Thomas Armstrong Literacy Narrative Essay In my early youth I never considered reading to be an exciting experience.

In fact, I tended to avoid reading as much as possible. I would rather spend my time listening to music, going outside, or playing video games. It was not until the first grade that I came to terms with how empowering reading could be. That may not seem like a late time for one to accept reading as a form of entertainment, but for me it was needed. I grew up in a low income area, and the lifestyle of those around me was less than preferable. I had begun to assimilate to my surroundings, and for that my schooling had suffered. I had gotten into trouble consistently, whether at school or at home. It was hard for my mother to raise my sister and I by herself, but since my parents were divorced there was nothing much else to do. Eventually my mother felt it was needed that I move in with my father for a while to avoid conflict, and he agreed. I had just moved in with my father during the middle of the school year, and was having a hard time adjusting the new environment. My pursuit in reading picked up when my father and I were at a parent-teacher conference. Almost immediately I was having extreme difficulty in school. My teacher had suggested that I start reading more, and even provided a book called The Chalk Box Kid. I found the book to be easily relatable, and reading it gave me perspective and helped me cope with moving to a new place ad starting over. In a sense, the situation of the main character had almost directly showed parallels to my life. After finishing The Chalk Box Kid my outlook on reading had changed for the better. I had a new motivation to read; knowing that books contained a power to feel and imagine was so immense it was almost addicting. I went to the library at least once daily. If I finished my class work I would immediately begin reading. I

read on the bus on the way home. After hearing about an event sponsored by Scholastic, which would reward students for reading a certain amount of books, I had read over fifty books by the deadline, well over the max amount needed. Reading strongly helped me get through the culture shock of moving. When I went live with my father I had moved from South Florida suburbs to the middle-of-nowhere Arkansas. My closest neighbors were a mile away, and just to get to the bus stop for school, my dad had to drive me ten minutes. I was surrounded by dense woods, and direct contact with wildlife was considered normal. In all its beauty, nature was at the same time very frightening. At that point I might have well been off-the-grid. I had no clue of what trends and pop culture was relevant, or the latest tech. This lack of worldliness, coupled with a lack of social interaction, and my dads busy schedule, caused me to have to spend much time by myself. But thanks to my first grade teacher, I had found a new solace and outlet in reading. Being engrossed in a story provided a certain feeling of euphoria, and sometimes an escape from daily life. I could have easily have found ways to have gotten in trouble, but due to my new convictions, I felt no need to. However, my joy of reading faded upon my return to South Florida. The change from rural to city lifestyle had caught up with me. I would read less and less each month, until I reached the point where I only read what was assigned to me. The thought that I could be doing something more worthwhile than reading had returned to my mind. But even though I slaked on reading, I didnt regress to bad behavior, and my comprehension level throughout elementary school was above average. Because of this, I was put into tougher English classes, in which I would leave my normal classroom for about an hour to learn literature based subjects on higher level than my typical peers. The feeling of learning tougher material was exciting to me, and made me strive to continue to do so. From middle school and on I took English classes at the

honors, and eventually, AP level. I owe it all to the time I dedicated to reading when I was younger, and how it influenced me. I continued to slack on reading for the sake of it, up until freshmen year of high school. I started to revisit reading, particularly because I had become a musician, and I enjoyed the connection between literature and music. Many musicians who inspired me have produced beautiful songs based on popular literature, or have presented pieces that are comparable lyrically and emotionally. Music itself was, in my opinion, another form of literacy. To be proficient in music you need to understand fundamental concepts, such as musical form, ability collaborate with others, and technique (which may be subjective to some). From there, the essential musician communicates and expresses his literacy through the music they produce. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a well-known poet from the 19th century, observed that music is the universal language of mankind, an assumption I find comforting, and reassuring of the literacy aspect of music. When I returned to reading to accommodate my musical pursuits I began to see why I had enjoyed reading on my own will. Like before, I had used literature to relate to my life; to find comfort in who I was and what I was going through at a given time. Novels such as The Stranger and The Bell Jar provided me with introspective growth and multiple outlooks on life. The Divine Comedy, which Henry Longfellow, who I mentioned earlier, has his own translation, was and always will be a piece that I can relate any of my adversities to and cherish. Finding interest in reading for my own reasons provided a positive crutch in my life. It gave me perspective, made me challenge my ideals, and allowed me the opportunity to discuss find different interpretations of each piece.

The connection between the growing experience I had when I moved to Arkansas for part of my life, and my fondness of reading helped me become the person I am today. I can honestly admit that I could have ended up like anyone of childhood peers from South Florida who grew up to live dead-end lifestyles. Sometimes I take a moment and ponder what would have happened had I not been encouraged to read more, and appreciate the fact that I was fortunate enough to have had the chance to change for the better. However, I am still reminded of how I used to be every day. I see the old me in my young niece. She mirrors who I was, and every day I worry for here. Recently I figured I would take a step and try to approach the situation in a way that I knew worked for me. I bought her a copy of The Giver, hoping she would read it and reflect upon her choices, just as I had when I was her age.