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I have decided that my mentor text unit will be for second grade using the author Shirley Hughes. Shirley Hughes has an easy, flowing writing style. She adds descriptions and narrative in a simple manner. Sometimes you don’t even feel the story building up until SURPRISE there’s a problem that must be solved. Her stories usually deal with matters of the heart, especially for children – the lost stone, the misplaced stuffed animal, the child who is mean, being left out of the fun, or being alone. When doing this lesson I would probably do an author study of her, reading to the class all of my favorite Shirley Hughes books such as Dogger, Alfie Gives a Hand, Annie Rose is my Little Sister, Bonting, Here Comes the Bridesmaid, and Abel’s Moon. These are all picture books that exemplify her sweet, touching style. But all of her writing is not that simple. I might even read aloud some of the stories she wrote intended for older audiences, such as Angel Mae, Sea Singing, Enchantment in the Garden, It’s Too Frightening For Me!, The Bird Child or her version of Cinderella. Many of the stories for older students have interesting twists and are mind puzzlers.

 

But the book that I would use for the students to model this writing piece after (the mentor text) is the book entitled, Lucy and Tom at the Seaside. It’s a descriptive story about a day at the seaside.

To model for the students what I expect for them to write, not only will I read Lucy and Tom at the Seaside but I will also share with the students a story of my own writing, based upon my memories of going to the ocean on family vacations when I was a kid. So, in preparation of that, I am going to rework my fore-mentioned memory into a simple story. It will not be an on-going story, year after year, but a snapshot of one year. I cannot tell you exactly what year because the one-year-snapshot will be a compilation of the memories I build over a number of years.

Here goes:

(Note to self: Remember, second grade language!)

Summer had finally arrived. School is out. D and Sandra pack bags of things to do in the car during the long car ride from Texas to South Carolina. They pack books to read, cards to play games, and dolls to dress and comb. Mom is filling up a cooler with snacks while Dad is packing the car top carrier with suitcases.

The car ride seems to take forever. D keeps asking, “How many more hours until we get there?“ Dad gives D a map so that she can follow along – through the states – Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia. They drive all night. The kids lay down in the backseats and fall asleep. Finally, the next morning, they arrive in South Carolina.

Granny is so happy. She rushes out the front door even before they knock.

“Hug my neck,” she tells them, tears streaming down her face. Papa and Uncle Eddie follow behind Granny. For a moment it is just a big mixture of everyone taking turns hugging.

“We’re sure glad you’re here,” Papa tells them.

“Well, come on inside.” Granny says as she takes hold of Dad’s arm and pulls him in the direction of the house.

(some sort of transitional paragraph)

They walk the beach on Harbor Island. It’s more beautiful than D or Sandra had remembered from last year. They find a comfortable spot on the wet sand to build sandcastles. Mom sets up her lawn chair closer to the dunes, where the sand is dry and hot. As the girls build their castle, the warm water rushes up to them in rhythmic splashes, gently covering their toes, then their feet, then their ankles as the tide comes in.

The mother book of memories that I am using to spark my writing ideas asked what my most cherished item was when I was a child. This is an important question because in this writing class I was thinking about using a book called Dogger by Shirley Hughes as my mentor text for a writing unit I am going to do with second graders. The premise of the book is that a boy looses a special toy and his sister is self-sacrificing in a way that gets it back to him. I was thinking that if I used that book I could write about a cherished item of mine and when I lost/misplaced it. But, unfortunately, I cannot think of an item.

I am not too worried because Shirley Hughes writes another awesome book called Lucy and Tom at the Seaside and I can turn my summer vacation at the beach memory into a similar story.

A cherished item?

* Maybe the gold beads that my grandmother gave me – they were hollow and unfortunately I would put them in my mouth and “nibble” on them so now they are very dented gold beads on a chain.

* Maybe my Barbies, which I played with much longer than all of my peers. While I was not great at the imagination part – making up stories, I did use barbies to act out normal life situations. Plus, I thought they were fun to dress up and do their hair.

