Project #2 Comp. & Culture

The narrator recalls a significant childhood memory of Friday night bedtime stories with their parents. They played memory and Uno together, and the narrator had trouble choosing which book to read. Their parents made the experience special by cuddling up with them and allowing them to make mistakes while reading. This nightly ritual helped the narrator develop a love for reading. However, as reading became required in school, it became less enjoyable and the love for reading faded. In 10th grade, a teacher helped the narrator rediscover their passion for reading by allowing them to choose their own books. By the end of the year, the narrator realized that their passion for reading had never truly gone away. They are grateful to their parents and the teacher for instilling and reigniting their love for reading. When I was about two or three years old, Friday night bedtime stories were the highlight of my week. However, one particular Friday night stands out to me as one of the most significant parts of my literacy journey. My mom got stuck working late, so it was up to my dad to keep the excitement of Friday nights alive. We started with a friendly, yet extremely competitive game of memory, because it was my favorite game. I always felt incredibly smart when I was able to get a match. We sat on the fuzzy carpet for hours and hours playing the game. Although I never won, my dad would always keep it close, so I would be excited and have fun. After playing memory, we would always play a few games of Uno. Sometimes when my dad got really bad cards, he would pretend they were extremely good, so I would want to switch cards with him. I usually always fell for it, and would get stuck with his lame cards. As it continued to get later, my dad tried to convince me that mom would want us to start our normal nightly routine without her. However, since it was a Friday night and some begging involved, my dad agreed to let us stay up and wait for mom. I raced upstairs to my room to start looking at which book I would want to read. My bookshelf only had two shelves, but we packed as many books that would fit onto it as we could. There was never any room to move the books around, or for the books to even lean when we took a book out to read. As I looked through what felt like endless books, I was unable to decide between my two favorite books, Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar, and Ten Little Ladybugs. My dad looked at me and said, what book do we want to read tonight? I just looked at him for a while before shrugging and saying that I was unable to decide. Luckily, my mom walked in and said that we can read both stories, if it would make me happy. I excitedly grabbed both books and jumped onto my bed. My dad picked up my pink, cozy, fuzzy blanket to help me get under it, and my mom handed me my favorite stuffed animal, which was a polar bear. I so creatively named him Polar Bear. My parents each sat on opposite sides of me and cuddled up to me. I was so eager with anticipation for my favorite part of the day. Finally, finally, finally, we were ready to begin reading. My dad would begin reading, and once we got to an easy word, ask. Can you tell me this word? I forget it. I would always answer, even if I was wrong. But my dad would never correct me. He would simply say, you are making the story your own tonight, baby girl. However, I always wanted to get the words right so I could impress him. I tried extremely hard. Once we finished the cookie book, it was time for my all-time favorite book, 10 Little Lady Bugs. It was my favorite because I was able to count down from 10, and it was something I knew how to do and was extremely good at. My favorite part of the book was the line, one little ladybug sitting all alone. Along came a breeze, and then she was home. I knew this line, and I could always read it along with my mom and dad. It was my favorite because all the ladybugs were finally reunited after their journeys with different animals to get back home. So my parents would allow us to repeat this line numerous times because it brought me endless joy. Just thinking about this moment allows me to hear the way I would giggle as my parents cheered me on, which is a memory I will always cherish. After we finished reading, I asked if we could read the story one more time, and my mom replied, this is the last story for the night. As my mom and dad took turns reading the pages to me once more, I dozed off somewhere in the middle of the story, probably dreaming about all the ladybugs making their way back home. This nightly ritual helped me to fall in love with reading, which is something that was extremely important to my parents because neither of them liked to read. I always looked forward to story time because it allowed me to have quality time with my parents, and I found the stories to be fascinating. I would get entranced with the adventures that the characters would go on, and I would just imagine myself going on those same adventures. I would be excited to see where the next story was going to transport us, which only deepened my love for reading further. However, fast forward to once I got older, the love and excitement for reading faded. Once reading became required in school, it became less fun. There was no more creativity in the reading. It became boring, and there was no more adventure, so I was not excited to see what the next page had in store for me. My struggle with reading continued up until I was in 10th grade. I had a teacher who noticed that a lot of the kids in our class didn't care for reading as much as some of her previous classes had. Therefore, she put emphasis on allowing us to pick some books that we could read throughout the semester. She told us she was only going to help us try to find our love for reading again. This made me realize how much I missed having that passion for reading. I used to get excited to pick up a book, and now that I got to choose what I was reading again, I found that excitement slowly coming back. By the end of the year, I realized that passion had never truly gone away. It was only hidden. So, I am so thankful for the passion for reading my parents helped install in me at a young age, and I am so thankful for that English teacher who helped me to rediscover my passion for reading.