auto #2

Rosie Caldwell
Professor M. Boland
English 329- literacy
26 January 2008
Autobiographical Insight #2
When I was fairly young, I remember reading Where the Red Fern Grows. This is a classic that I have heard many people reflect back on and comment on the feelings they had when they first read it and the evolution of emotions as they read it for the second or third time. I remember being completely enthralled with the story of the little boy who wanted these two hounds. I was touched by his determination and love for these dogs. Late into the night I would curl up under the covers with a flashlight, always anxious for the ending and yet, not wanting it to end. Feeling proud of the boy for saving his money and seeing the response of his grandfather was touching. But mostly, remembering how I was engulfed in sorrow when the Dan died and Anne wilted and died soon afterwards. I remember how the pain I felt for these fictitious figures was as real was when I had to put down my cat of 13 years. I thought it was odd, being so attached to figments of my imagination, but I was. I cried while reading it and for several weeks afterwards.
My mother reads compulsively, and my father has begun to read almost as much as her. The master bedroom, guest room, living room and even the dining room are all lined with bookshelves filled with an assortment of books. Cooking books, history books, encyclopedias, books for dummies, books about westerns, fantasy, and whatever else. Also, there always seems to be a LA or NY Times around. Between my parents, every book on those shelves has been read. Needless to say, my parents are very well read and learned. Obviously, books and newspaper articles were important to my parents and were constantly present in the house and their conversations. At lease once a week my mother would find an article about how yoga or breathing deeply will greatly reduce my stress level. She would read different political views, or express her gratitude for her family after reading a clip from “Dear Abby.” Dad seemed more interested in local type news and human interest pieces, as well as finding grammatical trouble areas in the local newspaper. Through osmosis, I picked up my current ideologies, views and base of knowledge of the world and the political and moral complexities that are embedded in society.
I have not read for pleasure in quite some time. Even when I have read, I find myself not appreciating the story as much as observing different writing methods. Despite the complexity and brilliance of the plot, I am more interested different descriptive passages, the author’s voice and use of language. I’m not sure when my approach to reading fictional work changed to this attention to style rather than content, but it has persisted throughout my college years. The last time I read a book (Wit’ch Fire?) that I loved and enjoyed reading was by James Clemens. Even then I was more attracted to his voice and style…the story was engaging and eventful; full of action, battle scenes, a sexy knight and a hot protagonist who eventually fall in love and go on their way. This book is an emotional rollercoaster, many plot twists and interesting characters throughout this book; all of which made it enjoyable and fun to read. But the author has the most beautiful way of describing things. I would read passages over and over in an attempt to soak in the beauty of his language. I felt as if I was placed there in his reality, experiencing the world he so artfully described. I cannot remember the last time I connected so strongly to a voice or style, but perhaps when I graduate I will be able to read more and find another author who stirs the senses of my imagination.

Douglass Précis

Douglas, Frederick. "Narrative of the Life Of Frederick Douglas, An American Slave". Berkeley Digital Library SunSITE. 21 Jan 2009 http://sunsite3.berkeley.edu/Literature/Douglass/Autobiography/07.html.

This chapter from Frederick Douglass’s Autobiography describes how he learned to read and write as a slave who was forbidden to do so. His first exposure to literacy was from his master’s wife. She began to teach him by starting with the alphabet but then stopped after the insistence of her husband. Indeed, she began to treat Douglass quite poorly following this event and lashed out in anger towards him whenever she suspected him of reading. Nevertheless, Douglass continued his pursuit of literacy by befriending other poor, hungry white children that taught him to read in exchange for food. These children also pitied his condition in bondage and comforted him by saying that he should be freed someday.
Learning to read led Douglass to read books on the conditions of slavery, arguments for and against it, and made him aware of the terrible conditions that he and others like him had continued to face. He learned how they were stolen from Africa and had been brought here under terrible conditions. For Douglass, learning to read and learning of the terrible conditions of slavery became a great burden for him. His words tell of the agony he felt, “It had given me a view of my wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity.” His feelings about slavery at this point, being so strong, led him to learn about abolition and how others, the abolitionists in the north, would provide him and other slaves an avenue of freedom. This, in turn, led Douglass to continue his education in literacy and learn to write well from his master’s son’s writing handbooks so that he could write his own pass to freedom.
This entire chapter is quite strong and insightful with the most powerful being the seventh paragraph where Douglass wrote of the painful knowledge he gained of the atrocities of slavery via his newfound literacy. His literacy here is analogous to the “forbidden fruit” in the Garden of Eden in that he learned not only of the good that can be learned by being able to read but also of the evils that he learned of via literacy as well. Despite his anguish he felt from learning of the evils of slavery and his wish that he had remained ignorant, he pressed on and decided to do something about this—he began to write. This not only would lead to his eventual freedom, but it allowed him to eventually tell his story so that others could learn of his struggle to not only acquire literacy but, most importantly, freedom.
This chapter really shows explicitly what literacy can mean for us. Although it will give us knowledge of the evils in the world, I feel that it is important for us to learn these issues and struggles that have taken place in our history so that we can understand where we, as a society, come from. We should not remain ignorant and illiterate so that we cannot feel the agony Douglass felt. We need to feel the agony as well as the ecstasy from literacy if we are to learn about ourselves and those that came before us: how they thought, what they did, and what they wrote. Douglass’s writing here shows us how he thought and what he did. Without such a work, history would be devoid of his struggle for literacy, knowledge, and freedom and we would be missing out on an important lesson on what literacy can do for one and all.

