Literacy Experience Excerpts

Excerpts:

From a very young age, “stories” was a big part of my life. I refer to “stories” as a singular noun because it refers to a specific time of day and a specific act that occurred at that time. Every night before going to bed, I would read with my parents. I can't remember the exact order of what happened when, but there were times when my parents would read picture books aloud to me, and there were times when they would read novels aloud to me, and there were times when I would read picture books aloud to them. And then gradually I moved away from this and began to read novels on my own. My mom especially was very conscientious about finding “quality” literature for us to read. I received Newbery and Caldecott award-winning books for birthdays and Christmas. My picture book phase thus consisted not only of “high quality” content but also beautiful illustrations...

When I was very young, getting “stories” taken away was the ultimate loss of privileges. It wasn't so much that it was held over our heads often, but more that it was an incentive to get in and out of our baths quickly. Not even so much reading but a certain culture of the enjoyment of books permeated my childhood. It used to be one of my favorite activities. As I've grown older, I've found that I am slightly fixated on activities that existed in a much more limited way in my childhood world, such as watching movies. Movies were maybe a once-a-week occurrence. I've also fallen away from reading for pleasure. I still do it occasionally, but academic readings, other pursuits (including the new fixations I describe above), and an unexplained drop in my ability to read as efficiently as I used to severely limit my leisurely literary time. I think this development in combination with the values that were instilled in me as a child have created some personal feelings of guilt...

I I like to write my posts in a cute little teal journal, accurately labled "thoughts." I wondered what the destiny of this book would be and I'm happy it's this. My entry started with three stick figure photos; the first was me being talked at by a teacher. The second was me talking to an adult and the third was me talking with a peer. The story then described an interaction I had with an older person in youth group. He asked me why I talked like a white person. At the time, that really bothered me, because it made me feel uncool and out of place. So then I would try to use more slang, but it didn't really help my "cool" cause becuase I sounded very off. This led me to think about the different languages I have to negotiate on any given day when I was little. With my mother I would have to speak Spanish, but my Spanish was never really eloquent, and then with friends I would have to use slang becuase my academic English freaked them out, and then with teachers I would have to use academic English. With language, I never really felt proficient with any of the three, but I'm starting to accept that all three of these are very much a part of the person I am today.  

I have decided to try writing my journal entries by hand, for now, because I like the idea of including some illustrations to supplement my text.  Below is a picture of my first entry.  I find it interesting to use an online blog format to present what is a very simplistic page in person, and I think the intersections of these mediums will be generative.  

A quote from the journal:

"Will you play with me?  No, I'm reading.  Why are you reading?  Shh, one more chapter.  Okay...has it been a chapter?  Shh, you should get your books.  No, I cant.  Did you try?  Yes, I tried.  Try again.  Now."

This quote is a scene as I remember it playing out in my childhood with my older sister.  She insisted that I could learn to read on my own--and that she would only want to associate with me if I did.  She thought that I was much too old at 4 to rely on others for reading stories or street signs or labels in the grocery store.  As it turned out, I really did only need the final push.  I sat for at least an hour with my Bob Books, which only presented limited letters at a time, learning to read.  I could read the first set of books by the time my sister thought to ask me how I had fared.

My earliest memory of pursuing literacy is of reading the Harry Potter series with my mom. My mom, who is an educator, adores young adult novels and fell in love with the Harry Potter books as so many other people did. I remember getting so excited to get ready for bed because it meant I would be able to find out what happened next in Harry’s life. I remember when we first started the books we listened to chapters on tape but soon transitioned into shared reading time where my mother would read a couple pages out loud and then I would do the same. I loved listening to my mom read (she was so good at it!). However, I also felt frustration at not being able to read as well as she did.  I stumbled on the words and had to read much more slowly.  I also couldn’t create different voices for the characters as easily as she could.  In the face of this frustration I remember pushing myself to become a better reader.  My passion for the storyline and also my love for reading with my mom truly motivated me to become better at reading and a literate individual. Eventually my sentences flowed more easily and I didn’t have to concentrate as much on reading. I began to internalize the story instead of focusing all of my energy on getting the words out. Never in my life had I connected so strongly with a piece of writing. At some point I began reading the books on my own and when the seventh book came out I read it in one weekend. 

After reading the first Harry Potter book, my love for reading really took off and hasn’t slowed down since then. This experience is so vivid in my memory because it represents how I developed my love of reading and also symbolizes my transition from reading words to internalizing the meaning of a story.  It showed me that words could be exciting and passionate and that it was a social experience I could cherish with my mom.