* Maybe the pillow I had when I was a baby. I was never really attached to it, however. In fact, I so un-attached to it that my mother used it as the stuffing for my sister’s baby pillow. My sister was VERY attached to that pillow. I remember one time when my sister and I were having a fight and to get back at her I said, “Fine, you can have your pillow, but I want my pillow.” And I took my pillow out of her pillowcase and went to my room, leaving her will a flat, limp pillowcase. She was so upset. And when I got to my room I remember asking myself, “why does this pillow mean so much to her and so little to me? Why aren’t I attached to something like this?” Of course, about that time my mom came into my room to make peace between us. I conceded that my sister could have the pillow. I don’t know how the rest of it played out, I only remember the part about the pillow, not because of my attachment, but because of my lack of attachment. (Doe Valley)

Maybe because I am an Army brat, I don’t quite feel an attachment to things (or even places) like a lot of people have. Instead, I am the kind of person with a strong attachment to ideas/ideals like faith in God, patriotism in my country, my family’s southern heritage. Having strong family bonds is very important to me.

I guess that does not lend well to the Dogger story.

Although, Dogger is also a story about a sister who does something very kind for her brother. Have I done anything really kind for my sister? Did I when I was a kid? I guess I would have to ask her. I can’t think of anything.

* When she was in middle school, and I already had my driver’s license in high school I would go to her school during her lunch period and take her out to lunch using the money I earned in my job (at the video shop). (Skipcha)

* When my sister was preschool and Kindergarten aged I would play school in her bedroom. I would get worksheets from the neighbor next door and have a classroom for my sister. I would try to teach her to read. I remember one time when she memorized a book because my parents and I read it to her so many time and I thought she was reading it and so I took her to my mom and said, “Mom, Mom, look, She can read!” But my mom said, “No, she just memorized the book.” Sure enough, my mom closed the book and my sister could still recite it. My poor sister, I don’t know if all those classes were as fun for her as they were for me. I enjoyed them a lot. (Montclair)

Maybe I should send my sister an e-mail and ask her what she remembers. That would be interesting to know! But I am kind of scared to know what she remembers. Maybe she remembers something horrible that I did that I have blocked out of my memory.

* When I was in high school my sister would come into my room at night and talk. It was a fun bonding time. Unfortunately, I am a morning person and she is a night owl, so by evening I was wearing down just trying not to fall asleep and she was just revving up, her body clock ready to get going. I would eventually tell her, “I just have to go to sleep. You have to go to your room.” Of course, now, as we are not close friends I kick myself for ever cutting her off – wishing that I could go back in time and bond some more with her. But at the time I was going to an early morning religious class at 6am ever school day before high school, so I had to wake up at 5a and by 11pm I just couldn’t stay up any longer.

Maybe I won’t use Dogger as my mentor story. I will use a different Shirley Hughes story. And by the way, if you have not read Shirley Hughes – check her out. AWESOME children’s writer. She even has some adolescent stories that are superb, too!

Vacations when I was a kid

Vacations, when I was a kid, were almost always spent going to see family. When I was growing up we always lived away from our extended family, therefore we always spent vacations going to see them.

Once we settled to one location, when I was in middle school, we were closer to my mother’s family, so we spent each year going to see my dad’s family. I have fond memories of those yearly trips. They usually lasted two weeks. We would spend one week, usually the first week at a beach house on the Atlantic ocean and then the second week at my grandmother’s house. When we were at the beach, my mom and grandmother would get up most mornings and go for a sunrise walk. Sometimes I would wake up and go with them, and sometimes I would sleep in.

Each day my sister and I would always want to go onto the beach, and someone always went with us. Usually it was my mother, but not always. We would play in the ocean, make sand castles on the beach, hunt for seashells or crabs or go for long walks around the island. We went back to the same island year after year so we got to know it very well.

The island had a pool that we used. I must admit that I like swimming in the pool much better than the ocean. The salt in the ocean stings they eyes and makes you sticky.

