Stephanie Schulz ENGL 458 Literacy Narrative Reading as a Social Literacy Reading has never been just about

the book. For as long as I can remember, the most important part of reading a book has not been the words or content, but the act of reading. From an early age, my family taught me that reading is active. Reading is interactive. Reading, even when you read by yourself, is a social experience. As such, some of my longest lasting and most meaningful relationships are based in literacy. I. Amy My older sister Amy and I have an odd relationship. Amy didnt teach me to put on make-up. She didnt teach me to flirt. We dont share clothes. We never gossiped about boys. We dont like the same music. Sometime in my early teenaged years, we even stopped fighting like siblings. Despite the lack of traditional sisterly bonding, Amy and I have a strong sense of solidarity. Sure, much of our bond comes from shared history and necessity; when your parents are separated, its advantageous to have an ally. Allies, however, dont have to be friends. Amy and I listened to bedtime stories together for years. I read books she had chosen, passed on like hand-me-down clothes. Amy had always been present in my literary development, but the first time she drastically changed my attitude toward literacy didnt occur until I was eight years old. It was a hot summer day. I was bored out of my mind. From my current position, sprawled under the living room coffee table, I looked longingly out the big picture window, wishing for something fun to do. Id run out of activities saved up for days like this and only had my sister as company, but she wasnt going to play with me. She had recently become obsessed

with a book and, though I would only admit it to myself, I was jealous of that book for all the attention it was getting from Amy. Steph, what are you doing? I rolled out from under the coffee table. As I sat up, I replied, Being bored. You should read this book, its really good, she said, holding up the book I was coming to hate. I could read the first chapter to you. I resisted a bit out of principle. An eight-year-old shouldnt be too eager to spend time with her sister, but I was desperate. I made a big show of giving in. We went downstairs to the living room where it was cooler. We sat cross-legged, facing each other. I didnt really like when Amy read to me because it made me feel young, but I was going to let her for now. She opened the book, a bigger book than I had ever read, and started to read. Chapter one, the boy who lived. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.... Harry Potter wasnt the only book Amy and I shared, but it was the first that really meant something. From that day on, reading became something we could fall back on when we had nothing else to share. As we got older, we started to share our writing as well. Amy would write a short story, I would read it and give my opinion and a few suggestions. Then I would retreat to my room to write, trying to imitate her more mature style, hoping my creation would be worthy of being compared to hers. When she reached junior high, Amy joined the speech team. She excelled in the category of Creative Expression, which involves the speakers performing their own creative works. Amy never wanted to share her speeches with our parents or other family members. I was the only one in the family allowed to hear or even read her work, and, though I

couldnt admit it at the time, I was always pleased that I was given that honor. In seventh grade, when I joined the speech team, Amy was the first person I went to for advice. Even when Amy went off to college, we still emailed each other class papers, speech outlines, and a plethora of book recommendations. Though Amy and I have spent the last five years living in different towns, going to college and deciding what to do with our lives, we still have a close relationship. We chat regularly. I send still send her papers for feedback. Amy sends me resumes and application essays for editing and ideas. Every month or so, we see each other for long enough to trade our most recently discovered books. Whenever we have time, we sit down for a few hours to rave about our favorite literature. Shared literary history continues to sustain our relationship. II. Karen My aunt Karen is a school psychologist. She works with elementary age children with learning disabilities. As such, she knows a lot about child development and the importance of creative expression. Also, she doesnt work during the summer. I spent a lot of time with Karen over summer vacations. Sometimes, I would even get to sleep over at her house. Those days were every childs summer dream: exploring outside, eating picnic lunches, making a glittery mess of art projects, playing with the pets, dragging old board games out of the closet, building forts, and doing just about anything else I could dream up. The best part of the day, however, was reading time. Karen can read out loud for a longer time than anyone else Ive ever met. She also has an appreciation for childrens literature that most adults claim to have lost (though Im pretty sure even the most sophisticated readers of Hemingway and Steinbeck still keep copies of their favorite Hardy Boys, Boxcar Children, or Nancy Drew books as their guilty pleasures). If I

