As I stare at this white canvas of my hopes and dreams about literacy, I am paralyzed. Paralyzed by the thought of what could be on my white canvas and what could be marked incorrect on my finished masterpiece. You know the masterpiece an artist spends a lifetime perfecting? What if he had a mentor that encouraged his growth as an artist or erased his work to add their own interpretation? Would the artist have a positive or negative outlook on his craft? I learned how to read and write in a similar sense. I was encouraged but then discouraged by my words being changed into something I was not intending.
My home was not the children’s library growing up. I was raised by my great grandparents, so my house had an overwhelming amount of King James Version bibles. Along with the bibles there was an encyclopedia, an atlas, and an ASL: Sign Language book. These books were my first encounters with reading. I learned sign language and I could recite Genesis in its entirety. I could name the Balkan Peninsula and all of Asia. My school principal and counselor thought I was too advanced for first grade, so they permitted me to go to second grade without attending first grade or kindergarten.The only area lacking my advancement was reading. I had to become better at reading.
My second grade teacher Mrs. Leftler devoted her attention to me in order to raise my reading scores. Not only would she provide me with extra reading assignments, but she would also help me after class if I did not understand what I was reading. Mrs. Lefter wanted to prove that I belonged. My success in reading depended upon her ability to teach me and my ability to learn since omitting the first grade and kindergarten. I soon started reading on a fifth grade level and became hooked on the “Shadow Children Series.” “Among the hidden” was the first Shadow children book that I read. It was the first book that introduced me to my love and passion for the fiction and sometimes non-fictional darker books.
The previous experience with Mrs. Leftler impacted me greatly in my reading and writing life. I went on to write my own stories and poems, however, another year came. I was assigned to a different teacher. I was eager to showcase my stories I had so courageously composed and she marked everything wrong with my story with the dreaded red ink. My fifth grade teacher was a negative literary sponsor. Her impact was so great that I unconsciously chose not to remember her name. She did not encourage reading the types of books I was drawn to or writing creatively. In her class I was expected to only read the required materials and not mix outside influences of other books. She says I “would not be able to follow the lesson plans.” Her impact lead me to not write my short stories or read the kinds of books I was drawn to. She desired to be the principal of our school. For her review she wanted to have high scores from all students on the annual and quarterly exams. What was for her to gain caused me a great loss. I did not view reading and writing positively anymore. I began only doing what was required of me and not letting myself escape into the world I used to create when I read and wrote. In that world, I became a stranger- an exiled person due to my lack of commitment.
I did not become acquainted with my world again until I was in high school. I was assigned to read multiple poems by Edgar Allen Poe. Unknowingly those works brought me back. “The Raven” was my first encounter with dealing with death. I felt like I was a part of the story, in the back of the room observing from the shadows. I knew the pain the narrator felt since the loss of Lenore. I began reading my favorite genres again. I would make a weekly trip to the local library to check out something new and return something old. I began building a rapport with the librarian and she recommended books to me based on our conversations. I soon started reading two books a week along with my school assignments. I have yet to return to writing my poems and short stories. As a child I carefully utilized my thoughts and emotions as the palette for my short stories. I wanted to be the young African-American girl Edgar Allen Poe. I desired to have my own version of the famous “Nevermore.” It seems as if I cannot write anymore without imagining the red marks lighting up my masterpiece like the Fourth of July at the park. When I was writing as a child I would always write in my closet with the lights off. I enjoyed the darkness because it reminded me of outer space with the artificial stars illuminating the ceiling. The stories seemed to flow naturally. I read in the closet as well, but with the lights on and dimmed. When I dimmed the lights I was able to become lost in the story being told.
How I learned to read and write greatly shaped my views on literacy. I have yet to become reacquainted with creating stories. I would like to be able to write without conviction or the thought of the red marks adding commas, taking away commas, shortening my sentences, and simply staining the paper that I shouted my thoughts onto. I have had influence from positive and negative literary sponsors, however, I can still find the outer space within any closet and become lost in a story.
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