Each year we stopped, at least once, at the crab shack on an adjoining island to get our crab cake burger.

During the week at my grandmother’s house we would do completely different stuff. My grandmother always invited the ladies (me, my mother and my sister) out to lunch one day at her favorite restaurant – a hip, modern and trendy place. We always walked along the harbor front at least once, swinging in the wooden hanging swings along the way. Of course, we would always spend one day in Savannah, looking in antique shops amongst the old houses on the squares. Each antique dealer seemed to know my grandmother by name. And, of course, we would always spend on day in Charleston, where we lunched at California Dreamin’. We would walked among the old slave markets or look out at Fort Sumner from the pier.

During those years my uncle was a young, eligible bachelor. We would get to meet the girlfriend that he had that summer – one was a marine biologist and took us crabbing while another worked at a fancy hotel and took my sister to a high class lunch there.

Oh, what fond memories I have. I wonder what my children will remember about their summers and their childhoods. I hope those memories will be fond!

My first official job was working at a video store, but long before I started working at “Another Video Stop” I earned money babysitting. Maybe that’s why I am a teacher today. From the time I was little I watched kids – first my little sister in one or two minute intervals while my mom had to run to the bathroom or cook dinner. Then when I was about 12 or so I would watch neighborhood children, sometimes while their parents were in the house and then later while their parents were gone. I have always enjoyed spending time with children.

Even while I was working at the video store, I was a part time nanny for a family in our neighborhood, going over to their house three mornings a week before school so that the mother could run and then two or three afternoons during the week so that she could run errands. Later I even spent weekends at their house when the husband was deployed (he was in the Army) and she was on duty (she was in the reserves).

I think all of that time with children helped prepare me for motherhood. I already had a good sense of what children could do and what was acceptable and normal. I was less worried and stressed when I became a mother. Still, being a mother has also given me invaluable experience. I mother my second child with much more confidence than I did my first.

One thing I am much better at, as a mother, is trusting myself. Over the years I have learned that there is this innate, gut feeling I get when something about happens. Sometimes people will give me their opinions which conflict with my innate feeling and almost all the times I go by their advice I lament it later. The times when I stick to my guns and trust my own instincts I feel good because I knew it. It was in me.

Boy, I sure do feel like the pace of life has sped up. I thought that the Summer was busy and that school would start for me and the kids and I would have free time to myself, get my class work done and so on, but, whew!, I feel I am riding a bull – barely keeping on top of stuff. My children leave the house at 7:30 in the morning. I sit down to do schoolwork, a little e-mail, free writing. After I complete some of those things, and a few phone calls later, I look down at the clock on the computer and, my oh my, it’s lunchtime! I sure hope I get the hang of all of this or else this will be the fastest semester of all time.

I sure am enjoying my class, however! The readings are interesting. I am thrilled with the topic – teaching writing. I see so much use and potential for it in my teaching as well as my daily life! I look forward to the assigned readings and the schoolwork, even if it does take me a while.

I am still having a little problem with what to write. I feel like I have SO many choices that I am overwhelmed. Yesterday I decided upon the Haley story, but today I am undecided as to whether I should stick with it. My teacher sent out an e-mail with some more ideas and they were all about us, capturing what is important to us such as influences on our childhood, places where we lived and/or visited as children. Most were little vignettes, not whole stories. . .manageable little pieces. So, with that in mind today I am going to write to a prompt. I have a book called Memories, a Mother’s Diary. I am going to answer the prompt:

