My Memories Of My Early Years

From a young age, I have always been taught to understand the value of education and learning. Reading and writing have been emphasized to me as tools for success, that should always be constantly improved, for as long as I can remember.

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 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.

Having to write about my own literacy is hard to do, first of all it’s hard to recall things that happened when you were a child let alone when I started to read and write, I remember going to school playing, the teacher reading to us, making vowel sounds and learning to write my name; I recall the teacher giving out the spelling list and taking it home to practice before Friday’s test, I would go to school hoping and praying that I would not misspell any words; as usual I missed a couple of words and I knew what that meant.

When I was just a little boy in middle school, I already had a great amount of pressure put on me. I was not the type of kid who particularly enjoyed reading; it was not something I would just do for fun. With my mother being a teacher at the elementary school level, she always pushed me to read. My mother would always say something along the lines of, “You better start reading now, because you are going to be reading for

Growing up, I was always at higher reading levels than my classmates, and was able to write very well. When it came to basic literacy, I was golden. But I had to understand a higher level of literacy, something that would change my life forever. I had a challenge to face that no one else my age had to deal with. Because of the medical condition I was born with, I had to understand literacy on an entirely different level. I had been born with insulin resistance and the doctors were always explaining what this meant, and I had to understand

Where to begin? Literacy has been in invaluable part of my everyday life since I was a child. Whether public speaking, writing or reading; I can say that all three of these areas have been vital parts of my life that have been developed as time went on. However I did not accomplish this alone. Whenever there was writers block I always managed to find a source of inspiration. There were teachers, friends, and family who were always willing and able to guide me and motivate me to accomplish my goals. Throughout everything I can truly say I am glad that I have made it to today.

I have extremely strong feeling trying to reflect back to my earliest childhood memory of my life, I my first version was describing the setting that of my father hitting my mother over the head with something. Now I know that it was a gun. She was lying in a pool of blood in front of the fireplace. I can remember as child, my father and brother falling in a lake of water with my mother screaming and helping them to get out, our house catching on fire with her and I and three of my siblings trying to get out with her telling us to hold on to her and don’t let go and my father was no there to be found. Later we learned that he was drinking with his friend up the street under a tree. I was told a few neighbors same to help. Then we stay with my grandparents which I love. Because I love waiting for my granddad to come home so he could take me to get vanilla ice cream. After moving to Cincinnati, Ohio at the age of six from Alabama. My father continue to be very abuses to my mother for fourteen year of their marriage. Thank God she’s still alive today.

The house that I am living in now is not where I used to live and to me it is not home yet. To me home is where all your friends and family are, where you can and have create new joyful memories. The first house my family had shares few memories with my little brother but I can remember quite a lot. Exhausted from the fun activities of the day, I would collapse onto my comforting warm bed in my bedroom were I once spent my nights in, conjuring up countless phantasms fantasies and dreams. It had a balcony connected to which I would gain access to it through huge glass slider doors facing west over the lake so I could see the sun set over the shimmering lake contemplating the events of the day. I can remember waking up early every morning running down the stars to play in my favorite room in the house across from the chicken so I can hear the sizzling of bacon and smell its wonderful aroma while playing with my toys.In the summer we would eat out on the patio under my balcony. After I would run around take the boats out or just swim. I took my first steps their spake my first words their and so much more that house is a vesele that holds my childhood memories. I can remember countless times that I walked, biked, sailed or kayaked down to the beach to meet friends. We would swim out to the slide on the floating dock and spend hours their. We would have water gun fights or build sand castles no matter what the activity was we would always have a great time.

Throughout my life, I have had many experiences that revolve around reading and writing. In the beginning, my parents waited until kindergarten to start me on my reading journey. They experienced my siblings through their elementary years; they became bored easily because they already knew how to read, so they did not overly teach me before I started school. Luckily, that benefited me greatly. I grew to love education and rose to the top tier of learning in the class. Unfortunately, I do not remember much of my early literacy achievements, but there is one memory that stuck with me. I can still remember when I found out the impact reading and writing can have on the growth of an individual.

This all took place on my birthday this past year. That evening at the bookstore is not where my love of reading began and since then it has only continued to grow. I don’t remember when or where it all started, my uncontrollable love for reading. I can’t recall when it became an escape rather than just a hobby. My mom says it all began around the age of five. My older sister was reading and I wanted to imitate her. I guess you could say that was the beginning of my literacy. Since those early years I have gained more literacy experiences through my teachers, family, and access to many tools that a lot of children don’t have access to.

Reading and writing has always played part of me. From toddler to adult, I have managed to sharpen both skills to my liking. However, even though it significantly helped, schooling was not what influenced me to continue developing those skills to talent. Many different things shaped and influenced my learning in my country, and now reading and writing have become the safety net of my life. I know that even if I have nothing else in the future, I will still have my talent and knowledge. To ensure my success, I hope to further develop those skills to be successful.

After a month of planning and trying to reach my old mates through their phone numbers, I was in relief. Some of my friends were difficult to contact due to having different corresponding phone numbers. I almost felt like I wanted to tear my hair off my head or want to sock something with my bare fists I made with my hands. However, Rex and Shari were able to contacted, and they helped me reach out to the others. I told them about the broken picture frame and how I found their number in the back of the photo to explain how I still even remembered them. Saturday, July 7, 2035 was tomorrow. For the past month, my wife and I decorated and cleaned the whole dwelling and my son, Ryan, helped me paint the dull living room amber orange, yet he

I remember my childhood as if it were yesterday. Nothing was better than my closest friends. We Hanged out, fished, climbed the mango trees in the garden, Card games, board games, and even teased the innocent grocery store keeper. I didn 't want any new friends; I had no idea what the world had to offer. Life was a simple cliché routine. I invented a circle and trapped myself inside it. I made my own world and lived within it. I ultimately enjoyed every aspect of my childhood. Eventually, a lesson had taught me that I had a misguided perspective of what friendship means.

I was born and raised in a peaceful and friendly part of Bridgeport, Connecticut, on the North End, right in the corner between Trumbull and Fairfield. My family dynamic has changed a bit in the past three years. I’ve lived with my mom, my maternal grandmother, and my older brother for as long as I could remember. My dad was just a phone call every other day, but since my grandmother died from bone cancer he lives with us now too. I have a mutual relationship with everyone in my family, but I mostly keep to myself.