Literacy Draft

For 20 years, I’ve lived entire life to get to this moment right now. I haven’t necessarily spent all that time building up to write my climatic literacy narrative for my Writing class, but rather, all I have is this moment right now. The same will be true in ten years and then, should I do this exercise again, I would certainly write a drastically different piece. As for my relationship with reading and writing, it can be summed up in 2 simple stages in my young life: 1) A long “Dark Age” with small increments of notable material - and - 2) A still existing renaissance that started about 5 years ago. Since this mental “rebirth” of the written word (and language in general) within me, I find myself constantly reshaping the way I perceive every day. As for the purposes of this paper, I will directly relate my developments in literacy with my reaching the age of reason, as well as; I will present the logical evolution in my literacy development as well as my own memory allows. Furthermore, I will begin at the beginning.
My earliest memories of reading and writing are few and far between. My earliest, I couldn’t have been more than 4 for. Every night before bed, my mother read me the same Thomas the Tank Engine picture book. Eventually, I would read it to her. I had not mastered reading at such a young age; I simply had it memorized.
A few years later, I’d say around age 7, I was working in my phonics book in school. My teacher asked the class to turn to page whatever. As usual, she asked if anyone wanted to try to read the directions (my class and I were learning to read around this time as well). I raised my hand and said I would try. I read those directions like I had been reading for years and received three gold stars for it. It was pretty epic.
Around the same time as the direction reading affair, I was in the car with my mother and the radio was on. Some generic 90’s College Rock song was on that I happened to like at the time. When I arrived home, the melody was still in my head so I did something I now find very interesting; I wrote my own words to the tune. I wrote a song. I vaguely remember the lyrical content being about some baseball players I was a fan of and the girl across the street I had a huge crush on then, but I can’t recall specifics. I’d give quite a bit today, to have that piece of paper I scribbled that chicken scratch song onto. Unfortunately, it was probably disposed of within the few days after it was written.
Flash forward a few years and you’d find I had moved once, grown a lot, and developed a knack for not doing my homework. You would also find me, at least on one evening, in my parent’s kitchen, crying. What 5th grader wants to do a book report? As you’ve probably guessed, I certainly didn’t at the time. I remember I had barely read the book I had to report on and my paper had almost reached the two page requirement, when my mother asked to proofread it. As soon as I handed it over, I knew trouble was on the horizon. “You have to rewrite this. There are mistakes everywhere.” Already fed up with this stupid book report, I wouldn’t have it. I got very angry first, but when that didn’t get my way, I began to cry. The last thing I wanted to do was rewrite that damn report. In the end, I lost. The paper was rewritten.
There would be a long gap in between this event of significance and the next. In that time, I moved again, went through all of middle school, got a whole new set of friends three different times and changed the person I was every four or five months. I was a very confused young adolescent. But then, like a beacon shining out over the sea on only the stormiest of nights, I found someone real to me. I was a Sophomore in high school. I was typically angry all the time, misunderstood. I had acne. I was to skinny. I hated wearing eye glasses. School was going awful. I felt terrible. I met Holden Caulfield.
It cannot be overstated how much The Catcher in the Rye changed and reshaped me. Up until I read that book, I hated reading and writing. The deepest thoughts I had were what was I doing after school. Then, all of a sudden, I found myself engulfed in what this fictional kid a year older than me had to say about a few measly days in his life. I finished the book the day after I received it. I went crazy. I reshaped every thought I had ever had. It’s harder to explain than it is to understand, but I believe it is best described as a change in direction. My ideas were reinforced by the prospect that others who read the book told me that Holden reminded them of me. I was completely reinvented. I quit the terrible band I was in and started playing by myself, and writing my own songs. I began reading every book I could get my hands on, at least if they seemed like books Holden would approve of. It was around this time I began to drink and go to parties and really expand myself socially. It all happened in an instant and yet it took more than a year. More significantly, I now know had only made a small leap in where I wanted to be. I wanted to write and I loved music. I wanted to write songs. But I hated that high school heart ache bar chord terrible monotone screaming no talent bull shit that I was listening too. I needed something else to give me something more. I found it in what I think is the greatest way I could have.
I had tried smoking marijuana well before the start of my senior year of high school. I did it once in a while but it was only casually and with no real developed taste for it. Two close friends of mine asked me early on in senior year if I was interested in going out with them one night. When they picked me up, I asked where we were going. They said we were just going to drive around and as we left my neighborhood, I was handed a joint to smoke. After getting well away from the main roads we each lit up simultaneously and I heard the sound of a voice I’ll never forget hearing for the first time. “I dig a pygmy by Charles Halltree on the deaf-aids! Phase one in which Doris gets her oats!” That was all it took. John Lennon’s gibberish at the beginning of the Beatles’ album Let It Be killed me on the inside and left every pore of my skin to be filled up by the rest of the album that follows. Other Beatle albums followed: Revolver, the White Album, Abbey Road, Rubber Soul. I couldn’t get enough and the three of us at least a few nights a week met up and let them blow our minds all over again. We’d roll a few joints, get in a car, put on whatever we wanted to listen to, and get high as hell. Soon, Pink Floyd, The Doors, The Rolling Stones, Simon & Garfunkel (among others), joined the party. It was a great awakening for all three of us and any others who joined us on random occasions. And yet I still had so much left to learn.