my dream is that every single one feels loved and celebrated, and proud of all they have accomplished, knowing that next September, their beautiful gardens will continue to grow.

I always look forward to May and June — and not just for the blue skies and glorious weather. They are also months of collaboration with secondary educators, when hopeful and nervous grade 8 students can tour the high school they will attend in September. 

One of the secondary schools in our area has an ESL program, among many other specialized courses. And although information nights are held for families throughout the year, in May the small group visits begin.  Parents and guardians of multilingual language learners are invited to join tours, and together we visit classrooms, meet teachers and students, and answer questions. Just a handful of students at a time … a teacher … a family member or two … the ESL department head. These small tours happen fairly often, to accommodate new students and family schedules. 

I accompanied a few grade 8 students on one such tour recently and, as usual, it was a great morning. The learning spaces were alive with creation and vibrant communication. We moved from class to class, watching theatre rehearsals, computer design classes, geography presentations … and all of the spaces incorporated multiple languages, in multiple ways. We chatted with educators and community partners who spoke Turkish, Ukrainian, Arabic, and a host of other languages. We passed signs and posters in Vietnamese, Mandarin, and Spanish. We watched classes full of students speaking, reading, and writing in multiple languages, switching back and forth between them as needed. 

As we moved through the hallways and classrooms, I could see the students from my schools slowly relax, the serious expressions gradually replaced with smiles. Some recognized siblings and friends who already attended the school, some noticed similar activities and learning contexts from their elementary school classes. Witnessing this happy transformation reinforced to me the value of supporting elementary students in transitions, and the central role collaboration among educators plays in this process. 

Towards the end of the tour, we dropped in on the fashion class. The teacher at the front was arranging gold-coloured cloth in front of her sewing machine, and students were looking from her to their devices, hunched over screens filled with translations. The teacher explained to us they were learning about textile quality and cuts, and checking the vocabulary on translation apps and dictionaries, to learn content in both English and home languages. 

As we listened to students talk about what they were making, one student quietly got up and went to the back of the class to retrieve something. As she turned and approached our group, she held out her cupped hands in offering. She said nothing but smiled brightly; in her hands sat a pincushion. Puffed and white and softly rectangular, it looked like a little fairy pillow. She had embroidered two words on its surface, the bold, colourful thread jumping out against the ivory cloth. It was the word “love” — once in English, in deep ruby letters, and once in Arabic, the script obsidian black. She stood silently and smiling and simply holding out the pincushion she had made. I wish I had a photo of that moment.

At times, popular rhetoric can become singularly focused on hard data and measurable results, on whether student learning is up to “standard”. And while reflection on pedagogical approaches and student success is undeniably important, perhaps we should also be asking a different kind of question: Are our schools places of love? In other words, are they places where everyone is welcome and safe and valued? Places where learning happens in ways that centre students’ strengths, experiences, and identities? I have heard educators ask this question in many ways, many times over the years — but the sentiment is always the same. We cannot learn if we are not safe. And we cannot learn optimally unless we are valued for everything we are.

Perhaps that little pincushion, held in the hands of a happy and proud student, can tell us more about teaching and learning than at first glance we might think.

Open House is always a great night … seeing the learning that has gone on throughout the year, families milling about, students’ work proudly on display. But this year’s celebration was memorable for a different reason.

Back in the fall, I had the good fortune to collaborate with the teacher-librarian at one of the schools I support. We reviewed the home languages of students and purchased additional dual language books, which were eagerly checked out as soon as they hit the shelves. And every now and then when I visited the school, the teacher-librarian had a new story about a family who had enjoyed the books, or a student proudly exclaiming, “That’s my language!” when the latest batch was brought out. These books had been used all year, by all students, so it seemed only fitting to showcase them at Open House.

We set up the multilingual books everywhere, at every centre in the room: hardcovers and paperbacks, QR codes to scan for free online multilingual books, forms for free international language classes, translated tip sheets on reading with your child … every display and centre we had was in multiple languages, not just English. There was no “ESL table” off to side. Instead, the displays throughout the room reflected how learning normally happened in that space, where it was natural to see many different languages, where students’ linguistic repertoires were centred.

