To Kill A Mocking Bird Autobiography

I viewed reading as a chore, was often unenthused, and would mostly annotate on the overarching themes without gathering any meaning from them. Books were merely a series of words printed on paper. This school year, however, I began to understand the allure reading has to offer. I have grown to appreciate reading and the insights a book can offer. When reading our numerous texts, I was able to live vicariously through the characters of the books and relate aspects of their lives to my own. Because all of the books from English I pertain to coming of age, I was able to not only learn about maturation as a process, but understand how it pertains to my own life. Through protagonists such as Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye or Esperanza from The House on Mango Street, I learned about my “misguided desire to preserve childhood innocence” and to empower feminism similar to Holden and Esperanza respectively (Heart of Gold, Raghuram). Gradually, I have finally developed the ability to relate to novels and its characters amidst writing my own story.Whether it be thematic elements or the details of a case I am working on, I have become more observant to even the most trivial details. Now when I read, I not only look at the themes, motifs, and symbols, but also repeated phrases or situations that parallel each others as well as the symbolic meaning behind some ambiguous phrases or scenes. Reading now, in contrast to last summer, is a

Throughout my life, I have remembered times where someone has read to me or I have read a book that has impacted me. From the time when I was three and my mother would read to me, to today. When I was in kindergarten, I didn’t like to read. I believed that reading was unexciting and that it was a waste of time. Most of the time, I would watch television when I came home from school. Since I didn’t like to read and would never practice reading, I had to acquire help from one of the teachers who would take me out of the regular reading class and she would teach me how to read at my pace. Even though I believed that reading was unexciting, I love to read now.

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.

I never understood the point of reading. My parents first introduced my siblings and I to its world at the early age of two. We were familiarized with letters, taught to link sound the visual and formed words with a stuttering start. We became accustomed to the quiet of Tuesday nights when my father would sit huddled on the sofa – my mother curled up in bed – his long nose buried in a novel, a black curtain cascading from her head to the pages, morphing into one with their respective books. As the night drew close the browns of their eyes would light up, while my mother’s red lips would quiver with excitement and my father would flash a lopsided smile. “Reading is an adventure,” they’d

In Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird we see an innocent man get locked away because of the color of his skin. We, the audience, see an innocent man be targeted because he was black. These horrific scenes could be chalked up to history, we could always say that as a nation America has learned from its mistakes, that as a nation we accept everyone so fully. If this was true, if To Kill a Mockingbird was just a story then I, as a Muslim American teenager, wouldn’t be so afraid to live in this world.

charged at Chris, and Lee with inhuman speed. Lee placed Harper down from his shoulder and reached into his waist to pull out a handgun, but before Lee or Chris were able to fire their guns there was a large hail of bullets from outside. There were bullets breaking the glass windows of the school as it shredded the dogs’ skin like paper. Chris tackles Lee down to the ground trying to protect him from any incoming gunfire. The heads of the dogs start to burst like balloons covering the entire room in enormous amounts of blood. Chris, Harper, and Lee are covered in the blood and body fluid of the dogs. Chris whispers into Lee’s ear “Stay down” he cautions him of the danger of the men standing outside the building. The men outside bash open the

It may be cliché, but books have always held a spot close to my heart. When I was three I had a book called Bitsy Witch that went wherever I did. When I was seven, my mom read a chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone every night. In middle school, I worked my way through the entire children’s section at my local library. In high school, I took every English class offered, and when I entered college I to compromise with my family that I would also pursue a pre-professional program. My time outside of class was spent on my pre-professional degree until, my senior year in college. I took two classes that focused on children’s and young adult texts. Before those classes, I hadn’t realized that specializing in Children’s literature was

Yesterday (19.2.2016) one of the most influential authors of our time parished. At the age of 89, Harper Lee had lead what could only be describes as an eventful life. 1960 she wrote the classic To Kill A Mockingbird, a book wich tackles hard hitting issues like rape and racial inequality with a pecular warmth. What better way to celebrate this icon than to make a drink named after her Pulitzer Prize winning best-seller?

