Words Sponsored Me

My journey towards literacy began in “the Burnt Down Bronx” during a period where graffiti was interspersed on every surface imaginable. I learned how to read somewhere between the house I grew up in and elementary school. I cannot recall exactly when my reading lessons started, but it was before kindergarten, and some of my earliest memories sounding out words involve the daily news and comic strips. A few characters were familiar from the cartoons I watched, like snoopy and his friends. Sometimes I would ask mom what was funny because I wanted to laugh too, and would wiggle my way onto her lap to try and decipher the mystery between the lines in front of her. Mom would laugh again, then say “you’re too young to understand.” This made me feel as if words, well, they were like keys that unlocked much of what was hidden from me, in plain sight.

In our own way we all develop an intimate relationship with the usage of words, from the first words we hear, to when we’re able to describe our inner most feelings with words to others. While growing up, I noticed, words, well they were everywhere. I was always able to find some form of reading material, whether it was graffiti in the streets, or sitting at our kitchen table. While at that kitchen table, there were hunting magazines that proffered their goods “For Sale,” at least a weeks worth of The Daily News, and stacks of Shooting Times. We shared an apartment on the first floor of my grandmother’s house, five of us, including my two younger brothers. We didn’t sit and eat together like the families on TV did, it was more common to find Dad cleaning a shotgun, or rifle at our kitchen table. That’s why “LONG GUNS” was on the license plate of his Ford Bronco.

I will share a particular memory that resonates with me until this day, although it was so long ago, this version may be slightly skewed. Mom had already left to work half an hour before I returned home from school, while dad got back from the workplace they both shared, twenty minutes before mommy left. My father sat at the kitchen table, glass in hand, with his usual half gallon of Bacardi Dark sitting next to the piles of reading material, and he seemed to be in a good mood. I hoped it would last, it seemed as if his mood always turned sour as soon as he noticed me. I figured now may as well be as good a time as any.

“Dad look” blurted out as I searched for my book report in my knapsack, “Ms. Salon said I did an excellent job.” I was beaming with pride, smiling ear to ear due to the praise received from my third grade teacher. My book report was on “the Battle of Zorn” where two kids were sucked into a video game, trapped, and had to beat the game in order to escape. Dad wasn’t impressed, at all, and grabbed one of his hunting magazines seemingly at random. “So, you think you can read well?” he grumbled while opening the magazine to a specific article. He slid it in front of me and calmly muttered “read this.” I began to read the article, which started with a man on the train returning home from work, the day prior to a scheduled hunting trip. So far so good, but being around Dad always made me nervous. I was doing well, until one word tripped me up, “swiveled.” I thought to myself “uh oh” that was the excuse dad needed to hurt me — with words, or worse — not that he ever needed an excuse. When I reflect on that moment, I think it’s what caused me to lose interest in reading as much as I did, for a while at least. Back then, it felt like I couldn’t ever do anything right.

I learned to avoid my father as much as possible, which led to my staying in the streets longer. When I hit adolescence, I outgrew my father, would no longer tolerate his abuse, and fell in with the wrong crowd. Eventually, I decided to leave home and everything I knew, in pursuit of a GED and vocational training upstate. That being said, as I got older and was no longer in close proximity to dad — whose presence discouraged me — I started reading books in earnest. I could explore any genre I liked without any form of ridicule. So, I read books on history, conspiracy, and fell in love with fantasy. It was like, depending on the author, a good fantasy novel could encompass several genres, comedy, drama, a bit of horror, and romance all rolled into one. One book would teleport me to a different plane of existence, where I could travel amongst the protagonist’s companions, and experience every detail of their adventure.

It’s funny, because when you read fantasy, it’s the last place you think you will find practical advice. However, some of the greatest stories ever written delve into moral and social issues relevant in society today. Some of my favorite characters include Jarlaxle¹, Durzo Blint², Kitai³, and Nesta⁴. They became friends of mine, and helped me realize some things about myself. Like, I harbored resentment due to the abuse endured as a child, but I didn’t want to talk about it — or, it was more like I wasn’t ready to. While growing up in the Bronx, I was unfortunate enough to witness things that people wouldn’t ever want to imagine happening in their neighborhood. So, I began to dig into books on healing from unresolved trauma, and became open to utilizing the exercises found on their pages. Like treasure, I found words developed to help your inner child overcome adverse childhood experiences. Part of the process, required dumping words on paper, to unburden yourself of the most painful things.

Whoever came up with the idea that words don’t hurt, didn’t know what they were talking about. I’ve been broken down by words, and uplifted by them too. That’s how I learned words can be weaponized. The pathways I traversed in life, and towards literacy, have forged me to take everything I do seriously. I feel a sense of pride in how I utilize words to express myself on paper, and am looking forward to honing my writing skills. In order to learn, I was once given some advice I feel a need to share with you now, “you have to forget everything you think you know.” Dr. Presser will put you through it, because writing well is an art form he loves. Trust the process, it will be worth it! We are tough, and what I’ve been through, taught me, as long as you put your mind to it, anything is possible.