Black History Taught me to Read
When I was going from kindergarten to first grade I switched schools. I was going from an inner-city school to the best elementary school in the city. I was living in a trailer with my mom, two sisters, my aunt and her three kids. My new classmates lived in gated communities with pool houses bigger than my trailer. You are probably how I was even there. My mom was parapro there, so she was allowed to bring her kids. Socially I’m a chameleon, that was not a hard adjustment. The school work, however, took some getting used to. Particularly sight reading I was behind my class.
I started out the year in remedial reading. That meant during time you were sent out in the hallway to read. It probably sounds like punishment to you. Yeah me too. The bigger problem is my teacher never told my mom, her colleague. One day my mom happened to walk by and found out. My mom is as proper as they come. When it comes to her kids all 5 foot of her is about that life. She was not happy. My teacher soon found out the error of her ways. Judging by how quickly I was back in the classroom was desperate to correct them.
My mom knew I needed to be challenged. Every day after school I had to sit at the table with a rather large workbook on African American history. It had passages on figures like George Washington Carver to MLK Jr. After each reading there were several pages of questions and crossword puzzles. I was learning a lot about my forefathers and mothers. I was also getting really good at reading. I began to really enjoy it.
The library became my favorite place. I read about Jackie Robinson. I was reading about Frederick Douglas. Over the next few years I became one of the better readers in my grade. Scholastic reading programs and free Pizza Hut pizza took it to another level. I would always go for books that were supposed to be above my reading level. When I went to sleep and ma said lights out she would catch me under the covers with a flashlight reading. I guess that is why I need glasses now.
As I got older I would ride across the highway to the nearest library in the neighboring town. I would grab 4–5 books at a time. Bring them all back in two weeks or less. I was having fun. I realize now I was getting in my 10,000 hours. I know it is the reason I have an extensive vocabulary and love to write. I’m thankful for a mother that ignited my passions in Black History and reading.
If only six year old me could have seen 18 year old me reciting the poem I wrote for graduation. He would not believe I can now read and write in two languages. I look back fondly on that kid. Something that seems like work has become play. Long before I stepped on a plane I traveled the world through the words on the page.