As a child, I enjoyed reading stories such as “Where the Wild Things Are,” “The Very Hungry Caterpillar,” “There’s an Alligator under my Bed,” “If you give a Mouse a Cookie,” “If you give a Moose a Muffin,” “If you give a Pig a Pancake,” and all of the Dr. Seuss books. I remember my passion for library trips at school and with my parents, and the way I felt when I had a hot new book which was actually pretty old. For example, “Where the Wild Things Are” was displayed on the display shelf at Thomas Haley Elementary, and I knew I had to check it out because it was the book everyone had been reading at the time, or had already read. Come to find out, this same so-called popular book was around when my dad was checking out books at his elementary school. At that time, I wasn’t too thrilled that my dad knew about this new book before I did, but now I am amazed at the thorough rotation of children’s books that have been carried through generations.
My love for reading did not reflect my abilities in writing until about eighth grade. I was never the best writer grammatically or structurally, but I had a love for poetry. I didn’t read poetry as much as I wrote it, and I started writing it quite frequently. While in the eighth grade, I created a written journal with all of my poems. Occasionally, I would seek my English teacher’s advice on what he thought about certain poems, and to see if I really knew what I was doing. He was encouraging, and gave great criticism; with that I was able to create an elaborate and hardy journal of poems. Until one day, my family and I went to spend Christmas with my Grandmother in Vegas. I brought my journal with me on the trip. One afternoon, a couple of days before Christmas, we went out and returned to her home which had been burglarized. They left the Christmas presents and many other valuables, but they used my bag which had my poetry journal in it to take what they wanted. Since that day, I knew I wanted to write because I would have preferred them to have taken all of my Christmas presents than to have taken what I felt was a part of me, my poetry. Even as an adult, I feel as though I can never regain or recreate what I created as a child, its uniqueness and purity were stolen that day.
So, now I have this untamed desire to read and write continuously. My development as a writer is encouraged by my past, and I wish to grow into someone who is as unique and as pure as what I feel I once created. I wish to grow into someone who can be an influence to not only the classroom, but my family and peers. Literacy is a way of life for me, and I plan to read and write on exponential levels because it is what I actually love doing.