Category: Unit 1 (Page 2 of 17)

Jovon cheddar                                                          3/1/2021

During my childhood when I learn how to read since at a young age which my father taught me. I  regret not taking the time of getting better at reading since that would have help me a lot in my young years. I would get a better grade in the state test for reading because in math I was good in that subject and ever though I did well in it I wanted to do better in it.

I got use by reading a lot when I got into high school so I got better in that subject. A tragedy happened when I was 17 years old my dad die from cancer which  hit me very hard so I was depressed for a while since it hurt my family a lot since that was the  first time we lost someone we care a lot about which made me get to be more independent because of it. That made me lost some progress in my reading  I really could not focus on the words which  did hurt my reading but as time went on I got back into reading which got me to pass my test that I had to take.  My grandma and mom also got me books to read   on my down time when I was not doing anything important.

When I read any  book  which will get my interest it w  get  me all  excited for the next part of the book that I would want to know what happen next if the book is that interesting to  me I would want to know more  about it.  Books also help to teach me a lot about different things   that I had not known about before like anything that happen in the past as well as people who went though change of life and want to tell people about it so that they will have an insight about what happen to   them during that time.   I have a lot of fun reading since some stories are fun to read and since it has a lot of information on things that could help me in my life and make sure that I  do not make  mistakes and learn about though  and show me a new world as I read thought the story. Sometime the story   turnout to be a good book and very interesting.

I am grateful that my father helped to teach me how to read. It got me  into a habit that when I am bored and is not doing anything  also help me when I need to learn something new and not know  which is why  I find a book that interest me I would want to know more about it and others as well. Reading also helps in my vocabulary since words that I do not know and its great to learn new things that I do not know at all.

My childhood can be very blurry when it wants to be but I can always figure out something by a little memory I have and just ask my mom what it was pertaining to. Like many other people my mother was the first one that taught me how to read until I got to school. My mom has always explained to us that she tried her best when it came to educating my siblings and I whether it was  herself or finding the best people to do so. I remember three teachers that has had a huge impact on my life educationally which was Ms. Alvarado my Pre-K teacher, Ms. Dee Dee my kindergarten teacher and Ms. Winton my first grade teacher. These three women helped not only me but my siblings become who we’re now just by doing their jobs. 

I was lucky to have the privilege of going to private school on my mother’s dime so that I was able to have the best education so I was able to have opportunities that my mother never had. Those previous amazing ladies I named worked their butts off making sure that me and every student was reaching the goals we needed to be prepared for the grade ahead of us. I have always been able to ask for help when it came to my reading because my mother is also a book worm. Any book that we had in school from the 8th grade and further she has probably already read at least five times. I’m actually happy that she happened to be a bookworm because I don’t think I would have passed my English classes if it wasn’t for her helping comprehend the books that were given to me during school. 

English especially reading has always been my weakness and if you were to ask me it’s because I haven’t been interested in what has been given to me so I didn’t necessarily retain anything I was supposed to read but if you were to ask my mother she would say I’m not reading the book to understand the book on a personal level but that I’m reading the words just to get to the end. I never really understood what she meant by that because she used to say it often. She started noticing the trouble I was having when it came to reading so she even brought a book title” how to read”. The book explained how to properly read a book and the different ways to take something from the book when reading and finished. I never really read the book though because it does seem weird to read a book on how to probably read a book if you get what I’m saying. I appreciate her effort though because it helped while it lasted. 

The last person I believe helped me when it came to reading what my freshman year English teacher Ms. Turman which was also my junior year teacher. I say she has a role in my life when it comes to me learning how to read because she helped me fully understand why it’s important to actually read a book or a piece of literature no matter if I wanted to or not because there was always something you can take from someone perceptive or experience.. I learned a lot from the amount of literature she had shared with me and other students. I can honestly say that I can keep everything she taught me with me for the rest of my life.

“Mama, can you teach me how to read? Caleb already knows how, why don’t I?”

“Caleb doesn’t know how to read, his parents just taught him to remember certain words. You’ll figure it out on your own and that’s better than me messing it up for you.”

     The first book my father ever read to us from was the jungle book. I used to think he was reading Kipling to us with aspirations in mind, but now I realize it’s much more likely that he was just terribly bored by picture books. Whatever the intention I think the effect was the same. Being introduced to vocabulary and the idea of imagining the story rather than “watching it” did a great deal of good in ways that I’m sure I don’t know. My mom still read the standards to us, and I think that her choosing not to teach us was more out of the fear of doing it wrong than anything else. A bit ironic given that she holds a degree in latin and taught at berlitz. 

     I took it upon myself in unusual ways. I went to the library and I learned how to write in some obscure hieroglyphic system. Well, translate more than write; I would force one of my siblings to sound out every word and I would copy it down in pictographs. I had no ability to sight read or even string together these sounds I had created. When I hit first grade I caught up, and then surpassed “Caleb”. I read every book in that classroom, and soon was being sent on my own trips down the hall to the library. I had always been obsessive about TV, and fortunately that switched over to books once I had the ability to appreciate them.

     I grew very tired of nonsensical, formulated “children’s chapter books”. It seems that if a book has any sort of serious content, it only becomes acceptable for children once it has passed 75 years old. So I read all the classics, too young probably to have gotten much out of them and definitely too young to remember them at this point. As my life became more secluded due to moves and what else, I retreated even more into books. Until one day, I just stopped. What was so important to me to start, soon became taken for granted, and eventually ignored. I wish I still had that passion, that hunger for more. The ability to get lost in a world of someone else’s creation seems so rare to me now that it’s hard to really believe it’s still possible unless it’s actively taking place. 

     I have thought of going back to those books, to try and recapture some of that magic, but invariably I choose not to. It scares me. Sure I’ve reread Kipling as an adult, and I’ve read picture books to kids, but I can’t bring myself to reopen those volumes that I know so completely defined my imagination. I don’t know if I’m afraid that the magic won’t be there anymore and it might ruin what I’m holding onto by a thread, or if I’ll use up all that’s left and there won’t be any left to share when I have children of my own. Perhaps it just seems like such an innocent time, that understanding it better now seems only like a way of tarnishing it. Perhaps some things like memories, are best enjoyed with the glasses off.