My earliest memories of my father are of a man committed to education. Having received a Bachelor’s in Electrical Engineering from Ohio State and a Master’s in Computer Science from Depaul University, my dad was returning to school to pursue a doctoral degree in Pharmacy. Each weekday he would leave for the train station in the early morning, my sister, mother, and I waving from the dining room window.
In the evenings, Dad would retreat to the guest room for hours at a time, spreading his materials neatly in front of him on the bed. Under strict instruction, I was only allowed to interrupt his study sessions to say goodnight. Clad in my favorite My Little Pony Pajamas, I would crawl onto the bed to give him a hug. Some days, my mother would linger in the doorway to discuss plans for the following day, and I got the rare privilege of crashing his study session for a bit longer. My focus would turn to the pages of scattered notes and the open textbooks resting atop the comforter. I don’t remember the content of the textbook pages or what my Dad had felt noteworthy enough to write down. What I do remember is my awe at the sheer volume of words in front of me. Compared to my touch and feel books, this level of reading felt like a stratosphere away from me. Dad is SO smart I thought to myself.
With quiet diligence and an impressive work ethic considering he was also raising two toddlers at the time, my Dad finished his degree and went on to become a successful pharmacist. At the time, I couldn’t fully understand the enormous effort he poured into getting his degree. As a high school student with a pile of equally large textbooks sitting in my room, I am just as in awe of my dad as I was then. I merely possess the awareness now to appreciate the determination and grace that my dad showed in achieving all that he has.
Throughout my life, my dad has been a model of what an active, engaged, and persistent learner looks like. As much as I strived for that in my reading education, I often felt frustrated and inadequate.
These feelings first came about when I entered the first grade. I was venturing out of the world of kindergarten storytimes and afternoon reading sessions with my mother in the sheltered environment of our home. Mrs. Douglass, my kind and encouraging teacher conducted a pretest at the beginning of the year to assess each student’s reading proficiency. Based on the results, she sorted the students into groups of similar skill levels. To my utter dismay, I was placed in the beginner’s group, separate from all the friends I had made in kindergarten, who had been placed in the more advanced group. It became my mission that year to advance through the ranks and join my friends in the “cool group”.
With a stubborn attitude classic of any determined 6 year old, I completed my mission. I took books home from school and read them on the bus, frequently asking my mom about words I didn’t understand. I eventually made it to the most advanced group. To commemorate my achievement, I chose to read a chapter book from Mrs. Douglass’s collection for “advanced readers”. As quiet reading time rolled around, I confidently pulled out my advanced book and settled in. Turning to the first page, my mind went blank. I could pick out and words and phrases, but the compound sentences were much too complicated for me. Too prideful of my new status, I sat with the book in my lap for the next 30 minutes, turning the page every minute or so to give the illusion of comprehension. At the end of the day, I quietly slipped the book back onto the shelf, my confidence shattered.
It took another 2 years, hours of guided reading, and a boatload of frustration before I regained my confidence. During that time, I despised my family’s weekly trip to the library, uninterested in any book my mother suggested we read together. I wanted to give up. Through my mother’s tireless commitment to building her daughter’s progress, and my father’s steady example of a persistent learner, my confidence slowly grew, and my persistence to do so did to.
Willow hi! I love how you centered your interest in reading with your early memories of watching your father study. I could tell you had a lot of admiration for him and it was such a lovely way to frame the piece. I could see how it played an important part in your determination to become a better reader and join your friends in their reading group and I could see how you felt as you grew in those years after to build confidence as a better reader, and its really admirable! On another note with the photo you included of you exiting the bus… I really think I had the exact same outfit as you when I was younger!
Hi Beatie!
I’m going to leave this comment as I am… also on a call with you. This was such a wonderful read (and I especially enjoyed seeing how little you were in the pictures). When I was younger, I actually have very similar memories of seeing my dad off in the morning at the train station for him to go to work in Boston. I also had a similar experience with my first chapter book as you did, and I remember bringing a chapter book to kindergarten that I definitely didn’t know how to read.
This was so insightful into something I didn’t think I would find out about you. I remember we’ve talked about how you’ve had your library card with your first signature since you were five, so seeing this different side of your relationship with reading. I loved reading through this (especially with the ambience of a last-minute AP Chemistry study cram session with you and one Mr. Zievers). <3
Hi Willow, I really enjoyed reading your narrative. My dad is an avid reader too so I can relate, and I enjoyed reading about how you looked up to yours 🙂 I was also pleasantly surprised that your narrative turned out to be an underdog story, where you had a lot of buildup and determination to read but did not succeed right away. Instead, you had to go through a couple more years of frustration and hard work to be able to gain confidence in your reading, which made for a great payoff ending to your narrative that leaves readers feeling satisfied, especially because you are such a great reader/writer now. Also, love the inclusion of the picture of you when you were little, so cute!
Willow,
It’s so fun reading your early experience with reading! Your connection with your father and how he sets a good role model for you shaped your mindset and more importantly, who you are as a person. When I think of a role model in my life, I think of my mother. She learned English in her late twenties as second language, and it was not a simple task to do. Similar to your father, my mother is also very persistent with any goals she has set for herself. She finally grasps the basics of English after couple of years, and yet she is still taking class and tries to improve her English skills till today. I remember in middle school, I also went through a similar phase of “giving up” on reading. For me, it was because I couldn’t find any book that intrigues me and also I was too wrapped up in school work. I gradually lost my interest in reading any books outside of class because I felt it was like extra work for me. But by now, I recognize the importance of reading and how reading enriches our minds. Overall, I really love your writing and how you shared your story of change!
Willow,
First off, let me thank you for your comment — I know I’m really late to the party here but I’d like to get that out of the way anyways. So then, about your post… Well, how I feel about what I see in your post is quite similar to the perspectives of many others; I found the writing to flow really well and the unique perspective of a third party influence on your narrative, i.e. your father to be definitely cool. While you did comment on mine saying that my sister’s collection is what got me into the world of fiction — despite being a true statement — I do not believe that I would actually consider her to be the “role model” for my journey into literacy, as I was the rebellious child who not only wanted to do many of the things my sister did, but also wanted to have nothing to do with her in general. And at the end of your narrative, while I personally did not have (or at least do not recall) a time of frustration like that, I can still easily relate with more recent examples, like my grip on a violin bow (something I was forced to give up on, much to my immature chagrin as I saw kids joining orchestra holding their bows in their fists), or even programming in general. So in conclusion, I felt like you did really well here and I could definitely see “you” in this narrative, so this could certainly work really well as a college essay, at least to my untrained eyes.