As far back as I can remember I’ve
always loved to read. My love of writing came a bit later, but reading was my
first passion. A lot of kids don’t really like reading because they associate
it with being forced to read books for school that they never would have chosen
on their own, but I caught the reading bug in kindergarten—long before that was
an issue.
Some of my first literacy memories
took place inside the New York Public Library. Here, I’d wander the children’s
section for what seemed like hours, handing my mom or dad every book I picked
out so I wouldn’t have to hold them all. At the tender age of six I got my
first library card with a signature that was close to illegible (when I got
older I just had to get a new one because I couldn’t stand how sloppily written
my name was), but what mattered most was that it was my own; it was a portal to
a different world. When I’d finish raiding the children’s section, we’d go to
the adult section so my parents could browse around. I remember being in awe of
how long these books were compared to my books and couldn’t wait until I could
read them all. Spending time at the library with my parents gave me a chance to
bond with them; the three of us had (and still have) different interests, but
books are one thing we’ve always had in common. To this day if you walk into my
house, you’re likely to find the three of us in various areas of the house with
a book in our hands.
My grandma got me my first journal
when I was in third grade. It was purple (my favorite color then and now) and
sparkly and you could only open it with the key that it came with and I guarded
that key with my life. I scribbled down my thoughts on my classmates, my
friends, my family, my animals and anything else my little eight-year-old mind
could think of until I ran out of pages. Though I’ve never been one to
religiously keep a journal (I’ve had a few since third grade), this was my
first brush with writing just for myself as opposed to writing for academic
reasons, and I liked it.
In fifth grade, it was evident that
I was ahead of my peers in the reading department. All the books in Mrs. Held’s
classroom had colored stickers on them and we could only read books of the
color we were assigned based on our reading level. I remember being able to
read books of a higher level than most of my class and I totally loved the fact
that I was reading books that no one else was; it made me feel special. Two
books I read then that stick out in my mind are The Giver by Lois Lowry and The
House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros.
A year later, in sixth grade, we had
to write a book about ourselves. I found this assignment to be a lot of fun and
even bound it together with ribbon instead of just stapling it. Ms. Roman
thought I did a good job on it and showed the class my work (along with a few
other students’ work). During this time, I was practically failing math and
this book kind of let me know that I was good at something.
I was in eighth grade when I finally
got a television in my room. Until then, I had nothing to do in there but read
and I think that was the point of me not being allowed to have a TV in there in
the first place. My parents placed a high value on literacy and didn’t really
want me spending 24 hours a day in front of a TV. I did read a little less at
first because I was so thrilled to be able to watch TV anytime I wanted instead
of having to wait for a time when my parents weren’t watching their shows, but
after a while there were times where I simply didn’t feel like watching TV, so
I’d go back to my books. I think this solidified the fact that books were an
important part of my life and nothing was going to really change that.
Ninth grade was the year that I
discovered just how much I really liked to write. At the time, I was big into
the show Gilmore Girls and one of the
characters, Rory, wanted to be a journalist. When I found out that journalism
was one of the electives my high school offered, I jumped at the opportunity to
take it. I loved journalism because it gave me a sense that what I was writing
really mattered (not to mention, I felt pretty official getting to interview
people). This class had me constantly writing and I enjoyed every minute of it.
Though I sometimes found it difficult to piece together a story, I welcomed the
challenge (unlike the challenge of math, which was unbearable). The same year
was also my mom’s first parent-teacher conference at the high school and that
day, she asked me how to get to all of the classrooms. It was my first instinct
to write a detailed list of steps that took up about three sheets of computer
paper. For whatever reason my mom told my journalism teacher, Mrs. Baron, about
what I had done and Mrs. Baron told her that she remembered doing the same kind
of thing when she was younger. My mom took it as a sign that I was meant to
write.
It was a continuing trend all
throughout middle school and high school that I was good at English and
history, but not so great at science and embarrassingly terrible at math. It
was only natural for me to want to pursue the things I was good at, so even
though I think of my ninth grade journalism class as kind of a turning point
for me, my academic record showed that I was bound for this path anyway.
I never liked poetry until I really
got into Stevie Nicks. I’d always enjoyed her music since I grew up listening
to classic rock, but I really became obsessed freshman year of college. Until
then, poetry had never done anything for me. Why was William Carlos Williams’ eight-line
poem about a wheelbarrow so important? Why was I being forced to read poems
from the 1800s that were so outdated and hard to understand? I hadn’t realized
that songs were poems and Stevie’s just hit me in a way that I had never
experienced before; unlike “The Red Wheelbarrow,” or any other poems I read in
high school, I could actually relate to Stevie’s words.
In applying Deborah Brandt’s theory,
my sponsors of literacy throughout my life have been my parents and the
resources they’ve provided me throughout my life, my teachers, and Stevie
Nicks. Brandt’s definition of sponsors includes the fact that they gain some
advantage by their sponsorship and this is true of the sponsors I’ve mentioned.
My parents gain the knowledge that I am a literate and educated person with a
path that I am following. So far, they have been pretty successful in raising
me and I think that’s definitely valuable to them. My teachers have not only
gained a paycheck for their efforts, but the knowledge that they helped shape a
student’s life in some way. Lastly, Stevie Nicks earns money from the songs and
albums I’ve purchased and all the money she’s ever made shows her that she has
a large fan base. This is good for her to know because if she didn’t have any
fans, what’s the point of her doing what she does?
Looking back, these sponsors exhibit
the type of life I had. For example, many parents could have easily left their
child’s school in charge of their reading if they were too busy to do it
themselves, but my parents always made time because they felt that my literacy
was very important. Although I didn’t mention it, being a student at Ithaca
College is a reflection of my economic standing and class as well; not everyone
is able to go to college to pursue what they are interested in.
It’s very interesting to look back
at how my literacy sponsors and socioeconomic background have shaped me.
Reading and writing have always been a big part of my life and I now realize
that I’m not the only one responsible for that.
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