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L. Adam Mekler
English 101.13
Dr. Mekler
September 25, 2015
Learning to Read
As a college professor, I might be expected to be good at reading, and I like to think that I
am. However, what is more important to me when I consider my relationship to reading is not
my skill at it, but rather my enjoyment of it. For over forty years, I have always enjoyed sitting
down with a good novel, beautiful book of poetry, or interesting journal article and making my
way through it. Nevertheless, I strongly believe that the gratification I take from reading, and my
ability to read as well as I do, would not have been possible without the encouragement I
received from various figures in my life, including teachers, friends, and family members.
Specifically, at three important points in my life, the responses of the people around me inspired
me to become a better reader and to enjoy reading more.
Indeed, my mother and older sister not only gave me my first positive reinforcement, but
also inspired me to keep getting better. When I was about four years old and just beginning to
learn to read, we stopped at a gas station to fill up. Looking out of the back seat window, I could
see the red, white, and blue sign towering above the station. Slowly, I sounded out the letters on
the sign: “Gas and Go.” Immediately, both my mother and sister enthusiastically praised me.
“Good job, Adam,” they told me. I am sure I beamed with pride. Unfortunately, though, I soon
realized that being able to read those three words wasn’t always going to be sufficient for me to
receive praise. In fact, the next time we were at the same gas station, I confidently and proudly
read the sign out loud again. This time, though, there was no response, just silence. I was
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mortified. From that point on, I recognized that developing my reading ability would have to be
an ongoing process.
In fact, it wasn’t long at all before I discovered exactly how inspirational more negative
experiences could be as I sought to increase my reading skills. One day in my Montessori class at
Ursuline Academy in Wilmington, my regular teacher—Mrs. Resnick—wasn’t in and we had a
substitute. As the group began to wind up the morning’s activities before stopping for lunch, I
was diligently reading a book on butterflies. The teacher told me that as soon as I finished the
page I was on, I could put the book away and eat. That sounded like a good plan to me, but there
was just one problem: I had trouble recognizing the word “chrysalis.” I stared at it for several
minutes, trying to sound out the strange cluster of consonants at the beginning. “Chuh-ris . . .
Kar-ees . . . Kuh-Kuh-Kuh-Kuh. . . .” The situation was hopeless. I asked the teacher for help,
but she refused. “You can do it, Adam,” she told me. “Kuh-kuh-kuh.” I could feel the heat of
embarrassment, frustration, and hunger all building up inside me. More time ticked away.
“Please!” I pleaded. Finally, she relented, telling me in an exasperated voice what the word was.
I was relieved, to be sure, but the embarrassment I felt in that moment caused me to resolve to do
whatever it took to prevent myself from being in such a situation again. From that point, I
worked even harder to be a better reader.
Consequently, by the time I made it to first grade at the Tatnall School, I was the best
reader in my class. I read more books than anyone, proudly writing the titles of the books I had
completed on the chart posted on the classroom wall. Once I became a more proficient reader,
my mother’s continued recognition of my ability cemented what has become a lifelong love of
learning. The best illustration of her support for me is the story she continues to tell, even today.
When I was still in grade school, my mother would often shop at Wanamaker’s, a large
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department store on the outskirts of the city. Although we would often go there to buy school
clothes, my brother and I would also accompany our mother for other needs as well. Every time
we either arrived or finished buying what I needed, I would rush off to the book section, nestled
next to the home and garden shop on the lower level of the building. Although the store was
huge, my mother was happy to get the rest of her shopping done without me underfoot, knowing
she would be able to find me safe and sound when she was done. Even now that I am in my
forties, my mother still loves to tell this story, and each time I continue to find satisfaction in her
pride in me.
Although learning how to read came relatively easy for me, I believe that I was not
entirely responsible for much of my success during the process. In fact, without the
encouragement and challenges of my family members and other people I admired and respected,
the road to reading success and enjoyment could very easily have been much rockier. Ultimately,
therefore, I remain grateful to everyone who has offered me feedback at every step, even when
that feedback was difficult at the time.