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Khalif Dean
Miss E
UWRT 1103-036
23 September 2014
The literacy narrative of a great
Throughout my educational career I always had mixed feelings about English classes.
When I would get my schedule I never enjoyed seeing language arts, English 1 or simply writing.
Its not like I disdained these classes but it was never anything I was excited for. Writing just
never was my strong suit, and I was never good at it. Well to some I may have been good,
because I always could describe what I wanted to say very well, but it never reached my
expectations for excellence. Reading was different, I would read all day, when everyone else
playing games I would have a novel or a comic book. As I would get lost in a book I would look
up to those heroes who were filled to the brim with moral upstanding; characters to look up to
who could not make any mistakes. Reading brought me to a world with heroes; all of them
filled with high moral upstanding, someone to look up to that couldnt make mistakes. Reading
was not work to me while writing assignments was always greeted with a sigh. I had insecurities
about how neat my writing was, rather how neat it wasnt. I never wanted to give my
assignments to others, out of fear of criticisms. These tendencies developed over time and I
believe the biggest contributor to this was my parents and my teachers.
When I was 5 years old I Remember getting into a fight with my older sister and for
punishment my mother made us sit down at the dining room table and write I will not fight my
older sister over and over and over. Dont move ya narrow behinds until you wrote it five
pages back to back. I hate you Maya, I said to my sister,

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I hate you too stupid, she said.

This was the recipe that always got me into trouble and it was a miserable experience.
Youre always getting me into trouble she said. My mother is by no means a large woman, but
she put fear into me when she yelled.
If ya keep on fighting ya are going to get whooped and then Im going to make both of you
start over.
He started it, Maya said.
No I didnt, I lied.
Not another word! my mother boomed.
Well that was enough for me I put my head down and got too writing. It would take me
hours of sitting at that old wooden table, my right hand cramping badly, stomach grumbling
because we were not allowed to eat dinner until we were done . I never wanted to get in
trouble again because I had hand cramps at five years old. I believe situations like that make me
disdain writing like I do; it was used as a form of punishment since I was a child and that can
have some damaging effects.
Reading on the other hand is a blessing from god above. I enjoyed it more than any
other subject in class since I was a child. In the 5th grade I asked my teacher Ms. Johnston could
I go to the library to get a book.
She responded yeah you can take this pass, only go to the library and back here dont
even go drink water, and be back before 8:00 am.
I would take off running down the ramp from my trailer and run until I got all the way to
the building. As soon as I would walk in warmth would wrap my body you could smell the musty

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aroma of old books and new ones alike. Hello, Mrs. L, I would say as soon as I walked in she
would always greet me with a smile and take my books I was returning. I would then get lost
and in the books set up. I would go from the novels to the comic books, to the children books.
Anything I could get my hands on I was reading.
Khalif it is 7:55 Mrs. L Said lets go.
I ran to check out my books and sprint back to my old trailer. Ms Johnston would
already have my pass made out every morning. Then one day one of my friends, KJ, asked could
he go with me, Ms. Johnston said sure., Then Daeshaun wanted to go, then Keionia , sooner
than later the entire class wanted to go. So on one morning I came up to Ms. Johnston to get
my pass and I watched her always smiling face drop.
She said I am sorry Khalif buy you cannot go to day because we have to do it on
rotation now.
I am not going lie, I was upset about not being able to get my books. As I look back at
that year i realize that the acceptance of being a reader in my class made have encouraged me
to keep reading. Reading was popular in that class; someone who read was not considered
lame, or nerdy. Under that teacher my reading skills really thrived and I think it is one of the
reasons I am an excellent reader today.
In my Elementary school the 4th grade writing exam was a thing of legend. It was said
that they sat you in a dark cold room with metal chairs and you could not say a word. I was told
that if you passed and got a three that the gates of heaven would open up to you. If you got a
two I was told that your career was over, because you would be back in the 4th grade the next
year. My teacher in the 4th grade was a stern woman name Ms. Moton. She had Carmel skin

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and didnt stand much over five feet tall, she was a very petite pretty lady, but she was
ferocious. If you messed up once in her class you knew that you were getting a phone call home
in the next hour. Ms. Moton stressed this exam from the day we got into her class, but when
the month of the exam came she kicked us into overtime. She had us writing multiple practice
exams a day, and she had no fear of putting you on blast if your work was not up to par. Now
writing was not my strong suit and I had a big mouth so I would be put on blast daily. I would
finish my exam, hand it to her she would read over it and mark a giant 2 on my paper and say,
Do it again.
To this day the phrase do it again is the most demoralizing phrase a human can utter. I
would go back to my cold metal chair and get back to writing. Once I Wrote the best story I
have ever written before, I just knew it would make me get my first three. I handed her my
masterpiece she looked at it for three seconds
And said Do it again.
I was heartbroken I knew that was the greatest paper I have ever written and I knew I
couldnt imitate it, but I had to get the three. Then one day I sat down and worked the entire
writing period, I didnt talk, I stayed on task determined to get that 3. With my palms sweating I
handed Ms. Moton my paper. I paced around my seat in anticipation, she called my name with
a smile and said congrats Khalif you did it, I was ecstatic; the excitement could not be hidden
from my face. She stood me in front of the class and said
See if Khalif can get a three you all can get a three.

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As I walked to my seat my smile left my face, the dimples that are a constant presence
on my cheeks faded. Even at 9 years old I had a strong since of pride so a tear would not dare
dropt was then I realized that I was the standard of bad writing in my class if I could anyone
could, mediocrity was not something that sat well with me. I just didnt have the skill.
Since I was very young my parents would stress the importance of reading. My parents
would buy new books and read them to me and my siblings weekly.
Reading makes you smart, My father always said.
Now though I do believe my parents played an important role in my love of reading, I
dont believe that they had the biggest affect. The reason I say this is because my parents were
too busy trying to expand my horizon with books than me enjoying the books for what it is
worth. The books they read were old folk tales from Asia to Africa which was hard for an eight
year old to connect with. I remember the first book that I feel in love with. In the 4th grade I was
introduced to a book called Bud not Buddy written by Christopher Paul Curtis. Though Ms.
Moton was far from my favorite teacher, she did help instill the love reading I have today. All of
my classmates were given this book and we would sit in the middle of class and she would read
out a chapter to us. From the first day I opened the book I fell in love with it, the story was
exciting, the characters loveable, and the ending was fairly happy. Though it wasnt relatable to
my experience, being based on an African American child in the 1920s, I could emphasize with
the things bud was going through because of how well it was written. It was the first time I
could put myself in a characters shoes and it felt amazing.

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For me reading was like the sun, it brightened my day, it gave me life in a since it was a
gift. Writing is like the night sky, while there is some wonder about it, I rather the sun. Things
get done when the sun is out, and the freaks come out at night. The comparison is meaningful
though because what is the sun if it has no night sky to light; just as what is the worth of writing
if it cannot be read and vice versa. Reading opened another amazing world for me, while
writing opened up my early shallow grave.