The Learning Commons was situated in the middle of the school, and virtually all families passed through it on their way to various classrooms. Before long, it became a hub of activity. Parents strolling past book displays … older children suddenly noticing the QR codes and tugging on sleeves to ask for the phone … families asking questions about the international language courses. At one point I saw a very tall dad crouched down as low as he could next to his tiny preschooler, whose full height barely reached his father’s chin. The two were happily reading a Punjabi-English version of “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”, the tiny boy jumping and pointing at the pages. Just a brief moment, and the story was over quickly. The dad placed book back on the table, and eventually the family drifted off. But the energy of that moment remained.

Many years ago, I came across an apt statement by Dr. Jim Cummins, who likened the ESL programs of decades past to “satellites” rotating around the main operations of the school and classroom.  Indeed, many years ago it seemed the main goal (perhaps the only goal) was to teach English — and to teach it at a remove from the “regular” learning of their classmates. 

Now of course we know so much more.  

We know that language is learned through meaningful interactions with others, and for that reason the mainstream classroom is an ideal place to acquire oral language, with the right adaptations in place. We know about the benefits of maintaining first language, and the essential linguistic, academic, and social-emotional benefits to including it in the classroom. We know the irreplaceable connection to family and culture first language provides to students, and the strength and vitality a multilingual society provides to everyone. And finally, we know there are achievable ways to include all learners, their identities and their languages, in classroom and school communities. 

The sun was setting as the last of the families left the school, and the hallways that had been so lively earlier suddenly felt heavy with stillness. As I drove home I thought again of the father reading the dual language book to his son, how natural and joyful that moment was.  And I hoped our little Learning Commons, throughout the year and that evening, had given a little bit of joy to everyone. 

I have always loved drama. And not just the flashy productions that come to mind when we think of school theatre — although those were fun too. No, I liked the smaller stuff.  

When I was a teenager, our drama classroom was tucked away in the basement of the school. In my opinion, though, it was the brightest spot in the building. If memory serves, we usually had about 15 or so students in our class. I think one year it got down to twelve — which as I write this seems an impossibly, wonderfully low number.  The room was carpeted, grey and worn from years of stocking feet running over it in fast-paced chase games, scene studies, and interpretive movement. The walls were painted black, and they faded to an inky void when the fluorescent school lights were switched off and theatre lights shone, illuminating our tiny performance space in little gold pools. Each day, we entered this open space, free of desks and chalkboards and every other thing usually found in classrooms. It was gloriously empty, waiting to be filled with creation.

We were a mixed bag of students, different backgrounds and friend groups. And yet through drama, a new community seemed to spring to life effortlessly.  Even teenage cool could not repress delighted squeals during fox-and-rabbit tag, could not stifle laughter at mishaps and happy accidents as we desperately tried to guide each other out of tangle games, could not shatter the silent connection that can happen during performance, when a classmate conveys something new and beautiful in a bit of script or line of music, bringing it to life with body and voice. That was the good stuff. Essays and exams did not convey our insights and perspectives — movement, expression, and even simple tone of voice did.  And when so much else in our academic lives seemed grounded in sitting still and using comparatively few ways to communicate learning, the multimodal physicality of the drama room offered a freeing alternative.

But what I loved most about drama class was the way in which it allowed us to see one another, in ways I almost never did in other classes. There was something so immediate and personal about drama. Our ideas were alive in the performance space, communicated to one another in fundamentally human ways. It didn’t feel so much like sharing answers as sharing a part of ourselves.

I have often thought back to those classes in my own career as a teacher, and tried to create similar learning experiences for my students. Before my current role, I often used drama to teach elements of the Language curriculum — and one unit was particularly memorable. I used a simple picture book which contained, as so many of them do, rich themes and complex issues to engage readers of all ages. Specifically, this text featured themes of difference and environmental degradation. But when I considered asking the class to show what they had learned in our unit, I knew some of my students would not be able to fully express their thoughts if my tasks were pencil and paper-based: multilingual language learners in the early stages of English acquisition, students with learning disabilities, dyslexia, dysgraphia … there were a number of intelligent and insightful students whose contributions would be cut short or stopped altogether by verbal-linguistic barriers.

So instead, I had students explore the text through tableaux. For those new to drama, tableaux are images students create with their bodies, a series of still-frames that represent a particular scene or moment in a narrative, as if someone snapped a photograph of the characters in action. Tableaux can offer an interactive, multimodal, and accessible way to explore texts: it can be used to re-tell the sequence of a story, to highlight critical plot points, to express character motivation and feelings, to predict storyline, to illustrate possible solutions to problems presented in the story, and to make connections to similar issues in our world and lives. It’s just that instead of doing all of these curriculum-based tasks on paper, students use physical and emotional expression to communicate their thinking. 

One tableau my students created was particularly beautiful. There were about 6 students in the group, all with unique learning needs. As I watched the group plan, one student placed herself in the middle of the scene, sadness in her face as she gazed at the ruined land surrounding her, but making hope visible in her outstretched arms, still attempting persuade people to help her. Some students in the tableau were turned away defiantly; some were looking back, considering; others walking to join her, uncertainty but also bravery in their strides. The group’s creation encapsulated the character conflict in devastating stillness. 

All groups presented at the same time, one after the other, creating live fade-ins around the classroom. And in the three seconds it took this group to freeze in tableau, I knew instantly that the students had understood subtext, made emotional connections to characters, and accurately conveyed motivation. You could see it all in a heart beat.

As always, drama techniques such as tableaux are just one possible tool to engage all students and enable diverse learners to fully participate. It is one of many tasks and activities that allow multiple entry points. In my experience, tableaux is an exercise pretty much everyone in the class can do — and the learning is no less rich for it. In fact, sometimes, it is even more so.

In my previous blog I spoke about the joy of not being able to “find” multilingual language learners (and other diverse students) as we look across classrooms, because the tasks and learning spaces are designed for everyone to have an entry point, for everyone to have a voice and meaningfully participate. This drama activity is always one in which I am willing to wager, if someone walked in during the lesson, they would find themselves stymied by that most wonderful challenge.

There are countless reasons I love my job.  I get to work with teachers across our board, to collaborate and co-plan for multilingual language learners. I get to exchange ideas with them, diverse teachers in diverse classrooms, adding new knowledge and strategies to my pedagogical arsenal every day. But there is one thing I cherish more than anything else in my role …

The sight of it makes me gleefully giddy. 

The mere thought of it makes my spirits soar. 

And the memory of it puts a little spring in my step as I jaunt down the hall to the next classroom …

(It happens quite a lot in our schools, I’m happy to say.)

Are you ready? Set? Here it is: I absolutely, positively, and unreservedly love it when I walk into a classroom and can’t find any multilingual language learners. 

Let me explain.

It is not that I do not wish to see or welcome or teach MLLs — on the contrary! It is a joy and privilege unlike many others. What I mean is this: when I walk into a learning space where everyone has a way to access the lesson, where everyone is included in the learning, where there is a way for everyone to communicate and share their knowledge … well that’s just it, isn’t it? No one sticks out. Yes, I adore that moment when I knock on the door and enter, when I scan the room and see groups of busy students, or bustling conversations, or engaged expressions, or hands raised mid-lesson to offer ideas … and I see no one off to side or separate. No one relegated to an ESL workbook or learn-a-language app.  No one staring uncomprehendingly.  Instead, everyone is learning. Everyone is contributing. Everyone is a part of the classroom community. 

Happily and joyfully, from my vantage spot at the door, I just cannot seem to find any MLLs.

Of course I am being a little tongue-in-cheek here but the issue is a critical one. Multilingual language learners spend most (if not all) of their time in the mainstream classroom. This is where the bulk of English acquisition takes place. This is where curriculum is learned. This is where community is. So how do we create lessons and learning environments that are accessible and inclusive to all students? How do classroom teachers ensure that MLLs are valued, contributing members of the class? 

I have seen countless examples of this kind of inclusion over the years. Students writing proud autobiographies or sweeping tales, some in first language (L1), some in English, some in both; some with sentence starters and frames, some with assistive tech, some with pencil and paper. But everyone is writing their autobiography. Everyone is writing their fable.   I have seen skilled teachers’ whole-class lessons on everything from fractions to water conservation to community helpers … with every student in the class attending to and accessing the main points of the lesson. Some by listening to the teacher speak, some by attending to the visuals the teacher points to, some by using strategic translation, some by using a combination of many different strategies. But everyone is learning. Everyone is included in the lesson.