The simplest definition of literacy, I have encountered, is the ability to read and write. However, this definition alone does not capture the process and the higher level connections I had to make when I learned how to write. My mom simply did not make me copy alphabets from the book and memorize their names. Instead, she helped me logically create the structure of the alphabets by remembering the simple shapes that they are composed of. I learned to write with my mom.

I can still remember being a three year old playing with my big brothers pencils. My dream was to grow up to be just like my brother, my dream was to go to school like him and learn to read books. For the early stages of my education, I lived in Bangladesh. My brother and I were privilaged enough to attend English Medium schools, but they were very tough to get into.

My mom’s first lesson, from my recollection, was teaching me how to use a penci, this was even before I started going to school. She didn’t teach me how to write out words right away, but instead she made me focus on how to use a tool of literacy. We drew countless lines together and slowly we drew shapes together. She would make me hold the pencil and draw on the paper. When she would notice me struggling, she would physically move my hand to perform the gestures that allowed me to draw the shapes on the paper.

After becoming comfortable with drawing lines, circles, squares, triangles, etc, I finally started drawing the letters of the alphabets. I say drawing because my mom would first tell me to draw a line and then she would tell me to draw a big belly attached to the line. I drew what was called a “b” and if I flipped it around, it was a “d.” Here my mom used the technique of using my pre-exisiting ability to draw simple shapes to learn how to write the alphabets. Writing was a foreign term for me because grown-ups wrote and little kids like to draw on things they weren't supposed to draw on. I was learning to make connections between things I already knew to things I was learning in an early age. However, knowing how to draw the alphabets was not the same thing as naming them. “b” and “d” were the two alphabets that I struggled with the most when came to recognition.

Practicing my writing skills helped me spend more time with my mom, and also helped me feel like I was entering this new stage of being a big kid like my brother. When I learned how to read the small words, being the conversationalist I am, I began to write "letters" to my cousins who lived out of town. Although I didn't fully learn how to write sentences, I still tried to use what I knew to communicate with others. Oftentimes I would draw certain pictures if I didn't know how to write the word. Nevertheless, through my mother, I learned that literacy is something you have to build upon. With every step, I became better at communicating with everyone.

After reading the task for this assignment, for some reason I immediately thought of the time I was in first grade and my teacher had asked us to pick out a book from the bookshelf, find a place to sit and read it to ourselves. As a first grade ESL (English as a Second Language) and Bilingual student, I did not understand what exactly she wanted us to do with the book. I remember looking at the letters wondering what on earth this could possibly mean. Another memory that popped into my head was how later on during that same year, my first grade teacher would give each of us personal attention on learning how to read, that when my turn came up I remember feeling how frustrated I was because I didn’t know what to do, as in is there a trick we need to learn in order to read?

When sharing with my group this piece of my journal entry I started realizing that my frustration with learning how to read had to do with more than just reading but trying to learn and adjust using a second language, a second culture. As I discussed with my group about this, I remembered how later on that same year in first grade how my class was going to perform Peter Pan and I was given a minor role. I couldn't help but think, why was I given such a minor role? And then I realized, maybe it was because my reading proficiency wasn't up to par with the rest of my peers. If I wanted to be equally proficient with the rest of my peers, I knew that obtaining proficiency in this second language would ensure not only acceptance but survival as well.

I remember being literally enchanted by the world that J.K Rowling described in her books. My mom and I loved Harry Potter and I remember feeling amazed that she loved it too since she was a grown up. As I grew up, so did Harry, Ron and Hermione. I listened to my mom read the stories and felt that I was a part of the wizarding world too. Not only did I read the books, but I saw every movie as it premiered in the theater and waited in line at midnight for the books to come out in the store. Big books no longer scared me and I wasn't nervous to read anything. 

I wonder who else has this experience with a book or group of books when they were young? Is there a way we can engage students who do not like to read with certain books? What is the value of “out of class books” rather than the classics we are told we must read in school? 

I am one of the privileged.

I have breathed out sentences -

And eaten words. My eyes

Were never lonely as a child.

My curiosity was sated

With stories.

This poem is meant to explore the aspects of literacy in my childhood; from a distinct memory I have of my mother reading me Harry Potter to learning how to read on my bed. It examines the idea that I grew up in a home with access and exposure to literacy.