My Memories Of Reading

I have been reading as long as I can remember. When I was younger, I didn’t have anything to do except read books and play with my brother, who was two years younger than me. Some of my fondest memories are of days spent at the library, piling books into baskets to take home and read over and over again. In kindergarten, we spent many minutes of the day reading. Finally, in seventh grade, all of my hard work paid off. It all started with Nurse Nancy, the first book I learned how to “read”. Being

My earliest memories as a reader are limited. You see, I am that student that came to school daily in flight-or-fight mode. My father was an abusive parent, mentally, physically, and sexually. He was also an alcoholic. My years from kindergarten to second grade are vague, with the exceptions of a few prominent memories and feelings of being constantly scared. My year in first grade, my mother made the decision to leave. One night, while my father was out drinking, my mother's co-worker came in a

Don’t be concerned, but my mom is suffering from tsundoku. Tsundoku is a Japanese word used to describe the stock piling of books that you will never read. As long as I can remember my mom has been bringing home heaps of books from anywhere she can get them. Last year, she came home from the local library book sale with six bags of books. Yes, she loves to read, but she has not read any of those books in the past year. Waiting to be shelved, most of them continue to sit on our basement floor, collecting

was a small first grader, reading was something that was never my favorite thing in the world. Sure, I would sit with the rest of the class on the carpet and listen to my first grade teacher read a story, but I’d always look forward to it being over. For a while, reading was a subject that I respected, but I never had a desire for it. The journey I’ve made from sitting on that rug with my first-grade class to now is something that I’m really proud of, and I’m proud of my understanding of literacy

vividly remember sitting down on the letter “J” of the carpet. I criss crossed apple sauced my legs, my favorite position for storytime at the library. Mrs. Fernandez, the first grade librarian, read “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie”, this is my first memory of reading. The librarian would read word by word, indicating what she was reading and of course she would show off the pictures. After she finished reading my classmates and I would sit in large tables and were handed a piece of paper with crayons

My first memory of reading or writing was being taught the alphabet at the daycare I attended in my childhood. I was in the “butterfly room” which was for children going into kindergarten the following year. I have a similar memory of my mother teaching me to write my name when I was around that same age. At some point in the years following I learned to read on my own and became more proficient in writing. I’ve never been one to read much outside of school without being assigned to do so. After

Ever since I was a tiny first grader, reading was something that was never my favorite thing in the world. Sure, I would sit with the rest of the class on the carpet and listen to my first grade teacher read a story, but I’d always look forward to it being over. For a while, reading was a subject that I respected, but I never had a desire for it. The journey I’ve made from sitting on that rug with my first-grade class to now is something that I’m really proud of, and that journey is remarkable to

My earliest memories of writing and reading started in kindergarten. I feel blessed to have been able to start school and be introduced to an education. I probably had the best kindergarten teacher I could have been given at the time. This is fundamental because this very teacher started my foundation for reading and writing. Unlike some people, my experiences during elementary school were very positive towards building my relationship with literacy. My kindergarten teacher made learning for me

My furthest memory of learning how to read was when my classmates and I were all sitting crisscross applesauce on the giant, colorful rug in our library. Our librarian, Mrs. Cash, would read us Miss Spider’s Sunny Patch Kids, one of my favorite series of books as I was growing up, and would read it very slow to us so we could understand and showed us all of the pretty pictures. After she read to us, we were each allowed to pick out a book and go to the little tables and attempt to read it. I can

always been fond of reading. However, writing and speaking did not come naturally to me. It took some time and the inspiration of others to develop my writing and speaking intuitive. Growing up, I was quite reserved. I kept to myself and did not talk a lot in school. Actually, I dreaded school. Initially, I would sneak my way into the school’s nurse’s office and complain of a stomach ache or my throat being sore which worked…most of the time. Soon after, my mom caught on to my plan and told me to