My Love Of Reading Essay

Some of the oldest and fondest memories I have from my childhood are those of my mother reading to me. Before I even began Kindergarten, I remember my mom reading stories to me from children’s books, or making up stories as she went along. I enjoyed listening to the stories and still remember some to this day. She also taught me how to write my name, count, and recite the alphabet. I loved the time I spent reading with my mom because she made it fun, so much so that I didn’t realize I was learning.

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 reading experience has had a lot of ups and downs. I was never an over-achiever in my language arts or reading classes, which has affected my passion for reading. A lot of my opinions about reading have changed even just since this summer. I don’t have any recollection of reading before kindergarten except for learning the letters. Kindergarten was a struggle for me, but after kindergarten to third grade. In third grade I peaked and absolutely loved reading and writing, but it faded in middle school and has been fading since then for me.

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.

My literacy narrative first unfolded in the playroom of my childhood home when I was an inquisitive two-year-old. My parents would sit down with me on the carpet and patiently teach me sight words. Every time I would

One of the most eye opening experiences of my life occurred in the second grade. I would have never thought that doing one simple assignment in elementary school could change my whole perspective on literacy. My understanding of literacy was sparked when I had read my first real book. I remember sitting down on the vividly colorful carpet day dreaming about playing Mario Cart on my Nintendo 64 while everyone was obediently listening to the teacher read a book out loud. It wasn’t that I did not know how to read or listen, I just didn’t care. Reading to me used to be tedious because I did not understand the purpose of it. I did not grow up with the luxury of my parents reading to me because they weren’t literate in English, so I had to figure out for myself why literacy is vital in everyday life. My ongoing learning experience with literacy can be traced back to one simple visit to library.

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.

Literacy, whether it is reading, writing, or listening, can mean many different things to people. Each form can impact everyone immensely. In 2016 I had a literacy encounter that made a lasting impact on me. That summer I began babysitting John, a precious five-year-old boy, for the sole purpose of building up my bank account. Since both of John’s parents worked long hours at the hospital, John did not get to spend as much quality time with them as he or they would have liked. I felt badly for John, so I made it my goal that the time I spent with him would be meaningful and memorable.

Reading has been one of my favorite hobbies since I was a little child. I grew up as a normal child should grow and eventually I had to start learning for me to fit in society. My literacy started many years ago, after I knew how to talk and communicate with people. Reading my alphabet was quite stressful and I had to be given a hand by my family members. I remember my parents reading with me and it was the most meaningful and memorable way to spend time with me. This is because I liked reading a lot and I was eager to learn so that I could fit in with my older siblings. My favorite books were storybooks taking about adventures and fairytales

I can’t recall much of what it was like growing up in a tiny two bedroom apartment in Northern Mississippi but I do remember the first book I read and how it paved the way for my literature career. Leading up to my first read I was taught the alphabet at a preschool near my mom’s work. I had little to no trouble learning the alphabet when I was younger but reading was a brand new concept to me. At night, after we finished one of my mother’s delicious home cooked meals my parents and I would retreat to my room where they would read to me until I fell asleep. Sometimes they would ask what a word was in a book and I would answer correctly but a good part of the time I was wrong. This lead to an uncertainty in my reading that would come back

As numerous memories I have of reading, I have no memory of learning how to read, so I assume I was too young to create a lasting impression. However, I vividly remember visiting my grandmother in Washington when I was between the ages of five and six. We would sit before immense windows that overlooked the house’s palatial yard and read short stories together. Thinking of these times inspire fond memories of reading stories such as Frog and Toad. Through my grandma’s voice is where I truly began to imagine these stories in my head. All of the stories enlightened me to how fascinating and thought provoking reading actually was.

Growing up, I hated school. The sinking feeling I got hearing people talk about academics was distressing. Every time I heard the words “mathematics” or “language arts” used in speech I would cringe reminding myself of what I struggle with. Looking back at this struggle, I realize that it helped define the essential components of my personality. Without this hardship, I would not have the resiliency, enthusiasm, or diligence that I have today to face my educational and real - life endeavors.

As a child, my interests were more focused on reading than writing. In elementary school I fell in love with books. Initially I read simple children’s books, much like everybody else in my class, but it did not take long for my passion to drive me to read more difficult writings. Fiction books quickly became a replacement for any childhood toys. Instead of blocks or stuffed animals I would ask my parents for books. Since they were aimed at young readers, they tended to be short. I found myself going through them within days, and then soon several hours. Towards the end of elementary school I was reading series like Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I was captivated, and reading truly opened up a whole new world for me.

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The beginning of my interest in reading goes way back, although I don’t have any defining “aha!” moment, where I all of a sudden enjoyed reading books. There were always books around when I was growing up, if I was at my grandparents house it was the books they kept from their youth; classics like Treasure Island or any Hemingway book, the hard covers permanently infused with dust; plenty of History books, particularly World War II history; and the children’s books I always received as presents when I visited. My mom also read a lot, but more modern books, like supernatural or light horror books, nothing too difficult (or scary). I spent a lot of time reading magazines, mostly Video Game (note: spent more time creating stories off the