Being Shown New Worlds Through Literacy by Madalynn Mumme
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH. My friend draws all over her paper and turns towards me. I glance up from my masterpiece of artwork and look at hers. How Cute! A little baby kitty and its mommy kitty! “I love it, Olivia,” I exclaim. “I will show you mine when I am done.” Looking at my paper wondering what else to add, I begin to draw myself with my mom. Okay, so here’s me. I got a purple dress. Mom gets the red dress. I almost forgot! I need to add a big circle here. Done! At the bottom of the paper lay three blank lines for us to write our descriptions. I begin to write what I believe says: “my mom is going to have a baby girl.” In reality, it reads: “my mom having a dady girl.” With my paper in my hand, I shove it in her face. “I drew me and my mommy! The purple one is me and the red one is my mom! My mom has a circle on her tummy because she is going to have a baby,” I explain to Olivia. “My mommy is having a baby too! My baby is going to be a boy,” she says. I try to remember what my mom is having. That’s right, a baby girl! I tell her that my mom is having a girl. Before I know it, my mom is at the door waiting for me.
*****
At the age of four, I got the letters d and b mixed up quite often. After a year of practice, I got my letters straight. I was now somewhat literate. Between kindergarten and first grade, my family and I moved from Farmington to Waterville, Minnesota. During this time as well, I started speech therapy.
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The door connecting the first-grade classroom and the small back room shuts with a click. I glance around the room and notice a table with two chairs. Heading towards the chairs, my teacher does the same thing. I pull out the chair –scraaaaaape– and sit down. In front of me was a small hand-made paper book. “This book is filled with words that start with the letter f,” Mrs. H informs me while turning the front cover. “The first word is friend. Can you say ‘friend’ with a /f/ sound,” my teacher asks. How do I make a /f/ sound? Ok, I have to put my front teeth over my bottom lip. I start to get a sound out: “/f/ /f/…friend.”
In a swift movement, Mrs. H starts clapping her hands in a thunderous manner while flashing me with a toothy grin. “You did it, Maddy! I am so proud of you!” I realize what I did and burst out of my chair in glee. My teacher gets up from her chair and opens the connecting door. Chattering voices fill the bustling room. The loudest voice I hear is of my friend Calista. I skip to the classroom and tell them my exciting news.
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Growing up, I loved to listen to my parents when they read to me and my sisters. They read us The Rainbow Fish; The Giving Tree; Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? and the like. My mom taught me how to read by using A Treasury of Dick and Jane and Friends. My nana and my sisters also learned how to read using this book. My mom and I spent thirty minutes together reading this book every night. The use of short repeated words was the trick to getting me to recognize words. When I learned how to read, books only kept my attention for a short time. My attention was better spent obsessing over my weekly memory work.
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The First Commandment. You shall have no other gods. What does this mean? We should fear, love, and trust that…trust that. Ugh! What is it again? We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things. That’s it! -THUMP THUMP- THUMP- my mom knocks on the door with her balled-up fist. “Come downstairs and watch Finding Nemo with us.” I sit my memory worksheet back in its folder, put it grudgingly to my side, and go downstairs. Just as the seagulls in Finding Nemo only fixated on saying “mine mine mine,” I refashioned this scene by repeating my memory work throughout the showing.
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Hyper Fixating on homework first occurred for me in first grade in Janesville, Minnesota. This school year, I transferred from kindergarten in Farmington to first grade at Trinity Lutheran School. I was diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, also known as OCD. One of the ways it manifested was through needing to get homework and assignments done perfectly. I hyper-fixated on everything. If I did not ace my memory work, all pandemonium would break loose. To avoid this, my parents would justifyingly help me daily to memorize the passages to my liking. My mindset stayed the same until fourth grade. My elementary school did the Accelerated Reader program, known to others and myself as AR. In AR, you read books and get tested on information from said books. The reading level, genre, and length of the book determines the amount of earnable points possible. When I was introduced to AR, my passion for reading was exhilarated. It was not so much passion for literacy itself but more so for competition.
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I make my way to the school library to pick out a new book to read. Thousands of books sit peacefully collecting dust in the small room. Shelf after shelf is overflowing with literature. I scan the colorful packed shelves. Ultimately, I wander into the fiction area. Harry Potter? It’s longer than I would like. The Special Edition Fairies Books? No, I have read all of these. Wings of Fire The Dragonet Prophecy? This looks interesting. I hold the book in both of my hands. The cover feels smooth and soft, very pleasing to the touch. An orange fire-breathing dragon stretches across the book. Moving my fingers towards the corner of the book, I turn to page twelve. When the war has lasted twenty years…the dragonets will come. When the land is soaked in blood and tears…the dragonets will come. “Oh my,” I gasp. As soon as I read the first paragraph, I make up my mind. I march my way toward my teacher and check out the book.
