Essay #1 Rough Draft

Essay #1 Rough Draft

We all have that memory we hold dear to us, wrapping us back to a piece of literature in one way or another. Some we may not remember as vividly as we would like to, but if we think hard enough and care deep enough we begin to reminisce the moments so long ago.

My memory happened so long ago, but it is one I hold so close to my heart I can see it clearly. Learning to read forever impacted my life, which may be why I care so deeply for it.

It was my favorite season, my favorite time of day, and favorite story. What could be better? Nothing. It was Wednesday, which meant mom would be reading “Biscuit” that night. I loved hearing her read “Biscuit”. It was my absolute favorite story and I loved the pictures of the cute, yellow, puppy. Biscuit was the name of the puppy, who did not want to go to sleep at bed time.

As I did every night, I dried off from my bath and put on my pajamas, things I appreciated being able to do on my own. Doing things on my own gave me a sense of independence and maturity. After brushing my teeth I raced down the hall to my cozy bed. I could not wait for story time. I could hear my brother Shay in the living room watching Scooby-Doo on the TV. Shay never enjoyed story time the way I did. Mom walked in the well-lit room and took a seat next to me on my blue and white framed bed. She slowly reached for the small children’s book on my night stand. I was giggly and anxious waiting for the story to start like most four year olds. Mom opened the book and as always began reading with her slow, soft, motherly voice. I cuddled up next to her and stared at the pictures of the stubborn yellow puppy.

Faster than I had hoped the book came to a devastating close and mom kissed me on the head.

“You should go to bed too my little princess.” My mom smiled and stood up.

“No. Biscuit doesn’t want to go to bed so I don’t want to either!” I attempted to sound confident and assertive. But of course, my mom did not take it and repeated her first statement.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to get ready for bed too. I’ll come back to say good night and turn out the light.” With that my mom left my bedroom.

I instantly snatched “Biscuit” off of the night stand where my mom had left the book resting. I thought to myself, “If she wouldn’t read it to me, I would just have to read it to myself.” There had been nights before where I had picked up the children’s book to glance at all the pictures that I found so adorable and mezmorizing. I opened the book and gazed at the introduction page. Confidence was becoming instilled in my mind that I could read this book without help. I looked around at the walls stained with my own handprints in yellow and blue paint. The quiet sound of the leaves tapping my window from the light breeze were not giving me comfort. I remembering feeling a rush of nerves surge through all of my small four year old body. The leaves gave me a sense of urgency. I needed to read that book right that moment. I knew my mom would come back soon and I did not want her to catch me attempting…or failing to read.

I peeled back the next page and looked at the first page. “How could I not read this? I had practically memorized it!” I wondered to myself. So without further debate and hesitation, I jumped into it. Before I thought to caution myself into reading in my head I spat out the first few simple words displayed on the page.

“Time for bed, Biscuit.”

Before I could continue, I was gleaming with joy. That was my first real sentence out of a real book! My face beamed with schock and delight. I knew now I could go on and read this book. I flipped the page and wasted no time looking at the picture.

“Woof! Woof! Biscuit wants a hug.”

I let out a shriek of pure joy. I could not believe this was happening! I did not want to be alone in this moment. I was actually doing it all by myself. I needed to tell someone. I threw my book down and was ready to rip off my purple flower-covered blanket when I caught sight of my mom leaning in the door way. There was no possible way of hiding any of my excitement. I jumped up and ran to her and hugged her. I leaned into her and smelt her fresh warm vanilla skin of her arms wrapping around me.

“Mom! I was reading! Me! Can you believe it!? Just me. I can read now! It was Biscuit!” I howled on not attempting to contain any part of the excitement.

My mom grinned and walked me back to my bed. I could easily tell she was proud of me. Although, she did not seem surprised. Not the way I was.

Obviously, she had greatly been expecting and prepared for this moment my whole life. As a mom she had a plan for me that I had always fallen right into place with. Little did I know that this miniscular moment in my life would actually change and shape my life altogether. Not only that, but it opened and started a new chapter in my life that I would be part of for as long as I live. As a young child I had not the slightest clue that this journey would turn into something unimaginable. All of the reading and writing I have ever done happened because of the specific moment of my small self picking “Biscuit” up off of the night stand on that fall night.

Reading “Biscuit” aloud to myself for the very first time will always be something that sticks with me wherever I go and helps me no matter where I am. I believe that from having this experience is what gave me the confidence and encouragement I have today as a reader and writer.

Sharing this moment and time of my life with my mom definitely impacted and shaped our relationship. We are where we are today because of the times like this that she read to me or taught me how to read on my own. To this day, we can both share a laugh about this specific time that I read “Biscuit” without her assistance. Seeing her proud me the way she was and encouraging me the way she did helps me know that she will still do the same with any other reading or writing or anything in life for that matter. I approach situations inside and outside of literature differently because of that faultless night with my mom so many years ago.