Lite Racy

A.J. Pallante
Prof. Boland
English 329
20 January 2009
Autobiographical Assignment #1
Conversation, the ability to manipulate language, has always been something that has interested me deeply. The ability to convey emotion and conceptual information through the use of sound was always something that I found to be fascinating in the context of establishing an audient connection with another human being. Obviously, as a child I was less concerned with, and could not fathom, the intellectual aspects of conversation and remained more attracted to the sounds that accompanied speech. However, this is where the pursuit of endeavoring to gain something from literacy began. Though it is difficult to recall exactly how this practice was initiated, I can identify certain mediums that have enhanced the process along the way.
It must be said that I was never one who particularly enjoyed reading and writing. Even today, I still share similar sentiments. It is difficult for me to remain stationary and stare at a manuscript without pausing frequently to curse the author and all who were involved in the production of the given text. However, when I was in fourth grade, there was a book series that I could not get enough of. For some reason unbeknownst to me, R.L. Stein’s Goosebumps were all I read. I have always been entertained by macabre circumstances and the darkly humorous. Though not embodied in his work, I could identify certain elements of horror within these stories. This was my first memorable encounter with reading.
With this foundation, what sustained my interest in the ability to understand and manipulate language came in the form of lyrics. Though most lyrics are poor examples of what can be considered fine writing, there was one band in particular whose lyricist exhibited the ability to compose with an expansive vocabulary. The band was called Cradle of Filth. Now, I know the name does not due any justice to my claim. However, this is where I found my greatest connection to language. This is where language came to life. I can clearly remember devoting the majority of my time to writing, trying to understand how a person can think in terms of abstraction while expressing these abstractions in the form of beautiful poetry. By reading and emulating these lyrics in my own journals, I was able to maintain an interest. I was able to put abstract thoughts into poetic terms. Had it not been for the lessons I thought myself with these lyrics as a guide, I would have ultimately succumbed to the crushing burden of curricular standards.
Interestingly enough, none of what I accomplished in the arena of reading and\or literacy had anything to do with school. If anything, school drove me away from reading. Throughout, I was forced to read boring stories selected by individuals far removed from education in order to fulfill ridiculous curricular standards. I was taught to relegate beautiful sounds and ideas into parts of speech. This is what ultimately turned me away from reading and writing altogether. However, now that I am able to observe the entire picture, now that I am able to separate the purpose of public schooling from purpose of education, it has become easier to hold onto the memories of what language once was to me, and what it could potentially become once again.

My Earliest Literation

My early language and literacy development formed from a rather early age. I don't recall much before preschool other than these weird picture books that told stories, through pictures alone, of a stylized cat character washing his car or hanging his laundry etc., involved a mishap, and always concluded with a happy ending. This sparked my literacy as it presented me with a new mode of reading, and subsequently using, new facial expressions in certain situations.

I feel that because I was privileged enough to attend pre-school, I was given a leg up once I stepped into public school. I excelled at reading in kindergarten all the way through elementary school. My writing prowess emerged in second grade when I was given the challenge of writing a short story. I wish I still had a copy, it was entitled "The Rooster that Never Sleeps." The story is of an insomniac rooster who encounters a number of conflicts through his incessant attempts to maintain conversation with the other barnyard animals throughout the night. The story was given second place. Go, second grade me! woo!

I grew up with two male cousins of mine from age 3 to the present, they being one year younger than me, and fraternal twins. We grew up together in our small desert town and shortly upon group exposure to the Nintendo Entertainment System, a competition of ages began and has not relented to this day! Throughout elementary school, I excelled at school and sought to keep the buffer of a senior classman full and thick over my cousins to maintain superiority in the intellectual field, being as how I was the least skilled at defeating Bowser. This only lasted a while, . . . as both my cousins beat me up whenever they saw me reading.

