Delaney Kerr - A Literacy History

       Underneath my basement radiator in my childhood home, in a mildly revolting amalgamation of dust bunnies, old buttons, small toys, and other tiny objects a child can easily lose if not already accidentally swallowed or broken, is a small white packet of practice reading books. I tenderly refer to this area as “the wreckage pile”, and there lies the corpse of my first ever endeavor into literacy: The Fat Cat Sat on the Mat, by Nurit Karlin. 

This book was gifted to me at four years old or so by my mother, who ever encouraged me to read. Although I cannot quite remember the depths to which my first book delved into obese felines, I do remember the sentiment my mother gave me when we first read the book together: never stop reading. My mother explained to me throughout my childhood the importance of education, especially as a woman. My mother worked multiple jobs, took care of two children, and did her best to raise them as well as she could. At the end of the day, she could have simply gone to bed, and she would have had every right to turn in early. But, my ever indefatigable mother always read with me before bed. She took me to worlds of wizards and dragons, on travels through space and time, to places my little mind could not have imagined.  This familial culture of positivity towards education allowed for great strides to be taken in my education. My mother’s dedication to reading and education transferred onto me, and I was soon reading books all on my own. 

One day, towards the beginning of my school career, I was tested in reading and writing. My teacher brought me out into the hallway, asked me to read, and proceeded to ask me questions about the text. I answered them casually, wondering why I was there and not eating my graham crackers at snacktime. Then, however, my teacher gave me a little green sticker, telling me I did well, and that I could read any books that had a green sticker on them. From then on, I had the very pretentious problem of not having enough people to talk to about books. I was hooked. 

        With my newfound love of reading, my desire to read only grew with age. Growing up, I had a very hard time making friends. I grew up with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, as a result of having streptococcal infection often as a child - a condition called P.A.N.D.A.S - so I missed many days of school, and was very scared of playing and interacting with other students. Reading allowed me an escape, from both sick days and my lack of friends. I soon read more and more, and became one of the best readers in the class. I began reading books for hours into the night, at lunch, and at home. With my buffed out vocabulary, I won class spelling bees and writing competitions. My obsession with reading was soon lost in success, and turned into a stinking, messy, unhealthy, and unbreakable obsession with being the best. 

        As I entered my teens, I continued reading, and excelling in English classes. I strived to have the best grades, to have my essays used as examples by my teachers, to be the smartest in the room. I forced myself to live up to impossibly high expectations, that no one was setting but myself. On one fateful day in sophomore year English class, I embarrassingly lost a graded debate with another student over a book I knew nothing about. I was exhausted of reading by this point, so I never completed the book. My love for reading that I had so lovingly built since four years old, came to a crashing halt over a subpar argument over Fahrenheit 51 by Ray Bradbury. 

        It has only been through trial and error that I now restore my love for reading, and as I start my new adventure in college, I hope to further rekindle that love. I wish to only grow my foundation of literacy as I become the new learner I hope to be. I understand now that I will not be the most influential writer, nor the most competent reader. My only goal now is to continue to grow, at my own pace. I hope to see from the university’s library window, my mother and my younger self peering back at me, happy with how far I have come. 

Left: My mother, younger brother, and myself; 2012

Right: My brother and I on the first day of school; 2013