It began as a small act of rebellion against screens. No phones allowed – so out came the dictionary, that thick, slightly intimidating book most students today rarely touch.
I brought mine into my English class, and curiosity took over before I’d even planned a lesson around it. “What book is that?” someone asked. “A mini dictionary,” I said, half-joking that they should bring their own sometime. I didn’t expect anyone to take me up on it.
The next morning, a few students walked in with mini dictionaries tucked under their arms – bought or borrowed overnight, no assignment attached. They just wanted to. Within minutes, they were huddled together, flipping pages, trading discoveries. “Did you know this means-?” “Wait, look at this one!” The room buzzed with a kind of curiosity no app notification could have triggered.
That moment stayed with me. It was a reminder that learning doesn’t need a screen to be exciting – sometimes it just needs a spark, a little friction, and room to explore at your own pace. There’s something different about physically hunting for a word: flipping past ones you didn’t know you needed, stumbling on ones you’ll remember by accident. It’s slower. It’s also richer.
In a world built for instant answers, watching my students choose the slow way – and love it – gave me a quiet pride I won’t forget.
And the benefits run deeper than nostalgia. Dictionaries build vocabulary and spelling, and they sharpen reading comprehension by teaching kids to look up unfamiliar words on their own instead of leaning on someone else. Pronunciation guides and word origins make language feel alive rather than fixed. And the simple act of searching – scanning, comparing, choosing – builds focus, patience, and the quiet groundwork of real research skill.
Children who grow up flipping through dictionaries tend to carry that habit forward: reading, writing, and speaking with a confidence that’s harder to teach any other way.
By Reshma GowrammaMachamada
Educator at KALS