Literacy (Auto. #1)

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History of Literacy

From the beginning my mother read to me. When the time came she helped me read and sound out words. I remember her placing a fingertip over certain letters and saying “sound this out” or “what is this word?” Even still she is always trying to get me to read an article, or she is reading something from the newspaper on how to lessen the stress in my life with some breathing exercise. Despite all this, I feel a reluctance to read; it is not pleasurable for me. I do, however, love to write.

I remember in second grade we had a free-write exercise every day. My story would spill over on to the back of the page and when the teacher said it was time to put down our pencils, I never wanted to. I was not inspired by any particular teacher, just inspired in general… enthralled by the act, motion and feeling of putting my yellow pencil to paper. Nor was I inspired by the school setting, because when I was homeschooled my writing excelled and I wrote more than when I was in school. In high school my teachers liked my writing and always thought I could do something great with it. One teacher insisted that I should send her an autographed copy of my first novel. My professor at Crafton Hills College also thought that with some work, I could publish some of my short stories… I have not been met with such enthusiasm since I have come to this university, however.

My father is a very skilled writer and was always helpful when I had questions, needed input or just wanted him to look over something for me. Having this resource also pushed me along and ensured that my writing skills progressed and continually improved. Now... essays and analysis papers, research papers and structured journal entries occupy my time. I am constantly learning new things from the university and its various teachers; new terms, ways of viewing things and approaching writing assignments….

To sum up the history of my literacy…..I owe my reading skills to my mother and my writing skills to my father. The university has also deepened my knowledge and added to my repertoire.

My Language and Literacy Development

The earliest moment I can remember about my early language and literacy development is when I was about four years old in preschool. My teacher had little paper signs up on a wall that went across from one end to the other much like the alphabet banner that is place above the front chalk or white board in elementary school classrooms. On these little signs were vowels and double, long sounding vowels like “oo” and “ee”. The was a little picture next to each of these vowels such as a bee next to “ee” and a book and a pool next to “oo”. I don’t really remember going over these in class, but I’m sure we did since they stick out in my mind so much after all these years. I also remember that my sheets in preschool that I used at naptime had my first and last name written in all capital letters in thick, black permanent marker on one corner, “SEAN TUCKER”. I remember thinking, “That’s not the way it should be. It should look like ‘Sean Tucker,’ with the little letters, not all big letters.” I remember even telling my mom about it and said “uh-huh” in the half-listening and uninterested way that parents do when their child tells them some trivial fact about their day at school.

Another early exposure I had to early language and literacy development was that my mother used to read to me quite often. I remember her reading my favorite book to me when I was five, a red hardcover book that had brief adaptations of many Disney cartoons and movies such as Pinocchio and some Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck stories. If my mom couldn’t read to me, I also had storybooks with records that I would listen to and follow along with the words and pictures. These were the ones that would chime or beep when you had to turn the page. I had many different ones: The Rescuers, Peter and the Wolf, Bugs Bunny, and Scooby Doo were some that I remember the most. I listened to these so much that I just about had everyone memorized.

Later on in life, from six years old to my teenage years, I always remember my parents reading various novels constantly. In fact, they still do. Because they read so much and read so much to me, I picked up reading leisurely at a vary young age. My grandma gave me many classics such as The Prince and the Pauper, Great Expectations, Treasure Island, The Time Machine, and War of the Worlds when I was in the fifth and sixth grades. My mom got me a set of Conan books and I read all of these and feel in love with them including the books my grandma gave me.

I feel that, for me, my family had a greater impact on my language and literacy development much more than school did. I don’t remember reading much other than little short stories in elementary school and I cannot remember even one of their titles or plots. But I remember all the books I read that my family gave me when I was in elementary and junior high school. I’m sure I did learn a great deal in school, but I just cannot remember specifics like I can with the things I learned from reading at home. In fact, what I do remember from reading at school seemed mechanical and forced unlike the pleasure I felt from reading at home for myself. It’s funny how I can remember the corrections my dad would make on my speech such as saying “may” when asking permission instead of “can” but I don’t remember much from my early teachers other than that they were there teaching something in the classroom. Because of my family’s love for reading, I have this love and I continue to pursue it via education, continued leisurely reading, and reading to my daughter whom I hope will pick up this habit from me as I carry on the tradition of reading to her, taking her to the library, and giving her many different books of which some are already favorites of hers.