The first time I drove a car by myself
I remember this so distinctly.
I got my driver’s license in January. My birthday was in December, but in Texas, for a teen to get a driver’s license they must bring in a piece of paper from the school that states that they attend school regularly. I had forgotten to get that before school ended mid-December so I had to wait until school opened again after the Winter break. January in Texas is cold, but not frigid. I don’t know who went with me to actually get my driver’s license, but I remember my Granny and Papa B were visiting us from South Carolina. Sixteenth birthdays are a special deal in my family. My grandmother gave me a diamond ring – one of hers which had been specially made. It was a one of a kind. The only other person in the world who had a similar ring is Miss Lucy, but hers is in white gold and mine (my grandmother’s) was in yellow gold.
Anyway, we got home from the Driver’s License bureau and I decide I want to go to the store. I had a new, fresh driver’s license burning a hole in the new “Coach” purse my grandmother gave me for Christmas and so I must get out and put the driver’s license to good use. I decided to go to the grocery store. I pulled out of the drive way in my 1982 grey Rabbit convertible. The air outside is chilly, so the top is up and the heater is on, but as I stopped to change the gear from reverse to first gear, I reach over into the empty passenger seat and patted it. I distinctly remember thinking I am all alone. I can go anywhere! I can drive to wherever my heart desires. No one is here to tell me I can or can’t! I drove to the grocery store and purchased my absolute favorite food in the whole world – Claussen Pickles! I think I might have bought a package of corndogs as well. I think I ate the whole jar of pickles within 24 hours. I got a stomach ache because I ate so many. But what sticks with me the most about that experience is the utter feeling of freedom. The feeling that I was in control. I smile to this day thinking about it.

Rewrite:
I sit in the car – 1982 grey Rabbit convertible. The air outside is chilly, so the top is up. The heater is gently blowing on me this chilly January day. January in Texas is cold, but not frigid. We got home from the Driver’s License bureau. My fresh driver’s license burning a hole in the new “Coach” purse my grandmother gave me for Christmas. I must get out and put this much anticipated driver’s license to good use.
My birthday was in December, but in Texas, for a teen to get a driver’s license they must bring in a piece of paper from the school that states that they attend school regularly. I had forgotten to get that before school ended mid-December so I had to wait until school opened again after the Winter break.
My Granny and Papa B are visiting us from South Carolina. Sweet Sixteen birthdays are a special deal in my family. My grandmother gave me a diamond ring – one of hers which she had specially made – one of a kind. The only other person in the world who had a similar ring is her long time best friend, Miss Lucy.
I decide to go to the grocery store. I pull out of the drive way, I stop to change the gear from reverse to first gear, I reach over into the empty passenger seat and pat it. I think to myself I am all alone. I can go anywhere! I can drive to wherever my heart desires. No one is here to tell me I can or can’t! The feel of freedom is intoxicating – the feeling that I am in control. I drive to the grocery store and purchase my absolute favorite food in the whole world – Claussen Pickles! And a package of corndogs! I eat the whole jar of pickles within 24 hours and get and get a stomach ache.
What a wonderful day!

We went to the inaguration.  We didn’t see anything (besides the backs and heads of MANY people) but we can say we were there.  We could hear what was going on since there were loud speakers placed everywhere, but we could not get close enough to even see the jumbotons.  We were technically on the mall, standing to the right of the Washington Monument (as looking toward the Capital building).  We didn’t stay long partly because it was COLD and I didn’t want the kids to be outside too long, but also because when Obama finished his speach and Feinstein started speaking a giant wave of humankind began to flood our direction.  There was litterally no place to go but out of the way.  We stayed slightly ahead of the mass of people (although we were still “in a croud”) by walking down 15th street.  After about a block we cut over to 14th street and walked ON the 14th street bridge across the Potomac all the way to Crystal City, where we stopped to have lunch before we got on the metro to go home.  In total we walked over 5 1/2 miles on Tuesday (and my five year old daughter walked almost all of that, too!).

I had a blast. I was so excited all day long, actually both MLK Day and the day of the inaguration. 

The evening before the inaguration we metroed into DC. That was actually more magical for me than the day of because we went in the evening.  We could see everything so grandly prepared and ready for the event. We walked out of the metro and accidently happened upon the side street where the parade floats were kept.  We could see each one of them very close up.  Next we saw the stark white Capital so richly adored against the dark blue night sky was a sight to behold.  From there we walked the length of the mall, stopping periodically to watch the networks tape their live coverage.  After we reached the Washington Monument we walked up the Eclipse over to the White House.  The whitewashed icon set against the dark brilliant sky took my breath away!