The cliffhanger at the end of the first book intrigued me too much to just stop the series. I read through the first, second, third, and so on. In about two months, I read eight of the fifteen books in the series. With every chapter read, I felt more like a part of the dragon’s world than my own reality. I felt closer to Clay and the other dragons, more so than my own biological sisters. The reading came easy to me, but the AR tests came easier. Due to how fast I was completing books and testing them, I ranked high in the class.
*****
Mrs. Lund clears her throat with a booming AHEM in front of the classroom. She whips around and grabs a black dry-erase marker to write on the whiteboard. The whiteboard marker moves trekking along. I look in all directions at the desks around me and spot my friend who can easily pass as my twin. Calista and I make eye contact with each other. Her bright blue eyes were wide as the board became dirty. Her eyes pierce mine and I can tell that she is just as confused as I am. What is all this writing for? With each passing second, there is a new number on the board. Now on the board that was once clean were all of our names. I quickly scan the list for my name. Third, Madalynn. Three-hundred and fifty-two points. Mrs. Lund senses the room’s energy rapidly gaining volume and chaos. “Okay class,” she announces, “the list on the board is the class ranking for AR points. The three students with the highest points will get a prize.” At the end of the day, the two other placers and I go over to our teacher’s desk. Mrs. Lund pulls out three brown paper sandwich bags. She places my gift in my cupped hands. I reach inside and feel something fluffy. What could it be? My hand slips into the bag as a snake would retreat into its hole. My fingers are met with crumpled tissue paper. I poke my finger through the thin layer and widen the hole. Through the opening, I see colored slippers in my favorite colors. Blue and purple slippers! Fun! My fingers graze the intricate details of the yarn weavings. I thank her tremendously while giving her a long hug. As I journey from the classroom to outside, I walk with a pep in my step. Running a full sprint to my mom outside, I show her the prize I won for being a great reader.
*****
The older I got, the more competitive I became. Each year, my name was coupled with the number three on the list. I knew that first and second place were unreachable. The two kids who held those spots easily got over seven hundred points. As long as I was at that elementary and middle school, it was my goal to stick my ground. This would end going into eighth grade.
Due to bullying not being handled appropriately, my parents made the decision of transferring me and my sisters to Waseca Public Schools. The new school ended up being the high school I would eventually attend. The change in scenery was refreshing for me. I broke out of my comfort zone. The more social I became, the less I read. The reason I stopped reading was that AR was no longer prevalent. No AR meant no reason to read. From eighth grade onwards, I only read when required. The next book I read was Animal Farm.
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FLIP FLIP FLIP. Pages rustle while turning in near unison. “Top of page twenty. What commandment seems the most outrageous?” Mr. Oraskovich asks the class. In the book, the commandments are a set of rules created by the pigs that have taken over the farm. I shoot my hand in the air. “Commandment number seven,” I answered proudly. A nod of approval is sent my way. Mr. Oraskovich then announces that “we will learn shortly that in the book, some animals are more equal than others.” As we continue to read, we decipher each chapter. Finally, we reach the end. As a reward, Mr. Oraskovich allows us to watch the movie. Now being done with this unit, we march on to the next.
Next in line is the poetry unit. Great… Now for some stories by some random guys. Our teacher walks behind his desk and pulls out a light blue average-sized poster. It reads: “Hold fast to dreams | for if dreams die | life is a broken-winged bird | that cannot fly. | Hold fast to dreams | for when dreams go | life is a barren field | frozen with snow.” Our teacher says: “Dreams by Langston Hughes. Every day that we have class, we will repeat and learn this poem together.” Mr. Oraskovich passes out our first project. The top of the paper reads: “Create your own poem. For this project, create one of these styles of poetry: haiku, sonnet, or free verse.” I turn the sheet around and look along the directions for the rubric table. As I scan the table, my eyes settle on one bullet point: “The background for your poetry has to be created in an artistic fashion.” We have two weeks to get this project done; I complete mine in one. For the rest of the year, I continue to write poetry. That was until COVID-19 lockdowns.
