| The assignment: Write about a literacy moment where you enjoyed or found out the importance of reading or writing. | My Moment: My literacy moment came when I was about five years old. I was addicted to bubble gum, but my mother would rarely let me have any. So, when I got gum, I was really happy. My best bubble gum moments came when I would get Bazooka bubble gum because it came with a comic. When I got a piece of Bazooka, I would find a quiet place to get comfortable and read the comic as I chewed the gum. Reading the comic made the gum better for some reason. |
The Revised Assignment: Turn your literacy moment in a first-person story with a
descriptive language, details, a main event, and theme.
My Revised Literacy Moment: You Can't Swallow Everything You Read!
My first literacy moment came when I was five years-old. This was the about the time I started to read. One day, I found myself searching through my sister’s purse. I was looking for gum. I knew I’d find some because she always had gum! I was so focused and in need of gum that I pretty much forgot a few things… There were two things I was not supposed to do: sneak into my brothers and sisters things and have gum.
Everyone single person in my family knew I was addicted to gum. My mom, who never let me have any, knew I was a lost cause. Worse yet, my 11 older brothers and sisters knew it and they used it against me. They could make me do all sorts of things for gum. I’ve been a human TV remote controller for gum. I’ve done chores no five year-old could really do well. I’ve unlocked doors and windows after curfew; I’ve lied to my parents and other siblings, and taken the blame for broken objects. As I think back, I have images of rolling over, fetching and barking like a dog for gum. It was all worth it because they always came through with a piece of gum. Okay, sometimes it was only a half a piece, but I wasn’t picky.
As I searched through my sister’s purse, the only thoughts in my mind were warm fuzzy images of what kind of gum I might find. I loved all the flavors; I’d accept any brand: Doublemint, Hubba-Bubba, Big Red, Bubbalicious, Trident, Bazooka was extra special because it had a comic I could read. When I got a piece of Bazooka gum, I’d carefully unwrap it, stare at the pictures then sound out all the words. I never really understood the comic, but when I’d read each panel and reached the end, I’d laugh really loud because that’s what you do when you read comics.
Anyway, there I was — a five year-old gum addict rummaging through my sister’s purse like a nervous hyperactive ferret. There was a bunch of junk in there, but all I remember pulling out is a plastic card with her picture on it. I treated it like my Bazooka bubble gum comics; I looked at the picture and then read the words.
I read “Alana” then “Farris.” I read the numbers “231″ and then “East Grand Boulevard.” I recognized the numbers and words were the same as my house and name of my street. I read and recognized my city’s name “Detroit.” I read and did not recognize “Michigan.” I read a bunch of numbers that came after the word “Michigan.” I was really confused because the picture was of my sister. Her name was “WADUDA.” Sure, I couldn’t spell it, but knew I could read it if saw it.
That name was nowhere on the little plastic card. My heart began racing and my hands started to sweat. Why was “Alana” next to my sister’s face and “WADUDA” nowhere to be found? In the instant it took for this thought to form in my mind, everything my brothers and sisters had told me became true.
I was not part of this family.
I was found in the trash, on the doorstep, and at the park.
My real mom didn’t want me and gave me away.
Just as quickly as these thoughts came, they were replaced by some new thoughts that gave me pause to wonder. This could be a good thing since I don’t like my family anyway. They are always picking on me. My “dad” doesn’t even talk about gum and my “mom” NEVER lets me have any. I bet my new real mom would let me have gum. I bet she doesn’t have a thousand kids. The idea that I could have a better family somewhere made me feel hopeful and empowered. I took the new knowledge of what I had read about “Alana-Waduda” to my mom. When I found her, I spoke to her with sincerity, hope and an attitude of no hard feelings.
“Where is my real mom?”
“What?”
“You know, my reeeeaaaalll mommy?”
“Girl, do you see all these damn kids I have? Do you really think I would just go get another one?”
Because my mother NEVER cursed, I knew what she said was true. My literacy moment, in a few words: reading destroyed my identity and my mom gave it right back to me!
My first literacy moment came when I was five years-old. This was the about the time I started to read. One day, I found myself searching through my sister’s purse. I was looking for gum. I knew I’d find some because she always had gum! I was so focused and in need of gum that I pretty much forgot a few things… There were two things I was not supposed to do: sneak into my brothers and sisters things and have gum.
Everyone single person in my family knew I was addicted to gum. My mom, who never let me have any, knew I was a lost cause. Worse yet, my 11 older brothers and sisters knew it and they used it against me. They could make me do all sorts of things for gum. I’ve been a human TV remote controller for gum. I’ve done chores no five year-old could really do well. I’ve unlocked doors and windows after curfew; I’ve lied to my parents and other siblings, and taken the blame for broken objects. As I think back, I have images of rolling over, fetching and barking like a dog for gum. It was all worth it because they always came through with a piece of gum. Okay, sometimes it was only a half a piece, but I wasn’t picky.
As I searched through my sister’s purse, the only thoughts in my mind were warm fuzzy images of what kind of gum I might find. I loved all the flavors; I’d accept any brand: Doublemint, Hubba-Bubba, Big Red, Bubbalicious, Trident, Bazooka was extra special because it had a comic I could read. When I got a piece of Bazooka gum, I’d carefully unwrap it, stare at the pictures then sound out all the words. I never really understood the comic, but when I’d read each panel and reached the end, I’d laugh really loud because that’s what you do when you read comics.
Anyway, there I was — a five year-old gum addict rummaging through my sister’s purse like a nervous hyperactive ferret. There was a bunch of junk in there, but all I remember pulling out is a plastic card with her picture on it. I treated it like my Bazooka bubble gum comics; I looked at the picture and then read the words.
I read “Alana” then “Farris.” I read the numbers “231″ and then “East Grand Boulevard.” I recognized the numbers and words were the same as my house and name of my street. I read and recognized my city’s name “Detroit.” I read and did not recognize “Michigan.” I read a bunch of numbers that came after the word “Michigan.” I was really confused because the picture was of my sister. Her name was “WADUDA.” Sure, I couldn’t spell it, but knew I could read it if saw it.
That name was nowhere on the little plastic card. My heart began racing and my hands started to sweat. Why was “Alana” next to my sister’s face and “WADUDA” nowhere to be found? In the instant it took for this thought to form in my mind, everything my brothers and sisters had told me became true.
I was not part of this family.
I was found in the trash, on the doorstep, and at the park.
My real mom didn’t want me and gave me away.
Just as quickly as these thoughts came, they were replaced by some new thoughts that gave me pause to wonder. This could be a good thing since I don’t like my family anyway. They are always picking on me. My “dad” doesn’t even talk about gum and my “mom” NEVER lets me have any. I bet my new real mom would let me have gum. I bet she doesn’t have a thousand kids. The idea that I could have a better family somewhere made me feel hopeful and empowered. I took the new knowledge of what I had read about “Alana-Waduda” to my mom. When I found her, I spoke to her with sincerity, hope and an attitude of no hard feelings.
“Where is my real mom?”
“What?”
“You know, my reeeeaaaalll mommy?”
“Girl, do you see all these damn kids I have? Do you really think I would just go get another one?”
Because my mother NEVER cursed, I knew what she said was true. My literacy moment, in a few words: reading destroyed my identity and my mom gave it right back to me!