In addition to all the sights we saw that night, everyone we encountered was in festive spirits.  Even perfect stangers were especially polite.  There was a feeling of celebration and happiness.  I am sure for many the inaguration represented a partial fulfillment of the dreams MLK once spoke of.  For me, it represents a turn in our country’s course. 

It was a special weekend.  I think that I really do love politics.  Not the backbiting fierceness of it, but the pagentry, the motives, the innerworkings and so forth.

more ideas:

parade/floats

canons

police motorcycles

Wednesday morning it looked good.  You could barely tell that anything had happened the day before except there were a lot more people in town. . . long lines to get into museums and such. Besides that it was utterly amazing how clean things were the day after.

Today is the celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr.  This year the MLK celebration is especially highlighted due to tomorrow’s inaguration of America’s first African-American president.  It was an exciting day for me. . . I can quite honestly say the best MLK Day I have ever had. 

For the first time ever I watched a recording of Dr. King’s famous “I Have a Dream” speach. . . .

We went into Washington DC today after dinner to see the festivity preparations. 

We were amazingly surprised at how few people were out (much fewer than we expected).  We knew metro stations that were off the beaten path, so that also helped.

We were surprised also as to how friendly everyone was .  Perfect stangers who bumped into me would say, “Oh, excuse me.”  People were laughing, smiling and generally in good spirits.

I would liken tomorrow to a wedding atmosphere. 

We saw some of the floats for the parade tomorrow – uso, like a cinderella horse and coach – Boy Scouts, big flag -State floats for Obama and Biden (Illinois and Deleware). They were impressive and it was so neat to see them up close.  All the floats pulled by brand new John Deere tractors. 

Capital building. Stark white against the blue/gray sky.  Fabulously decorated with five flags and the stands.  iced water in front

We walked the length of the mall.  Saw where different tv stations were filming their “live coverage.”  Those portable studios look like ships of daylight in the sea of darkness. 

Walked up to the white house – stark white contrastsing the black lawn and dark sky.  We meandered around the back to our secret unknown station where we didn’t have to wait in line to get on the metro.

So many thought and impressions, but I must go to bed so that I can be prepared to go into DC again tomorrow for the big day.

9-9:12

Everyday I tell myself that I am going to start back up again writing for a half an hour a day and each day I don’t.  So I decided today that before I even allowed myself to check e-mail I have to log in a half an hour to practice my writing skills. I will feel so accomplished with myself when I do!

I have been thinking again and again about wanting to write. . .mainly the travel memoirs.

But today I am going to write an observation that I have about riding on the metro each morning.  There are two key rules for metro riders who ride during the daily commute times.  Rule #1) Stay in your own space, which is mainly a 2′x2′ square of personal space around you, whether you are sitting or standing and #2) Don’t make noise – any kind of noise, electronic or verbal.  These rules don’t apply to tourists or weekends.

I walk one mile to the metro and then I ride the blue line for almost exactly a half an hour.  Usually I use this private time on the metro (truely my only private time of the day) to do my homework.  In the winter I have to bundle up quite a bit due to the long walk, but by the time I reach my platform I have warmed up to the point that when I get on the metro I feel I must “unbundle.”  While this is a very uncommon occurance on the metro (most people ride their whole half hour with coats on completely bundled) no one seems to pay any attention.  In fact, no one seems to pay any attention to anyone else on purpose.  Each person pretends that they are the only people in their awareness.  Each person stays in their respective 2′x2′ space and remains perfectly quiet.  Some people read while others close their eyes.  A few people dare to look around and observe, but they are almost always careful not to seem to be looking. 