On pg. 258, Tom was walking down the street and he saw Mayella on her front porch. She then asks him to help her chop down her dresser as well as helping her with her broken door. She offers him a nickel. “Well, I went inside the fence and looked around for some kindling to work on, but I didn’t see none, and she says, “No, I got something for you to do in the house. The old door’s off it’s hinges and fall’s coming on very fast.” I said you got a screwdriver, Miss Mayella? She said she sure had. Well, I went up the steps and she motioned me to come inside, and I went in the front room and looked a t the door. I said, Miss Mayella, this door looks alright. Then she shut the door in my face.”- Tom Robinson (pg. 258) In my opinion, Miss Mayella

Central High is improving. Sometimes I miss my old school but I remember, I’m doing this for the greater good of this country, and our people. Well people of other races too, equality should be for everyone. By segregating schools we can give everyone a fair shot at life, that's what everyone deserves a chance. It gets hard though, Sometimes I feel like I can’t do it, like I Just want to give up and cry. Being a warrior is not all that easy. I know Grandma said the Lord will protect me, but sometimes I just can’t help but to worry. What if something happens to me. I just hope I can do it.

Never criticise a woman's choice of attire, especially her shoes, no matter how unsuitable to the conditions, or inappropriate to the situation they are. Duane immediately realised his mistake, and attempted to atone for his error of judgement by holding up his hand. However, the effort to apologise wasn't driven by altruism - Duke had quickly realised that he could hardly expect Karmen to listen to his clothing advice on their planned shopping expedition if she were still seething at the comment about her heels, - unlike the gift of his treasured Pork Pie hat, which was.

I never really put much thought into this, but I started thinking about it a few days ago. I recalled making family trees in eighth grade while learning about genetics. This caused me to look back on the tree and something interesting caught my eye.

That was a pretty scary dream, somethings that you could add is details of how the man look like so we picture his looks in our head. You could describe how you feel when you found out that your mom friend was the criminal because we would be know how you felt seeing the man. Also another thing that you could add is how you feel and what you heard when you stabbed the man, for example I heard my heart pound against my chest, my hands was sweaty as I picked the knife up and stabbed the man, I was scared knowing that I just stabbed somebody. When you add those details we would know what you was going through as you picked the knife up to stab the man.

I continue to experience one of the most sweltering summers ever. Jem now had a further anger than he did when he broke his arm. With football just around the corner, he couldn't have been more sure that he would not even be able to play. Since he now had a broken leg, he knew he couldn't even punt or kick for the team. But this ordeal would be omitted on the grounds that his injury would heal. Today’s weather was as hot as a sauna, no one was outside or could possibly go outside. Sitting in the living room with Jem, looking out the window, my brother and I observed the strangest sight. On the street, we examined a man walk out of the Radley house. “Who do you reckon that is?” asked Jem. “I don’t know.” I replied. A peculiar element about the man was that he wore all black.

I love books because my books love me back . In moments of distress literature guides me. When I am heavy hearted, I turn to my favorite novels, they reassure me that even in the worst situation good fate always wins . When I am lonely, I reacquaint myself with the safe and familiar characters that I have grew to love. When I am happy, I smile because I have lived the lives of warriors, enchantresses, and even the commonday person. Although the emotional connection between literature and myself is imperishable, there was a time in my life when that bond was nonexistent. However, for one to understand the significant impact stories have had on my life, one must know my life. Thus this story begins with my childhood. A conventional upbringing of sorts but of course my childhood doesn't begin with me. It begins with my parents. My parents met each other at high school when they were fourteen years old . Call it destiny, or mere luck, this one cue meet would define their lives for the next twenty two years. My parents fell quickly and passionately in love. Their devotion for one another as an imminent as their fallout, however, we are not there yet. We are at the bittersweet moments of young love. The moments that make one believe in eternity although these moments themselves cease to last just as long. My parents own version of forever welcomed a young little girl named Nicte Impala Perez on March 18th 1998. In that moment, my parents believed that the three of us could defeat