Danielle
Zickl
Composition
Theory
Mary Lourdes
Silva
10/19/14
Literacy Narrative
The New York Public Library was
easily my favorite place as a child (other than ballet class). 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. But the one thing I didn’t like about the
adult section was how quiet it was. In the children’s section, there’d be
parents reading to their kids on the various couches that were around, or kids
just being loud and obnoxious because they’re little and that’s what they do. But
none of that happened in the adult section. It was just grown-ups picking up a
book, quickly scanning its contents, and either putting it back on the shelf or
holding on to it while they repeated the cycle, and all of this was done for
the most part silently.
Spending time at the library with my
parents gave me a chance to bond with them. 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 since I’m an only child, it was pretty easy for parents to make
time for my literacy. My mom worked part time as a pre-school teacher and was
always home when I was to take me to the library if I wanted to go, and even
though my dad worked a full time job and wasn’t home as much as my mom was, he
would never say no to a trip to the library. Though my dad never liked school
and didn’t continue on to college, he’s an avid reader. He just enjoys reading
for fun as opposed to being forced to read for educational purposes, and I
think he wanted to impart that habit on me early — way before forced reading
had a chance to ruin my love of it.
My grandma got me my first journal when I was
in third grade. I’m not really sure why she got it, but maybe because it was my
favorite color she knew I’d like it. It was purple 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.
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—my mom and I
watched it religiously every week—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. I can see how many
parents might take their child’s desire to be a writer and immediately worry
that they won’t be able to find a job (or at least a high-paying one) and beg
them to find something else. But if parents give their child the freedom to
choose their own path, it makes for a much happier child. What’s worse than
living an unhappy life and resenting your parents? Or vice versa, what’s worse
than having your child resent you for the rest of their lives because you were
too controlling back when they were younger? It’s just better to just support
anything and everything your child wants to do, unless they want to become a
serial killer or something, in which case I’d say get help immediately!
Both of my parents love Stevie Nicks and
growing up, her music echoed through my house. I fell in love with Stevie’s
music at an early age and she is the reason I like poetry. “Classic” poetry had
never done anything for me; they were so outdated and hard to understand. Why
was William Carlos Williams’ eight-line poem about a wheelbarrow so important?
I hadn’t realized that songs were poems until I watched countless interviews
where Stevie talked about how all of her songs started out as written poems;
she never added a melody until it was time for the band to record. Stevie’s words
have always 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 what she was writing about (“never have I been a blue calm sea, I have
always been a storm”).
Deborah Brandt talks a lot about families as
sponsors of literacy. For example, Dora Lopez’s family drove her 70 miles away
because they felt access to Spanish-language literature was still important
even though they didn’t live near Mexico anymore. In the case of Raymond
Branch, his father’s job gave him access to computers when he was young. This
translated into an interest in and career with computers. In turn, my own
family has played a huge part in my literacy. The sense of intimacy and
literacy bonding throughout my life is strong. My family has contributed to my
literacy journey and supported me in how I chose to continue on its path.