The following essay is an autoethnographic history of how I came to be so interested in literature and writing. However, I have also attached another, more light-hearted and humorous essay, that discusses my personal interests in greater depth. For those who are curious, it is located in the Interesting Links menu.
Autoethnongraphic Essay
When I was a child, literature and writing saved me. I had a speech impediment and rarely spoke with anyone outside of my family. I was naturally shy, and my inability to communicate my thoughts frustrated me. To make matters worse, the children at my school constantly teased me about how funny I sounded when I talked. I became so embarrassed and hurt that I shut down emotionally. I knew I had to find a way to protect myself from the teasing, but didn't know how. I found salvation within the safety of my grandmother's arms.
Grandma Bayer enjoyed reading to me and I enjoyed listening. I would squish close to the warmth of her body and let her soothing voice lull me into imaginary worlds. It wasn't long before I pestered her to teach me how to read. I learned to identify certain words and phrases and revealed in the independence this new skill offered me. I imagined my grandmother would be my teacher, the one person in the family who I felt comfortable with. It was a week before my birthday when tragedy struck- my grandmother died. I didn't fully comprehend what was going on at the time, but I had lost my first best friend.
After my grandmother left me, I worked diligently to excel in school. My sole companions became books. Instead of playing with the other kids during recess, I would sit on a bench near the classroom with my nose stuck in a book. Children continued to tease me, but now I had a defense- literature. I learned how to tune out the harsh words of my youth and replace it with the magical language of words. It wasn't until seventh grade that I realized I had a talent for writing.
By the time I entered Mrs. Hoffman's seventh grade class, I was practically done with speech therapy. Despite my vast improvement with speech, I was still shy and only had one friend, Romy Haddad. Romy, although more outgoing than me, was still considered an outsider. People didn't like her because she was Lebanese. The students made fun of the way she talked, her customs, and even the shape of her body. She never let them see how much their teasing hurt her, though. Every child's dream is to fit in, and we were no exceptions. What made Romy different from me was that she had self-confidence. Meanwhile, I still continued to hide behind the safety blankets of books. Romy changed everything for me when she my hidden talent- writing.
Romy was having trouble in our English class, and since I read a lot of books, she thought I could help tutor her. I was proof-reading an essay for her and vice versus. I was still offering suggestions for ways to improve her essay when she stopped reading. I felt her eyes on me. When I looked up, she smiled and said, "You are a good writer."
Her simple statement of praise shocked me. It had never crossed my mind that I could be good at writing. I worked really hard to be an A student, but never believed that I was intrinsically intelligent. I assumed that the only reason I got good grades was because I worked really hard at my studies. When I didn't say anything, Romy continued talking.
"You should really consider being a writer."
And that was how my dream was born. It was not grandiose or awe-inspiring; it was just a little conversation between two oddball girls. I nurtured the confidence, and by the time I entered high school, I was determined to make up for lost time. No one could shut me up. Questions tumbled off my tongue as if my speech impediment never existed. Reading and writing, had indeed, saved me from an otherwise unbearable childhood.
By junior year, I began questioning my career choice. True, I still wanted to be a writer of fiction, but was that really enough? I wanted to help people as much as Romy had helped me, but was scared that my writing would never compare to some of the canon authors we read in English classes. How could I ever hope to leave such a legacy behind? Did I even want that type of a legacy? I found the answer to some of my questions in a teacher named Mrs. Kerns.
Mrs. Kerns taught Honors English 11, and was one of my mentors in high school. One day she questioned me about colleges and whether I had any idea what I wanted to major in. I told her I wanted to be a writer, and she suggested I study English.
"You should apply to Columbia University; they have a really good English program."
Although I never followed her advice, I did learn something new about myself: I wanted to be a teacher like Mrs. Kerns. Though teachers are underappreciated and undervalued, they have a lot of power. They can change students' lives. If I wanted to make a difference, teaching was a good path to follow.
I eventually settled on teaching college English over high school English because I wanted the freedom of a university setting. Universities would have extensive libraries with tons of books for research; by my first year of college I had decided to focus on writing historical fiction.
Although my motives for wanting to teach are slightly selfish, I think my real interest in the field was planted at the young age of five. My grandmother was my first teacher, my first inspiration. She changed my reality by introducing me to stories. As I grew, I changed my reality by writing my own stories. Reading and writing, two fields of English that I have always paired together, like peanut butter and jelly. Although many of my fellow classmates argue that the two emphases need to separate themselves into distinct fields, I am not sure if I can ever concede to their reasoning. For me, both were equally powerful forms of communication that saved me from the dark depths of loneliness. It is the combined force of both that push me to enter the profession of teaching. Perhaps my perspective will change once I have been exposed to the experiences of teaching, which is very different from learning the concepts in a classroom. I believe the most valuable commodity I bring to my future students is an open mind. I am ready to experience the hectic life of a teacher- the good, the bad, and the ugly. I just hope that twenty years from now I will still have the same energy and optimism of my youth.