Literacy Narrative I was taught to read by my immigrant mother. I do not recall what book I started off with or how I practiced reading, but I do know that I was always pushed to read a lot by my single mother. This strong woman had brought me from South America to the US at 5 months old with my father by blood, her husband at the time. I am told that I spoke and learned many things at a very young age because I surrounded myself with adults for the reason being that I had nobody my age. Even though we spoke spanish at home my mother made it her personal mission to teach me english as if it were my first language. Before I was enrolled into my second year of school ( kinder) my father and mother filed for divorce but even through this difficult …show more content…
My first grade teacher believed that I was such a studious and advanced student that I could join a program called double immersion, which meant that I would join a class that had two periods each day. One would be to learn reading and writing in english and the other period would be in Spanish. I completed this program until second grade because we moved in with my step-dad and I was forced to attend a school that did not obtain this kind of program. In this elementary I was treated as a student that was not familiar with english because my language at home included spanish. At the time i did not understand why i was treated this way even though i knew all the material. It was because most of the children in that area had parents that came from mexico and they themselves did not know english that well. I was categorized and as a student I knew i had to worked very hard to show my school and my teachers what I knew and how fast I could learn new things. So I did. There would be 3 times a week were me and a handful of children would be seperated from our class to learn higher math, writing, and reading. I noticed that I was the only hispanic in the room those days and was proud. I earned my english learners that qualified me as bilingual in the fourth
My mom is Panamanian and a very bright woman and loves school, while my dad is African American and didn’t care for school at all and isn't very educated. My mom first came to America to study at Vanderbilt University and my dad never went to college. When I was four my parents got a divorce and my mother maintained custody of me. In this day in time people would say that my odds are against me when it comes to becoming literate. Why? Well, I didn’t grow up in the best neighborhood. The area I was raised in was nicknamed "Little Mexico" because many illegal immigrants lived there. I quickly learned that most of the people around me didn’t know how to read or write and they only spoke Spanish. Imagine them living in an English speaking country. If they couldn’t read or write in their own language living in America must be pretty complicated. It would clearly seem like I wouldn't have much access to literacy sponsors at all. Literacy sponsors can be people, places, or even events that shape how a person reads and writes. Those same people, places, and events can play a big factor in a person's opinion about reading and writing as well. However, it was almost impossible for me not to have any literacy sponsors with my mom being in my
I roll my r’s with pride and that pride carries me through my journey of being a first generation Mexican-American. I was born and raised in the town of Salinas, also referred to as the “salad bowl”. Beaming in culture, Salinas also possesses a dark side due to gang violence soliciting each young member of my town. Immigrating to the United States, my parents’ initial priority was to find a job rather than an education in order to survive and keep me away from the darker Salinas. To make sure of this, my parents always encouraged me to try my best in school and make it my main focus. At a young age I began to notice disadvantages I had including the lack of resources at school. Realizing we only had 5 books for about 30 students, I felt unmotivated
The American dream is a goal many hope to live. This desire dream of many individuals includes a hardship, and dedication. The United States represents freedom to many immigrants who fought for a better way of life. America has been a nation of immigrants, starting with its original inhabitants, who left their homelands for a chance to start a new life. According to an article by Gilder Lehrman Institute, over the past 400 years immigrants have escaped to America for many reasons. In the article some reasons for their escapes from their homes was due to war; others for the freedom to practice the religion of their choice. Freedom is the key in America, and the pursuit of happiness, which many fought to be part of. Many immigrants take long journeys for the economic opportunities. Even after thousands of years of immigration history America is still the land of the free, and the country where many can accomplish their American Dream.
I have very few recollections of my early years and the exact age I was able to read and write. Some of my earliest memories are vague on the topic of my literacy. However, I do remember small memories, such as, learning how to write my name in cursive, winning prizes for reading, and crying over every assigned high school essay. Over the last twelve years my literacy grew rapidly with the help of teachers, large school libraries, my family, and so on. There is always room for my literacy skills to grow, but my family’s help and positive attitude towards my education, the school systems I have been a part of, and the horrible required essays from high school helped obtain the level, skills, habits, and processes that I use as part of my literacy
Growing up in a bilingual household, I have struggled with many things especially reading and writing. Reading and writing have never been my strongest points. The first struggle that I can recall, is when I was about six or seven years old. I was beginning my education at Edu-Prize Charter School. I was a cute little kid, in the first grade, just like everybody else. But in the middle of the school year, my mom told me that my great, great aunt, who lived in China, was getting really sick and old. So if I wanted to meet her, it had to be now. Being a little kid, I didn’t quite understand why she couldn’t just go see the doctor, take some medication, or let time heal her. Unfortunately, now I know it was my mom’s way of saying that she was dying. My parents made the decision that it was probably the best way for me to understand my Chinese culture, along with meeting my relatives on my mother’s side of the family. So for a month, I had to leave my dad, my brother, my school, and all my
We don’t realize how hard it is for immigrant parents to get their children education, and we judge and hate on something we have never been through. I guess it’s true you never know someone’s pain unless you go through it. Not everyone has the same privileges as others, some have to work twice as hard to try to give their children an opportunity towards an education on the contrary some American families have it simpler. I not blaming people who have families who were born here or say it’s wrong, but many people tend to affront children of immigrant parents and feel like they have the equitableness to say they aren’t suitable to receive public education.
