My Literacy Journey with American English

Introduction

I was born into a broken family, in Eastern Florida, that wasn’t very good at English. My father, William, was an immigrant from Italy who only spoke Italian, Irish, and Spanish, and my mother, Katherine, was an immigrant from Ireland who only spoke Irish and broken English. I spent around two or three years of my life hearing only Italian and Irish, and very basic, broken English. After my parents split, I was moved into an orphanage and there I began my literacy journey. There I really only learned to read and write basic English but I did not learn to speak, since no one cared enough to teach me. In this essay I will share the story of my literacy journey with American English.

My journey to literacy 

After a couple of months I moved into a house with my father and since he had gotten married, my stepmother. She spoke Spanish and English however she did not teach me English. She only used English at home to insult me when she felt mad or sad or stressed or just because she had nothing better to do, which was everyday. My stepmother despised me because I was a 'bad child' and didn’t do well in school. But that wasn’t my fault, all that time I should have had to study was taken away from me. I had to work around the house, allow myself to be insulted and let myself be beaten until it was time to go to bed, having not been allowed to eat or any time to sit down and do my homework. On top of that, I was only given about three hours of sleep before I was woken up again to go back to work, but this time it was to help my stepmother with her job, which was delivering newspapers. I helped roll them together and put them in the bags and occasionally I’d read them, mostly just the comics because they were funny and made all the bad parts of my life disappear. They were also written in simple English, so I actually understood them. With life at home basically being hell, school became my safe haven, it was a place of where I felt safest and could forget about all that was happening at home, but I still refused to speak. My fear of speaking grew worse, I was afraid that I would accidentally tell someone what was going on at home and end up having no family.

At school teachers eventually grew concerned about the way I was, beaten black and blue on most of my body, how my writing never got better, how afraid I was, how speechless. They began to wonder and gossip about what they thought was going on at home but not once did they try to change anything about it. Since I didn’t speak they thought I couldn’t really understand them so they spoke about me like I wasn’t right there. But I understood them, however I still refused to speak. As time went on, life at home wasn’t getting any better, so I snapped.

I'd had enough of all the emotional and physical abuse. I'd finally reached my limit.

No, I didn’t kill my stepmother. I began to speak and I told Katherine, who at this point I hadn’t seen in about a year or more. The conversation was very emotional and although she was concerned, it led basically nowhere, since Child Protective Services didn’t really care or see much of a concern. At the same point that I’d had enough, William reached his breaking point too. He’d seen that I wasn’t getting the education and love I would need to become someone great, so he decided to give me up for adoption. He brought me to a social worker, Susan, who immediately took me with her in her little red car. We drove for what seemed like hours, to an unknown place, to a new family, to a place where I’d further my literacy.

In this place I would begin a new life in which I would become a new person. I was given the opportunity to create a new identity, one that did not contain pain or obstacles. One that allowed me to continue that journey of learning to speak, and furthered my literacy. I became part of a new family and was allowed to change my name. Sophia, my birth name, soon became Gloria. My new identity is quite the opposite of my old one, back then I was always off somewhere writing or reading in some nook I could find or speaking until someone told me to be quiet. My new family wasn’t the best at English but at least they tried to help me with my literacy. At the time my family consisted of four people, at least in the house, my mother, my father, and two of my sisters. They were all immigrants from Germany, aside from one of my sisters, who's from Brazil, so there were many times where there was a bit of a language barrier. I eventually learned German from hearing them talk which helped communication become easier. Despite the fact that their first language was German, they did further help me with my English, by being my literacy sponsors and introducing me to more literacy sponsors.

Two years went by, when I reached second grade I was finally reading at grade level, well actually I was reading above grade level. I remember reading for hours and my mother having to tell me to go to sleep if it was late. Or when I'd read while sitting at the kitchen table waiting for dinner to be ready she'd tell me I should put the book down and help make the table. I also remember being so obsessed with reading that I'd always ask for books for my birthday or Christmas. Despite making such an improvement in my reading, I still struggled with writing, and that problem actually continued well into high school. But I didn’t notice this on my own until I was a Freshman.

I knew my writing wasn’t good because I really only used basic words and never even attempted to use more complex words because I felt that they seemed completely unnatural in my writing. I always thought, what teacher would believe I actually wrote this, when not even my own mother believed me. I may not look it but when I'm actually a good writer, well, when I want to be. My English teacher called me out on my use of only basic words. He told me that my problem wasn't grammar and punctuation but rather that the content didn’t sound like me, I wrote very differently than I spoke, I still do sometimes. Writing was a bit of a problem for me since I had focused heavily on my reading and speaking that my writing was never really worked on, and so I wrote with the vocab of a 10 year old. So each year I worked with my English teachers on this and even my 10th grade Chemistry teacher! He made me write explanations for how I got a certain answer and he even made me write papers. Around junior year I made quite a bit of progress with my writing..

Junior was quite a year for my writing. I did workshops to continue improving my writing. During a workshop, I came upon a peculiar style of writing, one that really piqued my interest, it was a style that isn't meant for others to read but rather hear. I'd come across Spoken Word, it reminded me of poetry. However I realised it was actually much more powerful and visual than that. I began writing Spoken Word pieces in my free time and annoying my English teacher until she'd read them. She eventually agreed to help me and through her guidance I became a better writer, she helped me find a style that is comfortable, one I felt I could convey more emotion in. I learned I'm most comfortable writing about things that are quite personal because they're easiest to relate to and I can tap into my emotions and lots of times make the audience feel or at least understand that emotion. I like writing something that tells a story, whether it be fiction or nonfiction, although nonfiction is a bit easier.

Final Words

Reading and writing have become a huge part of my life, they're my way of escape from all the stress and the chaos. Writing about my life, my family, my friends, my enemies, there's something so freeing about it, it's just completely calming. I guess it's because although no one but me is reading it at least there is a place where all my raw emotions are out, they aren't bottled up. Reading allows me to feel those emotions too. Like that feeling of happiness when the main character makes a new friend or the sadness when a character dies. Each book I open, there's always a new story, always something else to anticipate. And that's not just in books or stories, I realise that despite my long journey with literacy, I've still got a lot more to learn and I'm honestly looking forward to it.