Literacy Narrative

It was a hot, searing day as the sun beat down on my skin. The lush green palm trees provided me shade as I sat and observed my surroundings. Children, barefoot and dirty, wearing tattered and stained clothes were running around laughing and playing. Their joyous giggles put a smile on my face and warmed my heart as I watched them.

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

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,

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

As a girl growing up around a group of bikers, boys and two parents who listened to eighties hair bands and metal, you wouldn’t think that I read or was read to frequently before starting school. I pursued in reading quite often, actually. When I finally started school, I had the tendency of keeping to myself and staying quiet. There never have been very many friends in the picture of my life. I learned at a young age that there often are going to be cliques, even when you’re an eight year old in girl scouts. I stood out in more ways than one, but for now I’m only going to elucidate why reading is so salient to me.

Can you remember what your teacher taught you back in kindergarten? Chances are she was introducing you to the basics of reading and writing. Literacy is the ability to read and write, and because I did not think I was very good at either of the two, it had never been my favorite thing to do. It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that I had an English class that I actually enjoyed. My teacher was Ms. Holly Eubanks. The past classes had boasted about how good of a teacher Ms. Eubanks was and how, even though she may take a while to grade your papers, she was always trying to help you improve in every possible way she could. On the first day

My mother taught me how to read at a young age. She read to me before I could read which helped me learn new words and develop a basic understanding of literature at an early age. When it came time for me to attend elementary school, I remember heading to the library quite often. Books were organized based on what was thought to be the appropriate reading material for that grade level. I often found myself wandering down the isles with the older kids. I’m so grateful my mother encouraged reading as much as she did. If she hadn’t, it’s very possible I could have struggled with reading. If this were true, I wouldn’t have learned as much as I did, or had the desire to read, which is very important in order to become as advanced in literature as possible.

My literacy narrative focused on an event, which changed my perspective towards reading. This event revolved around my life and later resulted in a better version of myself. It was about a competition for which I appeared during my freshman year in high school. There were some key points, which I noticed while working on my literacy narrative. Throughout my work, I enjoyed the ways of employing the five authentic skills that enriched my narrative with not just my words, but also with my emotions that are associated to it.

In first grade, I had started reading, or that is what I recall as my first time. My stuttering problem was always there, but I was a “great reader” according to my teacher Ms. Brown. She was a kind elderly woman, who wanted to see everybody in her class succeed in reading a whole book. Then second grade came at the snap of a finger. There, I wrote my first paragraph full of “mumbo jumbo”. Even though I wrote my first paragraph in second grade, I did not learn about the writing process until high school. After I left high school, I learned that we had barely touched on the writing process due to a significant place in my life… College! In my first English class (Eng 180), my professor went over the ideas of rhetoric, the writing process, and discourse community. Since my old professor did not go in depth on these topics, meant that they were still fresh in my head with no place to stay. In English 280, we went into full detail on these topics and understood more about the meaning and purpose of them all. I know that the writing process includes brainstorming, researching, proofreading, revising, and etc.; however, I felt like I have been doing it all wrong for years. I have made many improvements to my writing due to English 280, but the skills that I improved in the most were researching and synthesizing.

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?”

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.

My entire life I was forced to read and forced to challenge myself with those readings. Whether is was my textbooks during the school year or a summer reading challenge, I was reading. When I was much younger my mother and I would read a new book every night before bed. It was a tradition for us and something I thoroughly enjoyed. As I grew up and those nightly activities came to an end, I was still reading textbooks and novels for classes. One may think that when the warm summer days came, that the books would be set down, not in the Smith household. There was always a summer reading list that was given out by the school, and also one given to me by my parents. Both list were expected to be completed, with a reward coming upon completion. As much as this wasn’t my ideal summer activity, I am very thankful for my parents having me read because it has helped me expand my vocabulary and become more

The book is old. The cover worn and tattered. The binding coming undone and several papers falling, or threatening to as the young hand flips though them. Pages centuries old. The writing ancient and almost indistinguishable. Written in a language just as old. Just as ancient. But they do not matter. The pages escaping from the binding hold no meaning anymore. They haven't held a meaning in many years.

I remember the first time I realized what reading meant to me. In my fourth grade english class, we started reading The Indian in the Cupboard. At first, everyone was upset because “The cover didn’t look good”, and I’ll admit, I was too. But the moment we opened that book, I couldn’t put it down. I ended up finishing it in two days. When I came to class after I finished it, I told all of my friends about the amazing book our teacher made us read, but they were all confused as to why I liked reading, as if reading was a punishment, or something to be ashamed about. And I realized that unlike most of my peers, I was immensely passionate about reading and writing. That was probably one of the first realizations I had in my childhood life. To this day, I still love The Indian in the Cupboard, and I find myself thinking

Apart from anything that was colorful or popped-up, I was disinterested with reading from a young age. I loved having my parents read to me, but had little desire to take the initiative myself. To this day I can still remember the first book my dad ever read to me, Go Dog Go. Those cardboard-like pages of dogs and the soothing nursery rhyme verses hooked me. The combination of the drawings and hearing my dad’s voice stimulated my cognitive process and allowed me to make personal connections with the text. Despite only being a curious listener this memorable story allowed me recognize the syntax of literature. Whether I knew it or not this was my first encounter with literature.