e-Journal #5: D-DAY!

Three days of implementation seemed longer than it really was. June 20 marked the start of the program, and with it came the usual first-day jitters — awkward introductions with the kids, gauging their personalities, and observing how they expressed themselves. That day felt like a melting pot of emotions: nervousness, anticipation, and, most of all, relief. After weeks of uncertainty about whether the implementation would even push through, the reality of finally beginning filled me with both anxiety and gratitude.

Walking into the library and seeing the six participants huddled around the table was a humbling sight. It reminded me that behind their presence was the effort and commitment of their parents, who believed enough in the program to give their time and trust. Instead of lingering on the “what ifs,” I channeled that gratitude into making the lessons engaging and enjoyable. I made a conscious effort to create moments of connection, filling silences with questions, showing interest in each child’s individuality, and ensuring that they felt seen and valued.

One of the most profound moments for me was engaging with the three neurodivergent participants. Their presence enriched the sessions in ways I did not anticipate. While their behaviors and attention spans varied, their ideas were insightful, logical, and refreshingly honest. Their unapologetic willingness to share what they had read reminded me of the beauty of diverse learners — each contributing perspectives shaped by unique ways of processing the world. Witnessing this diversity firsthand deepened my appreciation for inclusivity in instructional design. It affirmed that effective learning environments are not about expecting uniformity, but about embracing variety, providing multiple avenues for expression, and cultivating spaces where every learner feels empowered to contribute.

Ultimately, that first day taught me that implementation is not just about executing plans. It is about human connection, adaptability, and gratitude. The anxiety I carried transformed into motivation the moment I saw the learners’ curiosity and potential come alive in the space. More than being a program milestone, it was a reminder of why this advocacy matters — because each child, regardless of background or ability, deserves an opportunity to fall in love with reading and to be part of a community that values their voice.

The second implementation built on the excitement and momentum of the first day, but this time it felt more personal and fulfilling. As the session culminated with book annotation — my favorite part — I could not help but feel a surge of joy and anticipation. In many ways, this was the moment where the “passion project” side of the program really came alive for me. Annotation has always been second nature: highlighting meaningful lines, writing notes in the margins, creating annotation guides, or using sticky tabs have long been my way of not just reading, but truly interacting with texts. For me, reading has never been passive; it is a conversation with the book, a dance of words, colors, and ink.

Walking into the library carrying my personal examples of annotated books, color guides, and rating systems drawn from the many titles I have read, I felt like I was sharing a piece of myself with the children. This wasn’t just an instructional activity — it was a glimpse into my personal reading journey and the tools that have shaped my love for literature.

Approaching the topic, I quickly realized how new the concept of annotation was for the kids. Their eyes lit up with curiosity as I explained how colors could represent emotions, or how sticky notes could be used to capture fleeting thoughts. What struck me most was their genuine excitement to use the highlighters and colored papers. For them, the activity did not feel like a rigid academic task; instead, it became an artistic, almost playful way to engage with the text. The energy in the room shifted — hands eagerly reached out for markers, voices filled with laughter as they shared the emotions they matched to certain parts of the story, and the act of annotating became both a learning process and a creative outlet.

What made this moment so memorable was not just their enthusiasm, but how the activity embodied the heart of what I envisioned for this project: transforming reading from a solitary, passive act into an interactive and meaningful experience. Even the act of teaching them how to care for books while annotating highlighted a balance of responsibility and creativity. It reminded me that literacy development is not just about decoding words but about cultivating habits, strategies, and relationships with texts that make reading enjoyable and sustainable.

This session reaffirmed why annotation has been central to my own growth as a reader, and why it was worth introducing to the children. It was the perfect bridge between my personal passion and their budding curiosity, making the library not just a place for reading, but a space for exploration, self-expression, and shared joy.