My Childhood Memories

Literacy memories and events began at a young age for me, and while teachers and family members all impacted my opinions and preferences for reading, every book I read and writing assignment given to me helped me form my literacy story and come to enjoy reading. Many literacy moments came from when I was young, like my mom or dad reading to me before bed or teachers reading to me at school their favorite books. All of these memories were accompanied by everyone saying how great reading was, and for a while I didn’t believe them. I had so many forced experiences with reading that it was almost painful for me to pick up a book. But as time went on and the reading I was still forced to do intensified, a better relationship with reading and writing

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.

In june 1994 my mama found out that she was pregnant, this was a shock because my mom wasn’t suppose to be able to birth another child. I became the little miracle growing inside her. The doctor told my parents he was going to do everything he could so I could live, he was a christian man and he told her “we’re going to pray that God does a miracle.” December 5th 1994, a c-section was performed and I was born a premature baby that weighed 2.5 pounds.

My earliest memory of my childhood has to be the first major fight my parents had that has been seared into the memories of my childhood. We all hate to see our parents fight and usually when I would witness my parents fight I would block it out because “mommy and daddy will always love each other no matter what.” They would tell me that over and over again no matter how bad their fights got. I yearn so badly to tell my younger self not to hang on to that idea of love because that idea in the end wasn’t really love at all.

When I was a child I truly detested reading. I thought reading was dull so I never wanted to do it. I remember my 2nd grade teacher would have us read a specific number of books each week. I would always try to sit in the back in the classroom behind everyone so the teacher could not see me all that well. I did this so when it came time to read I would be able to switch between doodling in my notebook and pretend to read when the teacher walked by me. I would never meet that goal so my teacher contacted my parents. I remember hearing my teacher talk to my parents over the phone and a feeling of dread took over me. On my way home on the bus my stomach felt like knots knowing with each passing moment I would be closer to my destination. When I got home my parents scolded me and gave me a lecture on the importance of reading. They told me that if I wanted to be successful then I should take the opportunities that they themselves did not have as children. They also told me that being able to read and write would mean I have the chance to get the job of my dreams. The next day I woke up with the words that my parents shared with me still on my mind. I got dressed and went outside to wait for the bus. When the bus arrived, I got on and sat down the usual noise of laughter and chatter was drowned out by my intense focus on my future. when I arrived at school the very first thing I did was head straight toward the library. The library had an enormous selection of books I had no idea where to start. I wandered around the library for what felt like hours not really sure what I was looking for. The librarian must have noticed my confusion because she came straight toward me

“Time to go to the library,” my mom would say to me almost every Sunday afternoon when I was younger. I could not wait to go to the library! I loved it. Besides going on the weekends, my parents would take me to all of the reading and writing activities they held at the library. I enjoyed all of these things and I think that those reasons above are why I like to read to this day. I am so glad my parents let me experience the library as a child. They always have led the way and guided me to do certain things, but my parents have never forced me to like anything. I really appreciate that.

I can not recall any memories before learning how to read. I feel like the moment that I learned to shape the world with my mouth and my mind, I was brought to consciousness. The earliest memories I have of enthusiastically reading mesh, and loop, and intertwine with each other. The sensations of thumbing through small wooden-like books of simple nursery rhymes, coincide with the clean scent of what libraries smell like. I remember the sunlight hitting the leather car seats as my dad drove me to the neighborhood library and the tilting wobble of the world as I made a fast pace through the building’s looming glass doors. I have memories of day-minutes and split-second afternoons spent in a cozy grey-walled library partitioned only by a long wooden table, surrounded by people reading books.

As early as I can remember my grandparents, whom my sisters and I called Mum and Pa were and are the most important people in my life. I have two sisters, my twin Kristine and my younger sister Debbie. I don’t have many memories of my dad and the one’s I do recall aren’t really nice ones, he was an alcoholic who wasn’t home much and when he was my mother and him would argue and end with him hitting her. Growing up I always felt that my mom favored my twin Kristine (not much as changed) and that my father favored Debbie, so where did this leave me. We lived in a suburban city and most days and nights my mother worked second and third shifts, probably so she wasn’t home when our father returned late at night drunk. My parent’s situation left the three of us alone quite often if it wasn’t for our amazing grandparents. Similar to the way I felt about the favoritism being shown was the same way my sisters felt about the relationship I had with our grandparents. The numerous occasions I ran away from home to a phone booth to call my grandfather to come get me, staying at their house for days just being happy and feeling special. We didn’t live in the best houses, I remember one home that used to be my fathers aunt and uncles house when we walked home from school with friends they would want to know what house and at first my sister and I would just say “oh it’s down there”. Finally, when I was in seventh grade my mother left our dad and we moved in with my grandparents.

My earliest memory in life is being read aloud to by my parents as a baby. There I was, being rocked in a rocking chair by my mother, in one of the oldest homes in Columbia City. On the corner of Walnut Street, it was home to the young Parker family of three, one dog, many bats, and dust. The few years of my life on Walnut Street consisted of Dora the Explorer, asthma treatments, and being read to. Since these early years, I have outgrown Dora and asthma but my love for reading has continued to grow. Although my literacy story is mundane and similar to many others, reading has helped shaped me into the person I am today.

One of my utmost embarrassing childhood memories would have to be the time when I was in kindergarten and Mrs. Cancelor (our teacher) was allowing everyone to take a restroom break. I went to the restroom did my business, talked as usual. We were all headed back to class, I plopped down at my desk and continued to do our school work as we were told to do. I just let one loose in class; it was silent, although it was not what I thought it was. I stood up and prayed nothing was displaying on the backside of my butt. I wandered up to Mrs. Cancelor and said, “Teacher, I think I pooped on myself?” “Honey it’s alright, just go to the restroom and clean up, she said calmly.” She called my mommy and told her what happened. Ten minutes later… my mommy shows up with clothes for me to change into. She asked, “Baby what happened?” I said, “mommy I thought I just had to fart but it wasn’t a fart.” My mother tried extremely hard not to laugh at the moment of my distress. She then gave me an enormous amount of love and told me to have a good day at class.

Something I believe that has been memorable in my life was losing my great grandma and remembering all the things she taught me. Almost all of my favorite child hood memories were with her. Aside from the fun and games though, she could be stern and hard on my brother and me. When I was younger, I didn’t understand it, but now, I realize that at the time in which she grew up her environment made her that way. My great grandma, grew up in the forties, times were hard money wise and obviously, that put some pressure on her parents.

My childhood memories reflect both good and bad times, but every moment makes my life precious. However, a sad memory always resonates within my heart stronger. This is such because a good memory makes me feel positive, yet a bad one has the power to help me grow up and understand what is important in my life. It is about a difficult time with my dad, which helped me grow and mature. The moment was meaningful that I would never trade it for the world.

As I take a look back on my life, I realize how great it has truly been. I had an absolutely amazing childhood and I am beyond blessed for it. I grew up in a home with two loving parents that have been with me through it all and now of days that is something to be truly thankful for. My parents taught me to strive to be anything that I wanted and that I could be anything that I set my mind to. These dreams changed throughout my life as I grew older and as I grew into the person that I am today.

in my nostrils due to my grandmother. Her anal retentive nature when it came to

It was mid-January, and spring was approaching. Just as the seasons were changing, so was everything in my life, but it was going to be for the better. My journey began eight years ago in my early teens. I was physically and mentally abuse by my own parents. My physical abuse came from my father and the emotional abuse from my mother. As I was in this abusive relationship with my parents I felt alone and lost. I felt like I couldn’t go to anyone for confront. My trust from them and others was fading away.