My Reading Experience

When I entered kindergarten my reading journey began. I was introduced to the alphabet and three-letter sight words. Then in first grade my teacher would sit down with a

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.

Our teacher would sit in front rocking her chair away she would read to us we would read it back to her so she knew were following along. Every day after school I would go to my grandparents and I could already smell the delicious food coming off the bus, my grandma would make the best homemade dishes they would help me focus after a long day of school as a little girl. We would do my homework together my work wasn’t so hard but as a child I just wanted to finish! When I was done I had the liberty to go play with my friends , Although, my friends were never available because they had homework I was always confused I mean I had homework but I finished it why would it take them so long , little did I know my friends didn’t have the same literacy sponsors as I did their parents were always working to be able to provide for them they were with an older siblings or grandparents that didn’t understand the English language . For a child in a low income family can affect there literacy not having their parents around to help them read and write. At the age of three is when the child’s brain is rapidly growing and with parents that are less educated might not know that importance of using language with their

When we were required to read books for school, other classmates complained about it, but it was one of my favorite parts of class. Even though I didn’t always like the books, I liked to read books that I wouldn’t have picked out to read. I liked being surprised when I enjoyed a book that I didn’t think I would like.

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.

As a reader and writer I always faced given assignments with the intent of doing exceptional jobs and take a sense of pride in my work to complete my tasks. As a reader, I will bore myself through out an entire book and realize I didn 't understand a single thing. Although as a writer, I can go on for so long losing myself on a topic because it feels more interactive. Reflecting on my experiences as a reader and writer have been very bold, I never really found a joy or an interest to become the exceptional student who stands out amongst others because, I always felt ok with myself and my results with the way I did things.

My memories are blurry. They are fragments of disjointed moments, without a linear narrative. I remember reading. It was in Mrs. Davidson first grade class. My reading proficiency skills were very poor, the English language still thick and unnatural on my tongue. While some of the other students took a Gifted class, I had to take a remedial course—English Learners (EL)— just so that I could hold onto the edge. I remember reading. I had a hard copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar in my little hands, reciting only the first page of the book from memory. The classroom was dark; the stream of sunlight filtering through the windows served as our only illumination. The rest of the words on the book looked like a mess of jumbled letters. I couldn’t make out anything other than the words “the” and “and.” I remember enthusiastically pointing out my “fluency” to my teacher, seemingly applauding my menial abilities: “The catpater at droo!” (The caterpillar ate through). In the first-grade, my free time was spread sporadically between watching The Little Mermaid, catching ugly black crickets and pretending that I was Sailor Moon, guardian of the galaxy. In the first grade, I was not at all concerned with words, literacy and books. In the first grade, I did not know the power that words hold. I did not know that books would change my life.

Overtime this helped to enhance my imagination for reading. Another thing our teacher did was present us with books as Christmas gifts. I remember my book was called “A Mouse House.” Inside she wrote that I was an excellent reader and said if we all came back over the holidays being able to read our books we could read anything we wanted. I believed her and practiced my book throughout winter break. She had given me hope for learning.

I remember back in second grade my mom used to read books to me. I remember being all cuddled up in a bed with some hot chocolate by my side, just lying there listening to my mother read me chapters from the books that I was supposed to read. The only reason why she read them to me was because she knew that I was not going to read them myself. It’s not that I couldn’t actually read

Mrs. Wilson instilled a love for reading in me. In first grade this didn’t seem like much, but as the years went on I saw her impact on my life in many different ways. In fifth grade I was given the opportunity to be “student leader”, presented the opportunity to go to the young grades and read to the kids. I of course chose to read to Mrs. Wilson’s class. This

My beginnings as a reader and a writer were most difficult to say the least. When I was almost five years old, I was up-rooted from my home during the middle of my pre-kindergarten year. My family and I moved halfway across the country so that my dad could take a well paying job that would financially support our family. Sadly, this majorly halted my learning abilities. As a little girl in a brand new school, surrounded by brand new people, I was scared. I didn’t know how to introduce myself, let alone speak with teachers that I had never met before.

As I reflect on my childhood, the first memory of literacy I recall is when I was in kindergarten. I was approaching the end of the school year when my mother revealed to me my teacher was considering keeping me in kindergarten for another year. I was extremely upset and felt as if I had failed my first year of school. I felt that I was fresh out of the gate and already defective. My perception as a child was that the adults were already giving up on me. The teacher stated if I could learn the alphabet by the end of the school year I could continue ahead to the 1st grade. The conclusion of Kindergarten was vastly approaching. My mother constructed flash cards to help with my letter recognition. In doing so, she realized I could not see the letters. My mother promptly made an appointment for me to visit an Optometrist to evaluate me. Before I knew it, I was fitted with a big plastic pair of glasses. My world became much clearer after that. My mother was upset that my teacher did not recognize the problem, and that I never spoke up. Fortunately, I passed kindergarten with a lot of hard work from my parents, teacher, and I.

I picked up one of the books and fell in love with all the things that it could teach me. My mother who was a special education teacher at the time had always pushed me and my siblings to read. She brought home tons of books for us to read. When I told her I found a great book on horses she was so proud, and from that moment on I have always had a love of reading. My love for reading has grown so much that I now read everything in sight, but reading wasn’t enough for me as it turned out. From all the great books I read I started to come up with ideas about new exciting books people could write, that I could write. So during my eight grade year my burning desire to write a book compelled me to finally do so. I used three notebooks and a ton of lead and wrote my story. When I was finished, I typed it up on my computer and printed it out to show everyone I knew. When people saw that I wrote a book they were proud of me and this pride made me want to continue, but sadly school activities took up all my time and I was unable to finish my second book. My story of how I learned how to love to read and write isn’t quite like Sherman Alexie’s superman moment but it is

From an early age I loved to read. At just two years old I would beg my mother to enroll me into school. I watched as my older sister meticulously picked out her outfit each night in preparation for the next school day. At such a young age I somehow knew that this thing called “school” was the answer to something spectacular. My home was chaotic and reading became an escape and helped distract me from the unpleasant family dynamic.