didnt have a good library book with me, we would take a flashlight and venture into the closet under the stairs (which would later gain more significance) where Karen kept crates full of old books. Flashlight in hand, I waded through the dusty storage containers, making a beeline for one specific crate. Earlier in the summer, I had sorted through the dozens of volumes in Karens basement and consolidated all the potentially good ones into this one spot. I already knew exactly which book I wanted. As Karen waited in the doorway, I juggled the flashlight in one hand and dug awkwardly through the stacks of books, searching, piling books haphazardly around me. Finally, I found what I was looking for. I hastily replaced the unwanted books back in place. I emerged from the cramped closet victorious, a worn copy of Hank the Cowdog clutched in one hand. The lawn chairs were already set up outside. Tucker, Karens golden retriever, had managed to tangle his leash around them while we were inside. While Karen went to the kitchen for two glasses of lemonade, I attempted to untangle Tucker, even as he danced around me exuberantly. A minute later, Karen came outside and had to untangle Tucker, the leash, the chairs, the tree, and myself. We arranged the chairs next to each other in the shade. The glasses of lemonade were placed next to us on the ground. I curled up in my chair, my feet tucked underneath me, and looked at Karen expectantly. This was a familiar routine. Karen cleared her throat. She took off her glasses and placed them on top of her head. She opened the book, smoothed back the pages, and started to read. Chapter one, bloody murder. Its me again, Hank the Cowdog. I just got some terrible news. Theres been a murder on the ranch....

Karen cultivated in me the belief that a person is never too old to be read to out loud. In junior high, I read Mark Twain for the first time. Halfway through Huck Finns epic journey, I was frustrated to the point of tears by the unfamiliar dialect. Without hesitation, Karen sat down, cleared her throat, took off her classes, smoothed the pages of the book, and proceeded to bring the classic story to life. When the fourth Harry Potter book was released, Amy warned me that the last few chapters might be frightening (Ive always been a bit of a wimp). I called Karen. We curled up on the couch. Karen cleared her throat, placed her glasses on top of her head, smoothed the pages back, and got me through the dark chapters I couldnt face on my own. Even now, as a college student, I still enjoy listening to Karen read. The last few summers, on our annual family vacation, Ive shared a hotel room with Karen and her grandson, Dominik. We quickly established a routine. After everyone settles in for the night, Karen reads out loud for Dominik. Across the room, I curl up, close my eyes, and listen to the same stories Karen read over a decade ago, pretending were in the backyard shade, sipping lemonade while Tucker tangles his leash around our lawn chairs.

Obviously, Amy and Karen werent the only people who encouraged my literary development. My parents taught me to read. I have many fond memories of bedtime stories and, to this day, they continue to support my development as an English major. However, reading is not the basis of my relationship with either of my parents the way that it is with my sister and my aunt. This is why my relationships with Karen and Amy are so importantthey taught me how to use reading to relate with other people. In fifth grade, I befriended a girl who sat next to me in band and like the same fantasy books I read. Six years later, we shared a locker decorated with art inspired by Robert Jordan

books, traded new (and old) favorite novels almost daily, and reveled in our status as band geeks. Now, after eleven years of friendship, she is helping me stick out my last year of college, I am helping her start her own photography business, and we long ago gave up on remembering which of our books belong to whom. Another literary friendship began in high school. It started as an acquaintance of mutual benefit. Neither of us trusted any other classmates to take peer editing seriously, and we were serious writers. We traded writing suggestions for several months until, with just a slip of the tongue, we discovered a shared guilty pleasure: fanfiction. After a week of geeky bonding, we were inseparable until graduation. A few years later, my ability to bond over shared reading paid off in the literal sense. After my second years of college, I landed my current job at a bookstore where I work with fellow bookworms and I am paid to discuss books with complete strangers. My closest friends, my job, and my status as an English major can all be traced back to my early experiences learning to read socially. Reading together is vital to a childs literary development. Parents and teachers are, of course, very important in encouraging children and shaping their reading skills. However, I believe that it is the extra literary sponsors that really make a difference. Whether those sponsors are siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, or school friends, they all serve the purpose of broadening a childs horizons beyond their parents influence and they teach children to share their interests and ideas with others. While reading together, children learn social skills that can shape their relationships for the rest of their lives.