Literacy Narrative

In today’s society reading is essential to function. Everywhere people turn they are required to read directions, labels, books, what’s going on in the news, or mandatory rules they need to follow. Just think about if a majority of the world couldn’t read how chaotic society would be.

In all honesty, I don't remember a lot about becoming literate. I didn't have a special moment or time when I knew that reading or writing going to take me somewhere. According to my mom she started to read to me when I was one, so there wasn't anything that could've excelled me much farther before going into kindergarten. One of the requirements in elementary school was to read every night which I believe was an important factor of me improving my literacy. Reading and writing used to me excite me because I would immerse myself into a book or write a whole new universe on a page. I made reading and writing something personal to me. I now realize that every book and every piece of writing can be worthwhile in one way or another.

Literacy plays a huge role in my daily life. Every single day I read and write. Whether it’s writing an email or reading a text message, class assignment, discussion board, etc. My literacy journey is unique because I have had different experiences. As a result, this is how my literacy journey has let me to be the reader that I am.

I have been working with the Coweta County School System since August of 2000. I began as a paraprofessional working with students with Autism through the Emory Autism Program. I enjoyed working with special needs students so much that I entered the TAPP program to obtain my teaching certificate. I began working at East Coweta Middle School in the fall of 2002 and am still currently working there as an interrelated special education teacher. I have taught resource, collaborative, and co-teach classes. I have even had one year where I worked one-on-one with a student that required specialized instruction.

Throughout my childhood, the idea of having a college education was greatly stressed. As a result, it was my duty as the next generational child, to excel in my studies and achieve a life of prosperity and success. Learning became the basic foundation of my growth. Therefore, my youth was overtaken by many hours spent reading and writing what was known to be correct "Standard" English. I first found this to be a great shortcoming, but as I grew older, I began to realize the many rewards acquired by having the ability to be literate.

Typically, people think of reading when they see a novel or a short story, but I think of reading when I’m out on the baseball field. When I hear the word “reading”, unlike most people, I think of a green grassy baseball diamond at night, with the lights lighting it up, filled with fans in the stands. Believe it or not, I read all the time on the field. I read the ball coming off the bat when I’m playing in the field. When I hear the “ding” of the metal bat and hard, rubber ball colliding, I know that there is a chance I could make a great play. I can see the ball getting bigger and bigger as in approaches me. I read the ball coming out of the pitcher’s hand,

My sophomore year at Central High School did not start out the best. I was recovering from an awful grade point average, awful for me at least, I was sitting the bench in a sport that I had lost interest in, and overall I just did not enjoy school anymore. I personally did not see the point in coming to school at all. It took some time, but I finally started to get my grades up, my season had ended for football, and I knew I was not going back. After everything was starting to go my way I started thinking, “What am I going to do next?”

The message that comes out of the literacy narrative is that I started to enjoy writing once it was made simple to me. Also that I like it even better when the topic is not professional. When it comes to reading, I am very picky. I only read the books with specific genres. I do not go out of my comfort zone when it comes to reading because when I do, I do not enjoy what I am reading.

When I first took a look at my first assignment for English Composition I – Write a Literacy Narrative. The first thought it came to mind was “ESL” (English as of Second Language). I started to reminisce about my first year as a freshman in High School. It was the fall of 1985; I just had arrived from Colombia as an exchange student. On the first day of School, I reported to the front office, still not knowing what to say or what to do. I was completely lost and scared; the nice lady at the desk looked at me with a smile and started to talk. I did not understand a single word of what she was saying at that time, except “Hello”. After a few minutes of silence and staring at each other, I gave her a piece of paper that my

Throughout my childhood, the idea of having a college education was greatly stressed. As a result, it was my duty as the next generational child, to excel in my studies and achieve a life of prosperity and success. Learning became the basic foundation of my growth. Therefore, my youth was overtaken by many hours spent reading and writing what was known to be correct "Standard" English. I first found this to be a great shortcoming, but as I grew older, I began to realize the many rewards acquired by having the ability to be literate.

I am sitting at my work desk reading an autobiography called the Blood of the Lambs, and I ponder about the amount of time having passed since I have sat down to a nice personal evening with a book. Upon reflection, I realize that the path I took to learning to read wasn’t an easy one and involved time, effort, and hard work.

If you were to ask me what literacy meant to me when I was younger I would tell you, that it represented reading a book, and simply writing. The first thing that would come to my mind is English, reading and writing is what I do when it comes to that subject. Being young I was never taught the true meaning of literacy, and if you’re anything like me, you would eventually have to just learn on your own. Growing up I rarely thought what literacy truly meant, yet growing up it was a question I was always curious about, because this is when my writing became more serious. The more I began to write essays, the more it seemed to bother me. I asked myself, how could I truly write a good paper without knowing the basic true meaning of it all?

Diving into past memories is something I am never found of. There is a lot of pain hidden behind some of my past experiences, but also a lot of triumph. It is always interesting to force yourself to retrieve some of those hidden memories. Sometimes the things you remember can be very surprising. Things that seemed long forgotten, can abruptly come back in a flash. The farthest memory I can recall about my own literacy experience is when I began first grade. At this stage, I remember feeling very confused about the whole purpose of going to school. I felt as if I was the only one not being able to keep up with the other children. I didn’t know what was cool, how to make friends, or even know how to play board games like “Candyland.” I was just not exposed to certain things that the other children in my class were aware of prior to beginning first grade. Most of all, I did not like learning. I liked doing things

My literacy journey had begun earlier than most kids, according to my mother. I started reading in kindergarten, with help with the BOB books and the PBS show Between the Lions. I don’t know when I had started writing exactly, but I remember clearly writing short stories about my cat Stormy in 3rd grade. At that time we had to write weekly short stories, and I only ever wrote about my cat. In 4th grade, I had started exploring writing more; I would write plays for me and my friends to practice during recess. Most of them, I’m happy to say, were actually educational, so my teacher had even let my friends and I perform one about early-American settlers in front of our whole class.

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated