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Tyra Volney

Dr. Smith

English 101

September 20, 2019

Simply Passion

I think almost every ardent reader can agree that what first piqued their interest in books

was one of two things; being drawn to their colorful, elaborate pictures or being surrounded by

countless hard-paged, cloth-paged, fuzzy, little books that were entertaining to shred and toss

around the house. Our tall wooden-polished television-stand/ bookshelf at home was filled with

these little books, and every kind of book I could think of. This collection ranged from recipe

books, bible story books, encyclopedias, health books and more. But fortunately for my parents I

was of the former group. My interest in reading began around the age of three or four, being drawn

to pretty flowers, pink elephants and tigers sharing meals with bunnies on the front-cover of

children’s books. I can say that this marketing strategy is a clever tactic because any book with

these ‘fascinating’ illustrations was always my first pick. At first, I was completely satisfied

flipping through the pages, entranced by each picture shown. To me at the time, they told the entire

story. What was the point of the writing at the top? But eventually, the pictures just weren’t enough

for me. They were too straightforward. My curiosity led me to seek more. It was time to put my

newly learned reading skills to use. From then, my love for literature began.

Although I was born here in New York, I was raised in Saint Lucia, one of the Caribbean's

most beautiful islands. I lived with my parents and my older brother, Brandon. Our little house

stood alone on a hillside surrounded by trees and shrubbery. We had the best view of the evening
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sunset and a cool evening breeze that culminated a hot day. I remember distinctly my father laying

on the couch soaking in that breeze after a long day of work. He was forced to watch whatever

cartoons my older brother and I settled on (after much debate) following the local evening news.

I’m convinced that both he and my mother eyed the clock intently. My mother, because she was a

firm believer of ‘bedtime’, my father, because he’d much rather be watching some show like ‘In

Living Color’ or ‘Meet the Browns.’ “Bedtime!” he’d say to my brother and me. Huffing and

puffing, we would take our time brushing our teeth and changing into our pajamas. Because which

child is tired at bedtime? After both settling into our bunk bed, Brandon at the bottom and I at the

top, we would devise a plan between us to get daddy to tell us one of his funny stories.

After yelling his name from our room, followed by lots of begging, my mother would get

frustrated resulting in his agreement. His specialty was ‘Folk Tales’, stories passed down through

generations. Our favorites were always the ones including the characters ‘Pat Fin’ (Thin Legs),

“Gros Djol’ (Big Mouth) and ‘Gros Bouden’(Big Belly). His stories were told in English, but the

characters’ names were in our country’s other language, ‘Patois’ or ‘Creole’. While English is

Saint Lucia’s main language, many older folks, and people from southern areas speak creole.

Brandon and I never fully learned creole, but we first picked up on some words through these

stories. For the next half hour, my brother and I would be howling in laughter. We knew all too

well that when he’d exhausted the original tales, he would create his own for the sole purpose of

making us laugh. We enjoyed each story until my father became too busy and we grew too old.

But that experience truly influenced my imagination and intensified my love for reading. My father

was able to take three characters with the strangest characteristics and personalities and create a

story out of the blue. This alone fascinated an eight-year-old girl, just coming into to the world of

reading and writing.

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By twelve, I was reading a new book almost every week. My preference was Science

Fiction, Romance and Mystery. I didn’t buy any of my books at the time because I was always

given books from people who knew of my love for reading. My classmates would even bring me

a book or two occasionally when they saw me reading collections like ‘Hardy Boys’ and ‘Nancy

Drew’ and had another book in that collection at home. One would also find me on multiple

occasions rummaging through a dusty pile of books at family member’s or friend’s houses in

search of a good read. Besides being constantly entertained, all this reading led me to being ahead

of most of my schoolmates in the writing department. I was able to use my augmented imagination

and newfound writing skills in short stories and essays I was required to write at school.

My teachers at every level were impressed with my work. They were the ones who

influenced me to put my all in everything that I write. Everything I wrote then, I enjoyed writing.

So, it was gratifying to be told that my essays were well done or that they were intrigued with my

short stories. But my work was and still is never perfect, there are always my silly spelling mistakes,

missing information, or poor word choices. Sometimes my sentences are too long or I’m lacking

important details. But my teachers always pointed them out to me. I could have attained the highest

score in class on a writing piece, but they would always let me know of ways to improve my work.

This boosted my confidence in my writing and at the same time motivated me to always look for

ways to make it better.

Reading the excerpt from ‘Learning to Read’ by Malcolm X really made me appreciate my

experience with reading and writing. Malcolm X was a grown man, in prison, when he felt

determined to learn to read and write. His determination led him to picking up a dictionary and

copying every word he came across. I could only imagine how much time and focus that took. In

the end he was successful, and slowly progressed to being able to read books under his favorite
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topics, Race, Slavery, Black History and Philosophy. I think Malcolm’s experience is a true

definition of perseverance. After firstly learning to read and write all on his own, he read book

after book in the pursuit of knowledge. That same knowledge later led him to become one of the

most influential people under the Human Rights Movement. Reading the part where he would read

in the dim light of the prison halls and ran into his bed pretending to sleep when the guards passed

by really reminded me of myself. In seventh grade I had just discovered Wattpad, an app for

aspiring authors where people would publish works of all types for users to read. Many school

nights after being sent to bed, there I would lie in the dark, sheets covering my entire body from

head to toe, reading books like ‘After’ and ‘Motel 6’. When my mother or father would pass by, I

would quickly turn off my phone and shove it under my pillow, I would shut my eyes, making sure

to keep the peaceful little angel sleeping face. As soon as the coast was clear, I’d giggle

uncontrollably at my devious act and get back to my book. Let's just say that a certain someone

found it difficult to keep her eyes open in class the next morning. To compare Malcolm X to

myself, I’d say that we both have a passion for reading, we just developed them at different stages

in life due to different circumstances.

I had the opportunity to interview Gertrude, one of my classmates, about her experience

with language. Fortunately, she was also from a different country which made the experience even

more enlightening. Her earliest experience with reading and writing began with writing letters to

her father who lived in a different region in Ghana. In his reply he would always correct her

misspellings and grammar which helped her improve her writing. By six or seven she was being

asked by older people to write letters for them to send to their loved ones. She was also an avid

singer who danced and sang for others on many occasions. Those times were her proudest moments

communicating in her native language ‘Ghanaian’. My partner and I both shared the view that we
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were most comfortable communicating with people who are mature and honest and could hold

conversations of substance. Where we differed, was in how comfortable we were speaking in our

native dialect.

Ever since moving back to New York, I’ve been faced with a new challenge. Many times,

my accent has put me on the spot, or caused me some sort of embarrassment. Like many Caribbean

natives would agree, my country’s version of English is significantly different from the actual

language. To be frank, Saint Lucians speak terrible English. We know how to speak English

properly, but out of habit, we become used to speaking in our dialect. But speech is our most used

form of communication as humans. So, while I am not ashamed of our dialect, it always makes me

uncomfortable to speak when I know that I sound different. Speaking with other Saint Lucians on

the other hand, I can do with ease. But being able to speak comfortable among any crowd, is

something I’m still working on. Gertrude was unbothered when it comes to speaking openly. She

expressed that she was a very patient person, and it didn’t matter to her that she sounded different

from others or if she is not understood. If her audience does not understand her, she is more than

willing repeat herself until she is understood, and her point is made. Her view was helpful, and

really boosted my confidence in my speech, she pointed out that it's okay to be different. While

we hear this often, relating it to our experiences made it mean much more.

Overall, my experience with reading and writing throughout my life thus far has been a

good one, no doubt. These experiences made my journey special by erupting a passion for reading

and writing that molded me into the person I am today. I’ve come to believe the impact reading

and writing has is powerful. Reading allowed me to understand concepts better because I gained

familiarity with words, writing techniques, phrases etc. Then, I was able to apply these same skills

in my writing, bringing it closer to the writing level of whatever I read. This not only got me good
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grades in all my English classes but every class I took. Essentially, in my journey to literacy I’ve

come to believe that reading and writing expands one's ability to learn because it increases one's

ability to understand. And it wasn’t reading assignments, assigned literature books or an English

class that led me to this discovery. It was simply passion.