Weisbrich 1

Dave Weisbrich
Dr. George
English 1010
7 September 2015
Influences
Turn to page 54 and read the highlighted chapters, instructs the woman in the drivers
seat of the van. I am surrounded by people I barely know as I flip through the pages to find the
assigned reading for the morning. Including myself, there are 9 people in this van, all of whom
are waiting for me to deliver the daily dose of motivation before we enter the sales field. This is
an important part of our day, and is usually relegated to the top sellers. It is one of many rituals
that we partake of each day, and for this task to be given to someone in their first week on the job
is probably causing suspicion amongst the sales crew. I am flipping through the book34, 42,
46, 50the page numbers are like a countdown to my judgment. I feel nervous, like a comic
must feel nervous making his first television performance. If it goes off without a hitch, he will
get some applause, and nobody will think about it again. If he crashes and burns, though, every
detail of him will be etched upon the memory banks of the audience, and he will never be asked
to return to that stage. I am on a similar stage. While my audience is much smaller, I feel a
connection to these people as their day of work is starting right after my reading. Page 52 is
transferred from my right hand to my left and I think to myself, When was the last time I even
read a book, let alone read it aloud to someone? The butterflies in my stomach are making their
presence known, but there is nothing to be done regarding them, I am out of time, page 54 opens
wide between my hands. I take a moment as I draw a deep breath in, and remind myself that
there is nothing to fear, as I have always been a strong reader. In fact, I can think back to some of
my first memories to confirm this.
It is 1986, and my mother is reading to my brother from a thin, yellow, paperback book.
My brother, Matt, is about to enter kindergarten. My mother is reading to him one of his favorite

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books. One about a rat named Mat and his interactions with his other animal friends. These
books are meant to teach children words by repeating them aloud from the narrator, and then
associating the spoken words with the sequence of letters which comprises their written form.
The rat in this particular book likes to perform various actions, one of which is to jump. I am
barely two years old and watching her hold the book towards us with her finger following the
words at the bottom of the page. Mat the rat wanted to see how high he could said my
mother, with her finger on the word jump. My brother responds with the correct word. Then, a
few pages later, he is tested again. Our mother guides him through the next passage, Mat the rat
needed his hat from the top shelf. The shelf was high so he needed to before my brother can
respond I shout in my two year old voice, Jump! My mother is shocked that the answer came
from me, instead of my brother.
One instance of this was surprising, but nothing extraordinary. However, over the next
few nights of us reading together, I begin answering more and more of the correct words. Part of
this is due to my mom diverting some of her attention to me every few pages. Part is due to the
added attention I am getting and the positive feedback and praise Im receiving. Although I am
too young to have a clear remembrance of these events, I will be told this story several times
from my mother in the coming years, and witness her recalling it to other people. I think of this
as one of the first times I received positive reinforcement about abilities that I had.
My brother soon would go off to school, leaving me and my mother alone at home. Shes
still in the mode of prepping my brother for school and decides to keep the ball rolling with me.
My reading skills grow over the next few days and weeks. One day, my father brings home a one
foot square, green chalkboard with some chalk. This is for me to practice writing my letters on.
Most children, having being exposed to this type of work before kindergarten would naturally
have an edge upon entering school. However, I seem to have a talent for learning written

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language, rarely struggling with words or letters. Of course, this information all comes from my
mothers recollection, therefore it must be taken with a grain of salt. Mothers tend to think of
their childs smallest accomplishment as monumental. However, whether these stories are
accurate or not, the fact remains that the early adoration and praise I received as a child helped
build a solid academic foundation for me. During my elementary years, I am consistently one of
the brightest students in my class, and a favorite of many of my teachers. However, this trend
will come to an abrupt halt several years into the future, not due to a learning disability, but by
my own deliberate choice.
It is 1995, and I am in a new town, surrounded by new teachers and classmates. In a
house of family members I no longer recognize. We had left California the year prior and settled
in Page, Arizona, but this might as well be the planet Mars. This is the first time I have moved to
a new town, but certainly will not be the last. In California, I grew up in a system where my
family name was known. My brother had preceded me by three years, his teachers became my
teachers, and they all came to know my parents. My parents would tell those teachers about me
ahead of time, and when I entered into their grade, they took special interest in me. I wasnt
favored with special treatment, or singled out with unnecessary work, but my learning was
definitely fostered, and not left in need. This is not the case in Page. I am now definitely being
singled out, but in all the wrong ways and reasons. Being the new kid in town already put a target
on me, but having an interest in education and being motivated to learn has made me public
enemy number one. I am the recipient of many recess and after school beatings because I am
seen as the kid who makes the other students look bad. In contrast to my previous school, my
new teachers neglect me in class, instead spending their time working with students who need
more help than I. This, in combination with the beatings, makes me despise school. Needless to

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say, although my talent for reading and writing will remain intact, my true potential is stopped
dead in its tracks here in Page, Arizona.
My parents had been my initial influence in bringing out my talents in reading and
writing. However, they separate and divorce only 18 months into our new life in Arizona. From
1996 to 2001 I will attend 6 different schools. My experience at these schools is similar in many
ways to the experience I had in Page, as the seeds of apathy that were planted back in 5th grade
have grown into sprawling gardens. While I still have the talent and ability to be a great student,
I push the idea away, instead focusing on ways to be destructive. These years hold me back
immensely from life, and it will be a long time before I begin exercising my brain again.
It is January of 2005, and I am sitting in the van with the strangers about to read the
highlighted passage. I take a deep breath in and begin to read. The first sentence comes out with
rust and I feel my brain, eyes, and voice all straining to coordinate the letters on the page. I
deliver the next sentence with more confidence, and the next sentence with even more. I can feel
my coworkers start listening to the words themselves, instead of how I speak the words. I reach
the end of the passage, and think of how nervous I was when beginning the read, but how good I
felt at the end. I look at the woman in the drivers seat, Melody, and the smile she holds in her
eyes for me. Ive only known her several days, but she already believes in me enough to give this
task to me.
Over the coming weeks, Melody takes an interest in me, something I havent had
someone do since I was a child. She calls on me for reading to the group more often. She teaches
me things about work, and about life. She is one of the wisest and most talented people Ive ever
met. She becomes an inspiration to me so powerful, I begin to model my habits after hers.
Melody is usually found with a book in her hands. I figure if she is gaining wisdom through
reading, then I, too, should be reading. I become thirsty for knowledge at this point in my life,
and I quickly find myself using my free time to read instead of my usual destructive habits I

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would have indulged in. Eventually, I am given a notebook with the suggestion that I could use it
for a journal. I filled that entire notebook within a few months. Over the next three years, I write
several pages a night of my thoughts and feelings.
I have, in a way, come full circle. I have always had the talent for understanding
language, whether it be by hearing others words or by my own communication. I started off at a
young age being provoked by my mother to read. If it wasnt for her insistence of my abilities, I
may have never felt that I was unique. Having an absence of influences during my adolescence
also served me, in a way, in that when I later regained interest in learning, I realized how
precious it was. By not engaging in reading or writing for so long, and then immersing myself in
it, was like a man having a cold drink after being lost in the desert. Having Melody as my mentor
has shaped many aspects of my life. Yet it all began with one thingher instruction for me to
read.