My Literacy Journey

        My literacy journey started when I was just a baby. My parents always read to me as a child as far back as I can remember. When I entered school, it was no surprise that I enjoyed reading, and writing came naturally to me as well. Through the years, I have read countless books and honed my writing skills, and my journey has taken me places I never thought were possible. However, my literacy journey is far from over. I still have one semester left of college and then the rest of my life. In this chapter, I will discuss significant moments in my literacy journey all the way through to where I am now.
        The first literacy memory I have is in 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. 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.
        Another event that shaped my literacy journey was when my grandma got me my first journal; I was in the third grade. I’m not really sure why she got it, but maybe it was because she knew I'd like anything that was purple. There was no way to open the journal without the key that came with it, 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. 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.
        In tenth grade we read "To Kill A Mockingbird" and "The Great Gatsby." This was my first brush with classic literature and I was very excited at the prospect to dip my toes into reading two books that have spanned generations. I remember this literacy event well because I fell in love with both books. Since then, I have read "To Kill A Mockingbird" and "The Great Gatsby" multiple times and will recommend them to anyone looking for a book suggestion. 
        Stevie Nicks is an important part of my literacy journey as well. 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”).
        Fast-forward to my senior year of college. I am taking composition theory and a senior seminar class about authorship, both of which I have seen some overlap in. I've been assigned some of the same readings and I've looked at some of the same authors. Discussions in both classes have centered around the role socioeconomic status plays in education and authorship. What I have learned this year will forever be part of my literacy journey because I have learned so much about where I stand in terms of who is considered an author and how the privileges I have been afforded have contributed to where I am now. 

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