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Lockdowns occurred at the beginning of my sophomore year of high school. Between not being with friends and not being in person at school, I stopped reading. In the reading assignments, I only skimmed the passages. As long as I pass the class, that is all that matters. I kept this mindset going into senior year. Since I performed well academically, I signed myself up for the CIS Political Science course. This class offered college credit while explaining the contents of American democracy and government. There is a slower-paced class that contains most of the same content as this class that is offered to all seniors in high school. Since this class was being held up to higher standards, I had to change my tendencies about reading, especially when it came time to do our current issues paper. This paper had to be based on a current news article and had to explain a problem with freedom, order, or justice. It had to be one to two pages long and be MLA formatted.
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Now it was time for my first paper. What should I do? I open my Chromebook and start typing. Within a minute and multiple clicks “Current COVID-19 news 2021” lies in my search bar. I begin to look through the articles and settle on one that disproves the theory of microchips being implanted in vaccinations. It takes me over an hour to perfect my essay. The last thing I have to do is title my work. I know the perfect thing: “Chips aren’t just for eating.” Brilliant! This is the best title I have ever come up with! It was now time to go around the class and discuss our papers. I volunteer to go first. “Chips aren’t just good for eating. That’s my title,” I tell the class. A couple of chuckles rose around the classroom. That’s a good sign! I proceed to summarize the article and reflect on the class. One after the other, the entire class finishes. As we all begin to pack our bags, Mr. Hanson tells us that our next issue paper is canceled. Instead, we are to read a political book. While reading, we are to journal, create a slideshow, and present it to the class. The scariest thing he tells us is that there is a time limit: eight to ten minutes long.
I stumble into the classroom. The classroom feels like a zoo. Students are climbing over desks, papers are accidentally dropped to the ground, and staples are being pierced and bound through paper piles. I make my way toward my spot while having tunnel vision at the matted-down blue carpet under my feet. Now by my desk, I sit down. Everything is okay. Everyone has to present their book. Nobody will remember your presentation. Take some deep breaths. In one…two…three…out one…two…three. Taking deep breaths in my chair, my teacher explains the plan for the day. Just my luck, my name is called to present first. I sit in my uncomfortable seat for seconds. Absolute fear drowns my thoughts. I shift towards my backpack and with a ziiiiiiiiiiiip, it opens. I grab my one-hundred-page journal and my political book, making sure to not give myself a paper cut. Slowly, I get up and give my teacher my journal. The room is dead silent. “Whenever you’re ready,” Mr. Hanson tells me. Take a deep breath. Go! I start my speech, “Hello class, I will be presenting one of Ann Coulter’s most infamous and controversial books: If Democrats Had Any Brains, They’d Be Republicans.” The words fall out of my mouth like a waterfall. I feel like I am running a marathon, wanting to stop to catch my hurried breath and drink cold water- just wanting to give up. Before I know it, I make it to the last slide. With a click my teacher stops his stopwatch. “Nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds. You made the time limit by two seconds… that’s a new class record!” Mr. Hanson proclaims. The room fills with a roar of applause. Relief rushes over my body as I sit down.
Once everyone has presented, it becomes a waiting game for when the results will be in. A week later, I get my score back. Mr. Hanson walks throughout the classroom and puts our journals on our desks. With a thump mine now stares back at me. I take a deep breath and open my papers in search of the rubric. I turn to the page and cover the score with my hand before anyone else sees it. I want to be the first to see my score. My hands now lay cupped together over the grade. I slowly move my hands—grade: A+ 98%. A smile grows across my face. Not only did I get a better score than I thought, but I also got extra credit for my journaling as well. I can’t wait to show my parents! My hard work really paid off!
*****
The grade I received from my long book report solidified my newfound confidence in my ability to do public speaking. Without this project, I would have never been able to truly overcome my fear of standing alone in front of people. I still get nervous when I have to speak in front of people, but the more practice I do in front of crowds, the more I believe in myself.
From being read to, reading for my own enjoyment, reading for a grade, and finding a new passion in poetry; literature has been with me throughout my life. Memory work taught me the importance of hard work and persistence. I would not have been able to memorize well if I only studied for a couple of minutes. Friendly competition, if you want to achieve greater things you need to put in considerable effort, and the importance of a good book was revealed in AR. Mr. Oraskovich introduced me to the fantastic and captivating world of poetry. Finally, my large book report pushed me outside of my comfort zone. Once I stepped out of my zone, I grew into a strong speaker. I overcame the doubts and anxiety that come with speech class. If I had not gone through these events, I would not be the reader and writer that I am today.