Personal Narrative: My Literacy In High School

Literacy is defined as the act of reading and writing; both are things that I have struggled with my entire life. Being born in a Mexican household, my first language was Spanish. I could fluently read, write, and speak Spanish, but in first grade everything changed. From having classes in Spanish, I went to having classes in English. Nobody would speak to me in Spanish, read to me in Spanish, or write to me in Spanish. I was living a nightmare. I remember the first week of school being really fun! I had an interpreter for every class, I made friends with this boy named Alex, who also only spoke Spanish, and my mom would eat lunch with me every single day. However as time passed my teacher, Mrs. Bogan, decided it'd be better if I didn't have

an interpreter, if I communicated with other people instead of just Alex, and if my mom stopped eating lunch with me so I could learn how to speak through practice. All of this irritated me, I wanted an interpreter! I liked talking to someone who knew what I was saying, and the fact that I could sit with my mom at school was amazing! I didn’t care how many times I was told I was very intelligent and capable of learning English, I had a comfort zone that I refused to get out of.
As time passed the situation worsened, Mrs. Bogan saw that I wasn’t doing anything to help me learn, on the contrary, I wasn’t doing anything! I wouldn’t speak, I wouldn’t participate, and I didn’t do any work because I simply couldn’t understand. Once Mrs. Bogan saw that I had no intention of trying to learn, she took control of the situation. Before school I had to read her at least one sentence from a book, during lunch she would make sure that I made some attempt to talk with the other students in my class, and if I wanted to go to recess, I had to write about what I learned. The first day I was given this new agenda, I freaked out! Before school I only managed to read words I had memorized, at lunch I said, “Hi I’m Maribel”, where the other girls laughed, then when it came to writing, I didn’t know how to spell, so I simply took words from a book that looked cool. I hated Mrs. Bogan’s method of teaching, but because I was struggling so much, I decided to open up. I decided to tell her why I hate reading, speaking, and writing.
I walked into class on a Wednesday morning where I started crying, and worried Mrs.

Bogan came to where I was, hugged me, and asked me what was wrong. I responded in Spanish and recited what I had been told by my ex-tutor, Mrs. Salinas, “Mrs. Bogan, I just can’t do it. I am not intelligent. I am not capable of learning. I will never be anyone in America.” I cried and cried as Mrs. Bogan cradled me in her arms, after I calmed down a little she asked where I had gotten that ridiculous idea, and it was at that moment that she finally understood. I told her that before I came to George Evans Elementary, I went to Ethel McKnight Elementary. At Ethel McKnight, the teachers and tutors had given up on me. They said I was an idiot who would never learn to read, write, or speak English. I told her that my family didn’t think I was smart enough; they would constantly say school just wasn't my thing. I told her that those thoughts had become real to me. I said, “Mrs. Bogan, they are right, every statement that my teachers, tutors, and family said are true. I simply don’t have the capacity to learn.” However, to my surprise, Mrs. Bogan responded with words of encouragement. She simply smiled and said, "Maribel you can't let other people write your future, it's yours. The moment you let other people take a hold of your pencil, you lose everything that could've been yours." When I heard these words I pulled back from possibly the most amazing hug to thank her for believing in me. She

hugged me one more time and said, “Alright Maribel, we have ten minutes, let’s start reading!” Laughing I agreed with her and we went to my desk, where she explained how to sound out letters and put them together to create the words.
From this moment on, learning English was a completely different story for me, because for the first time I felt inclined to learn.

I was extra early to class, at lunch I would tell everyone about the books I was reading, and then during recess I would sit and write everything I saw. By the end of the year, I was reading, speaking, and writing English, and I was only getting better. In the summer, I practiced reading, speaking and writing in fear that I’d fall behind, but to my surprise, I worked so hard, I was asked to skip the second grade. My principle told me that my reading and writing levels were so high, I could be taking third-grade classes, but I decided not to. I decided to stay in second grade and work even harder so I could keep improving and I definitely have, but aside from helping me get better at writing, Mrs. Bogan has really influenced what I

write.
Today, because of Mrs. Bogan. I try my best to only write in a positive tone. I try to give words of encouragement through my writing. The few times there is a sad plot, I try and emphasize on the happy ending. My writing is not the best, I don’t have a huge vocabulary or the best grammar, but I don’t let that stop me anymore. I have been told I am an idiot, I have been told I am smart, I have been told I will never be a writer, I have been told to be a writer and share my thoughts with the world, but none of that matters. I have decided that my writing, is mine if I please others great, but if I don’t oh well. My writing is to share experiences, emotions, and events. I stopped caring about other people’s opinions when Mrs. Bogan told me that I could write my own story. My writing is who I am, I write for me, I write who I am and what I feel, my writing came from Mrs. Bogan, because when nobody believed in me or my abilities, she did.