Personal Narrative
Comp 1
Rachel Abuhl
01/28/2015
Coping Through Reading
As a young child, my mother always read to me. It was what I looked forward
to about going to bed at night. She would tuck my brothers and me in, and then read
to us a story of our choice. But as I grew older, I began to lose interest in literature.
Video games, hanging out with friends, and sports replaced my attention, and before
long I wouldn’t touch a book unless I was forced to at school.
In 5th grade, my world was turned upside down. My parents separated. My
mother, who had always been a stay at home mom to my four brothers and myself,
was forced to get a full time job. My father no longer supported us, which sent us
crashing down from the comfortable middle class, forcing us to rely on food stamps
and second hand clothing, leaving us constantly lacking even the most basic needs,
like toothbrushes and shampoo. My mom worked as many hours as she could get,
desperately trying her best to support us, which left us at daycare after school for
what seemed like an eternity every night, and then when she picked us up it was
already time for bed again. During those long, lonely hours we spent waiting for our
mom at Bear Basics Daycare, we would space out on the tv, watching cartoons on
Nickelodeon. I remember thinking to myself what a waste of time it was, considering
all the things I could be doing or learning.
I was enrolled at Findley Elementary School for 5th grade in the year 2001.
My birthday happened to be two days after the terrorist attack on the Twin Towers
in New York City. This was especially devastating for me. As a 10 year old who had a
very hard year, I looked forward to my birthday like the light at the end of the
tunnel, a chance for the year to redeem itself by me finally getting the attention I
was longing for, and the gifts I was excited about. Because of the catastrophic events
that happened on 9/11, I cancelled my birthday party and decided to just celebrate
my special day with my family. In my heart I felt it was the right decision, however I
couldn’t shake the disappointment and feeling that I wouldn’t be receiving any gifts
that year.
My mother couldn’t afford to give me much, so she bought me a book,
“Where the Sidewalk Ends”, by Shel Silverstien, a book that she herself had loved
when she was my age. In that book, Shel writes lots of quirky, nonsensical poems
that I found incredibly fascinating. It was a release to me back into the world of a
child, filled with nonsense, silly adventures, and innocence- all things I had seemed
to have forgetten in the midst of my family’s personal crisis. The book began to
reawaken the love for reading and writing in me, and as an outlet to my adolescent
frustration, I began to mimic his writing style and write my own poems.
My 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Welch, was very adamant about her students
having a place to express their creativity, by sharing their interests with the class.
She quickly recognized my love of writing short poems, and would have me share
my latest poems weekly in sharing circle. I loved earning the laughs of my fellow
classmates, and found myself making friends easier and more frequently then
before, when I had felt that I had nothing to offer.
I also loved to read the book my mother had given me, because I felt like it
gave us something in common for us to talk about and appreciate. What little time
we had together could be awkward, because I was admittedly bitter towards her for
being so busy- but knowing she shared common interests with me was somehow
soothing for me, and it even helped me to forgive her. I knew that she loved that
book, just like I did, so maybe we weren’t so different after all. It helped me see that
she was busy so that she could help my family and me and support us, not to avoid
us.
Now that I myself am a parent, I cannot wait to be able to teach my daughter
Amelia how to read by reading that book to her. It is a family tradition I am eager to
pass down, and I hope that she comes to love it just as much as I did.