Berrios 1 Melissa Berrios ENC 1102 Literacy Narrative I have been a military brat my entire life.

Growing up moving place to place was the highlight of my life. When we moved to Chile I was overjoyed. It was a new beginning. Somewhere where people didnt know about my disadvantage. Assimilating to a Hispanic culture was easy, it was learning to control my dyslexia that would prove to be a challenge. The school I went to was filled with the children of Chiles most elite. Almost fourteen acres in size, Nido de Augilas was the top K-12 center in the country. Everything was in tip-top shape and absolutely everything was high-end. The teachers were nothing like the ones I had when I lived in Virginia. First, they required us to call them by their first names and secondly, they promoted creative thinking. I was not used to having an entire day dedicated to the library, art, music, and even physical education. An institution, such as a library, is supposed to foster and help a sponsored gain literacy. In my case I sought shelter and comfort within the walls of my new enormous library. Aside from sheltering me from my dyslexic past the library was filled with an impressive collection of novels, childrens books, and encyclopedias. There were three floors filled with books. In this gargantuan spread the levels were divided amongst difficulty. The higher you went the harder the book. I remember the first day I stepped into the library; the librarian was this big burley man with a beard. He always told stories to my class some from the books in the library and others just seemed to spill out of his mouth. He would always tell us that we were allowed to check out three books at a time. For a moment I almost forgot I still had mild dyslexia and soon I became apprehensive about ever picking up a book.

Berrios 2 Every time we would visit the library it was the same routine and each and every time I would stare at all the books wondering what it would be like to be able to pick one up and just read. I am not sure exactly when I got the courage to go to the library on my own, but I did. I walked in and I went straight to the childrens section. I started looking at the books that came with an audio recording. I listened and followed along as I imagined what it would be like to be a mouse eating a cookie or what it would be like to be Amelia Bedelia. I read every single audio taped book. The scruffy burley librarian took notice and suggested that I start reading the Bernstein Bears books. I looked at him with disdain because I was in third grade and most third graders where reading the Magic Treehouse. I felt discouraged and ridiculed. In pursuit of a hobby and an after school activity I joined the Girl Scouts. One while waiting for my mom I decided that I should give the librarian and the library a second chance. I walked in and headed towards the childrens section. As I started to read the Bernstein Bears I realized that the burley librarian was only trying to help. The book wasnt easy and it wasnt hard; it was just right. After that, every chance I got I would visit the library. Before, after, and even in-between school hours. I read through every childs book the librarian recommended to me. I finally began to feel like a normal third grader! I could read and imagine the wonderful things that the author would depict. Growing up I never understood what the librarian had done for me. I felt like he was being nosey and bossy. It was only until I got to my second semester in college that I realized that the big burly man was a sponsor to me. He never let me lose faith in books and more importantly myself. Through the eyes of a third grader the man was just another teacher trying to get me to do something. However, thinking back I now see that what was once interpreted, as being bossy

Berrios 3 is just a librarians way of helping a lost dyslexic third grader. As fate would have it I moved up a grade level, the fourth grade was going to be a breeze with my newfound reading abilities. I was seen more at the library than I was in my own classroom. Over the year I read the entire first floor collection of books. This was nothing in my eyes, I thought I was still lacking in the reading department. I wanted nothing more than to erase my dyslexic past, and embrace a future filled with pages of novels and well written essays. The entire staff new my face by then. As the librarian and I bonded over Roald Dahl and various books he gave me permission to use the second floor. The high school students and various faculties only used the second floor and third floor. It was a tremendous privilege and I figured that I was just slightly ahead of my fifth grade classmates. I was very wrong. One day in class a counselor came in and gave us a reading exam. She told us it was to see at what grade level we were reading. I was beaming on the inside because I no longer would be at a first grade reading level. When the scores came in my teacher gave me a note for my parents. I was shocked to say the least. If at ten I new curse words I would probably say some very profane things to my teacher and that wacky counselor. According to the letter I was to meet with my counselor the following week. I am only in fifth grade so my rational reaction to all of this was dear god what have I done! When I was called to the counselor she asked if I liked to read and how many books I would read per week? Again I am in fifth grade I dont keep count of how many books I read, but I answered simply I love to read. The wacky counselor then tells me something that doesnt come as a surprise. She says Melissa you are reading at a 12th grade level. By the look on her face I thought she was going to ban me from reading anymore. However, it was the exact opposite.

Berrios 4 She encouraged me to continue and told me about all the different book fairs and authors that would be coming to our school. It wasnt the counselors fault that my fifth grade attention span thought poorly of her. Her friendly advice seemed awkward and forced. I know now that she was just trying to use me as a future statistic. Regardless, the counselor helped motivate me to explore the different facets of books and their authors. At this point I knew I was no longer the dyslexic girl. At that age I didnt want to be labeled as anything. I was tired of being dyslexic and when I finally got over it I became the center of every teachers pet project. To say the least, things got a lot easier as I grew older and grew out of the name the girl who read the entire library. In my classes now we always talk about how we learned to read and the different experiences we had along the way. It took me a while to think of the one experience that truly impacted my literacy. It wasnt until I moved to Chile that I was able to recreate myself. I was tired of being handicapped in my writing and reading. Moving gave me the incentive to actually get over my fear of failing. As I listened to everyone elses stories of how they learned to read I felt completely different. I didnt use flash cards, road signs, or computer games. Unlike everyone else it wasnt until I read the whole library that I actually began to really read. Before that everything was just jumbled up letters with hardly any meaning.