One day when I entered the metro there was a lady sleeping on three seats that were together.  She was covered in coats and did not move. No one acted as if they even saw the sleeping homeless person.  They walked past her, unphased and unnoticing.  After 10 minutes on the metro I was concerned with the idea that the homeless lady could actually be dead and no one would have noticed.  It is actually possible.  I watched her intently until I saw her chest rise, assuring myself that she was, in fact, breathing.

I have ultimately come to the conclusion that any person could quite possibly do any sort of unusual thing, barring lude and indecent acts and remaining quiet in their respective space, and people in their daily commute would pretend as if that person did not exist.

Hi Dad, (I say that because I think that my father is the only one who reads this blog!)

I am thinking about starting up on writing in my blog again because A)I really enjoyed it when I did it for my class and B) I felt like it helped me develop my writing skills.  I have this far fetched idea that one day in the far off future I would like to write a book and I thought to myself this morning that if I never practice writing I won’t ever have writing skills good enough to write a book.

Now, when I say that I would like to write a book I don’t mean that I would like to write the all American Novel.  No, that’s not in my future.  What I think that I would like to write one day is some sort of travel memoir.  That’s more my speed.  It combines my life-long love of journal writing with my passion for travel.  It’s the perfect combination for me.  Not only would I like to write about our time traveling around Western Europe (My Year as a Profession Tourist, I call it), but I think that I will also write about our upcoming adventure (which I will fondly call An American Housewife in Moldova, or something along those lines).

So, here’s my preliminary thoughts along those lines (things I can incorporate into an introducation chapter!):  We are currently spending 9 months to learn Romanian.  It is virtually the same language as Moldovan.  The difference is the same difference between speaking Brittish and American – same English, but different.  Although I know that it will be different, strange and possibly scarey, I am very excited.  As I tell people about my upcoming move to Moldova what usually happens is a odd look crosses their face.  The look is one of polite ignorance with odd wonderment mixed in with masking the myriad of questions rapidly flashing across their minds.  The shyly polite respond, “oh.”  The boldly polite, not sure if it is a country or a region somewhere in the world simply say, “Where’s that?”  And the brazen say, “What’s that?”  Then, occasionally, there’s the rare few who look at me confidently, semi-proud that their miscellanous geography knowledge is for once paying off for them say, “Oh, yah, Moldova.  Near Romania, right” or “Oh, near Ukraine.” 

What was once idol playground conversation amongst Moms (“Nice to meet you.”  “Where did you just move from?”  “Where are you going next?”) turns into a show stopping conversation hog.  Everyone in the group turns to look at me question me about the odd information I have just released.

 -more tomorrow. . . . . .  

Literacy Memoir 

• Do you remember learning to read?

I don’t remember the beginning stages of learning to read.  I don’t remember learning my letters or learning to sound out words.  My parents valued education immensely and my mom said that she enrolled me in pre-school as soon as I was old enough to attend.  Besides that I imagine that I learned to read in my first few years of elementary school.

 

•  Do you remember who taught you?

I must have learned phonics and early reading skills from those pre-school and early elementary teachers, but I don’t remember.  My first awareness of reading was when I was in the fourth grade.  I had attended a rural country school in Kentucky from first to third grade.  Then I transferred to a fast-paced, upper middle class school outside of the DC area for the fourth grade.  I struggled in my new school.  I remember being very behind and not liking reading. 

   

• What kinds of books did you read in school?

In elementary school, in reading, we read out of leveled readers.  I don’t remember ever being required to read trade books in elementary school.  After I struggled to read in school, I remember that the only time I read for pleasure was on family vacations.  My grandmother had a huge collection of children’s encyclopedias in the guestroom where we stayed.  After my troubles in fourth grade I remember flipping through them and being captivated by the pictures.  The pictures are what attracted me to the words and I loved all the information I learned from those words.  I remember my mother was surprised that I was reading those books.  And I remember that my dad commented to her, “See, she will read if she is given something that really interests her.”  In order to aid my interest in reading we took those books home with us from our family vacation and I still have those books to this day. 