When I was just starting out as a classroom teacher, I remember being overwhelmed at the prospect of creating this type of environment for multilingual language learners in my class. Where do I start? How can I possibly make my lessons accessible and understood by all, especially the students who are just beginning to acquire English? One resource I wish I’d had back then is Carol Salva’s strategies for classroom teachers with MLLs in their class. It is a short list of key ways facilitate the teaching of English and curriculum simultaneously.  I have adapted this list a little bit to include first language and building schema, as well as a adding a few examples, but this is Salva’s list nearly verbatim:

1. Activate / build prior knowledge before lessons (brainstorm with an L1 buddy, create a dual language dictionary of key terms, preview curriculum content in L1 before the lesson, participate in a real-life experience on the lesson topic, build schema from videos, etc).
2. Chorally read something as a class every day (such as lesson goals, key vocabulary, sentence frames, etc). 
3. Have visuals you strategically point to throughout the lesson. The walls should be your co-teacher. Multilingual language learners will have a chance to learn that vocabulary at the same time as you are teaching your lesson.
4. Have kids verbalize to internalize content every day. Sentence starters and a chance to practice privately go a long way. This way, MLLs can participate and contribute ideas in group work with their peers and practice English.
5. Have students write at least one academic sentence in English per day. Writing in first language is beneficial as well — it helps maintain first language and clarify thoughts and plans before writing them in English. 

As I read through the above, I am reminded that the strategies are good for everyone in the class, not just MLLs. Who does not benefit from choral reading and clarifying goals? From using sentence stems and starters to speak succinctly and clearly? From pointing to visuals during lessons for emphasis, interest, and attention? 

For multilingual language learners, and others, creating inclusive lessons is a matter of social justice. MLLs need to learn curriculum as soon as they enter school, and build English through their curriculum explorations and tasks. While Salva’s list is by no means exhaustive, it is useful as a starting point in creating the kind of learning environment that everyone can access, regardless of their level of English proficiency.

And while the search to create inclusive classrooms is a never-ending journey of reflection and action, it is the best kind of quest: to ensure that we teach in a way that all students learn, and that all students have a place in the learning community. 

Source cited:

Boosting Achievement by Carol Salva, 2017. 

 

There has been much discussion of late about the importance of systematic, explicit phonics instruction in literacy. Decodable readers and phonics programs are popping up on book room shelves, nudging to the side the guided reading bins that have so long reigned supreme. These days, it seems acronyms such as UFLI are uttered more commonly than DRA or LLI.  And yes, systematic phonics instruction is an essential component of reading, especially for students struggling with learning disabilities such as dyslexia (there has been more than one beloved learner in my family who needed such explicit and multisensory literacy instruction to learn to read). But what about multilingual learners? Is reading instruction different for them? Should teachers jump right into phonics instruction for a student just learning English, as they would for any other student?

Perhaps the following scenario will highlight some critical considerations in this question.

Imagine you are a multilingual leaner, about to learn a new language. And more than that, you are going to learn to read in that new language. Here is your first phonics lesson:

Just three sounds, and you blend them together. Got it? Now read this:

Could you decode it? Read it out loud? You blended all the letter sounds together? Great! Good for you! You are reading.

Just a couple more questions:  

Did you get the joke in the first line? Were you moved by the revelation in the second sentence? Did you see the connection to your science curriculum at the end? Did you gain any ability to communicate in this new language you are trying to learn?

No?  

Ah. There is the difference. Native speakers of English already understand the vocabulary they are decoding. When we ask them to sound out c-a-t, they know what the word ‘cat’ means. They can use the word in a sentence for real communication. If they read a story about a cat, they can enjoy it, make connections to it, ask questions about the text. Not so for multilingual learners in the beginning stage of English acquisition. 

So is phonics instruction just as important for multilingual learners as for native speakers of English? Yes. But it is not equitable to make a student decode something they cannot understand. That is where we come in as teachers, to front load and embed oral language and vocabulary development in phonics lessons, so that multilingual learners learn the meaning of the words they are about to decode and encode. So that they can use those words for real communication, in multiple authentic situations. So that they have the same access to rich texts, ideas, and learning experiences as native speakers of English. In this sense, teaching phonics in meaningful context, rather than only as an isolated skill, is an issue of both instructional practice and social justice. 

There are far more considerations in teaching MLs to read than I have discussed here. For a deeper dive into the complexities and nuances of literacy instruction for multilingual learners, I have found Literacy Foundations for English Learners: A Comprehensive Guide by Cardenas-Hagan to be very helpful. And of course, for free insights and best practices in ML instruction, and mapping out the ways phonics and reading instruction need to be tweaked for multilingual learners, there is always https://www.colorincolorado.org/ which has an entire section devoted to literacy instruction for multilingual learners. 

Speaking of which, the Spanish phrase “colorin colorado” might also be a good way to conclude to this blog entry — “happily ever after”  is indeed the sentiment I wish for all readers.