My Literacy Biography

For my Teaching of Writing class, I have to write a multi-genre paper (five pieces in four different genres). I've chosen to write about myself as a reader, which is important for me to explore before I start trying to transform my students into readers. This is due next Thursday, so I thought it'd be nice to post bits and pieces here and see what you guys think. That is, all two of you guys (er, gals) who actually follow this blog...

When my parents split up, my dad moved to an apartment two towns away. The first time he took me there, he wanted to show me how close he would be. We got stuck in traffic on the highway, and arrived 40 minutes later.

My dad would take me out to dinner on Wednesday nights, and I'd stay with him on weekends. It took him time to fill his apartment with the kind of clutter that makes a house a home. On one of our first Saturdays, we tossed a sock back and forth in his bedroom.

Even when possessions began to move in, I hesitated to explore the space. I slept on one side of my dad's bed for months, ignoring the new unpainted bunk bed I had been excited to get for when my friends slept over. I spent the nights watching college football or basketball, my dad cooking ravioli for dinner as the games ended and I signed onto AOL to browse the sports chat rooms. I'd go home on Sunday night with none of my homework done, my hair matted from not having showered all weekend. My mom scolded me, told me I was old enough to take responsibility for myself.

Responsibility was a big buzz word in seventh grade. After years of being led along by the hand, of having every step of every assignment looked at and commented upon and discussed one-on-one with the teacher, seventh grade was supposed to be the time I started to take education into my own hands. I got a B minus in Math the first marking period, then an A the second after the teacher agreed to tutor me privately. I was not ready for change.