From the time that I had trouble reading until I entered college I would only read material that highly interested me – usually non-fiction material.  In school I did not read much out of textbooks or assigned reading material.  I only read “light” or sensational books that interested me like the encyclopedias in elementary school, V.C. Andrew’s books in middle school and biographies or true story crime books like Helter Skelter in high school.

 

• If you had reading groups in your classrooms, how did you feel about them? What do you remember about them?

My fourth grade classroom had reading groups and I was in the lowest one.  I fell so far behind the other students that I was pulled out of the classroom to attend a special reading class.  Being pulled out of my classroom for remedial help was bittersweet for me.  While I did not like feeling singled out by being pulled out of my regular classroom, I like my special reading teacher much better than my regular teacher whom I didn’t like or feel liked by.

 

• What did you like most about reading in school?

To be quite honest, I don’t remember much that I liked about reading in school.  I generally did not like to read in school and I tried not to.  If I had to pick any one thing that I liked about reading in school it would be the information that I gained by reading.  I liked learning new things and I did understand how reading could open the world up to learn those new things.

 

• What did you like least about reading in school?

There are a lot of things that I did not like about reading.  The key thing was that it was so difficult.  Reading was tedious and frustrating.  Although I had an excellent speaking vocabulary, when it came to the written word, there were so many words that I couldn’t figure out.  Reading was difficult and hard.  I was embarrassed because I made so many mistakes.   Reading was tiring and hard to understand.  Reading took a long time and by the time I was done with the page I had a hard time remembering what I had just read.  Reading was work; it was not enjoyable.

 

• Describe your favorite teacher of reading. Why was this teacher your favorite?

In the fourth grade, when my regular teacher determined that I was severely behind and needed remedial help she recommended me to a special reading teacher for pull-out assistance.  I have no idea what this reading teacher’s name is/was, but she was probably my favorite teacher of reading of all time.  My reading teacher made me feel special and loved.  She was the only one in my elementary career that helped books come alive for me.  While she taught us to read she focused on content and providing interesting books that kept out attention. 

 

• Did you think you were a good reader when you were young?

By the time I was in the fourth grade I had a very poor image of myself as a reader.  It was the first time in my life that I felt like I was struggling in school.  I started to dislike reading greatly and I got to the point where I no longer saw myself as a reader and that continued until n I was in high school.  That’s when my younger sister was diagnosed with dyslexia.  She was given special dyslexic instruction in her elementary, middle and high school years.  After she was determined to be dyslexic, I was tested and found to be dyslexic as well.  Teachers in my middle school had brought up to my parents that I may have a problem with it, but no one ever offered to test me and it wasn’t until my sister was tested and diagnosed that my parents understood the problem and how I had struggled with it all those years.  But the time I was diagnosed I had already come up with personal strategies that helped me cope with my difficulties.  The biggest highlight for me, in being diagnosed dyslexic was the feeling that I was not a failure and that I had a legitimate problem with my reading.

 

• Do you think you’re a good reader now?

I think that my high school diagnosis of dyslexia freed me mentally to try to read for pleasure.  That freedom helped me to become the good reader that I consider myself today. 

            Once I started college and started reading in my personal time for pleasure, I felt like I received a new lease on life or at least a new avenue of learning was opened up for me.  I started easy reading novels by Mary Higgins Clark, John Grishim or David Baldacci.  As my confidence grew I began reading books that I had missed out on in high school like To Kill a Mockingbird or The Scarlett Letter.  Now I read tons of books, both fiction and non-fiction.  I read for pleasure and for learning; I read to be connected with others and to gain information.  I read for a better understanding of the world and for a better understanding of myself.  I feel the confidence now to pick up any book and read it. 

 

• Do you like to read?

Now, as an adult, I love reading.  I read, obviously, for my graduate class, for professional development, and for personal pleasure.  I read children’s books to my daughter.  I read to stay connected to the reading friends I have developed.  I read to research information on anything I want to know.  I read constantly.