Hate, shame, and guilt are the emotions I internalized for fourteen years of my life as a result of crossing the border illegally. An event that brought me face-to-face with death and was detrimental to my life since the age of eight. A traumatic experience that has placed me in the hands of therapy sessions and antidepressants to strengthen my emotional stability.
Throughout my life I have always had one person who has stuck with me through thick and thin, my mother, Genoveva. My mother’s devotion was to her two daughters, she always prayed that my sister and I would have a better life then what she had and pushed through every obstacle for us. She is from Mexico, Puebla and is a very loud, assertive woman. She always believed in herself and whenever she put her mind to it, she always got the job done. She came to America in 1982 when she was just 16. Even though her journey was made from a rash decision, having to be forced to do something illegal and having to get accustomed to life in America she is just glad that she can now have a happy life with her family.
As migrant and English language learner the transition of living and studying in México to El Paso, is not an easy for any age student. I immigrated to El Paso when I was in my last year of high school and wanting to pursue a career at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. My father decided for the family and we were moved to a school in El Paso. In the high school I attended for about three months, I was placed on tenth grade and in regular classes. I just had one hour daily of English as a second language instruction. The system back in the 1980’s on ESL classes was not as they are in schools now. They made me feel like I did not had other option but to droop school, which eventually I did when I realized that I was going to be placed in the special education department. My self-esteem went down the hill and I was not willing to comply with what the school wanted. Especially if I was coming from almost finishing high school with an average of 9 of a 10 grade scale, I felt that it was not fair for me to be place in the special education department just because I had limited English proficiency. Fifteen years after I had drooped school, I returned to school and learn English at El Paso Community College, and now I am pursuing my master degree as instructional specialist in bilingual education. Coming from another country with different, or similar, family values affect the students’ learning and the way that other look at those students, especially in schools.
My first experience to literacy came as a young adult. I have always been reluctant with my education, because of the family problems I experienced growing up. The harsh treatment our family received growing up made it very difficult to study in school, my body was physically in class but my mind was not. The trials and tribulations I went through growing up as a kid continued throughout my teenage years. Dropping out of high school I believe brought upon literacy difficulty. At the age of twenty-three, I finally had enough of feeling undereducated. Living in my mother’s basement with no job and an 8th grade education, the walls started to close in on me as my frustration became greater by the minute.
From Pre-K through fifth grade I attended a Spanish immersion school where we were taught both English and Spanish in every subject. At this school, is when I first discovered my race. I discovered my race from being bullied because of the pigment of my skin. Being called derogatory names like darky, or black. Being told things like “skin color isn’t that big of a deal”, when in fact it is because skin color effects the way you experience the
United States usually known as the “melting pot” and it is a typical immigrant country. In the past 400 years, United States has become a mixture of more than 100 ethnic groups. Immigrants bring they own dream and come to this land, some of them looking for better life for themselves and some want to make some money to send back home or they want their children to grow up in better condition. Throughout the history there’s few times of large wave of immigration and it is no exaggeration to say that immigrants created United States. For this paper I interview my neighbor and his immigration story is pretty interesting.
At a young age I have faced many strenuous challenges that molded me into the person I am today. When moving to America with my mother, she left her family behind her in order for me to gain a better life that I would not be able to have in Vietnam. Coming to America as immigrants, with no knowledge of the culture or language, was a complete culture shock for us. It was inevitable that my mother and I would run into problems as we try to assimilate.
When I was a child my dad, and my grandparents taught me how to speak Spanish before I could learn how to speak English. As I continued to learn more and more words, Spanish became my first language, I spoke it fluently, and English came second. When I was ready to start Pre-K, my dad taught me to write in English other than in Spanish. It was hard to learn how to write my letters without knowing them in English and only in Spanish. I would confuse my E’s
My parents arrived in the United States hoping for a better future not for themselves, but for the baby they carried in their arms. We would often move from relatives ' houses since my parents couldn’t afford renting an apartment themselves. We were fortunate enough to have caring relatives who didn 't mind us living with them since they knew the hardships we were going through. I grew up in a household where only Spanish was spoken given that both my parents didn’t speak any English at all. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher was afraid that I would be behind the rest of my classmates, given that I only spoke Spanish fluently. I was fortunate to receive free tutoring from my kindergarten teacher. We would often read books together until