Holguin

Genevieve Holguin
Dr. Dev Bose
English 101
May 6, 2016

Yall Is Not an English Word

I watched my mom closely as she got ready for work. I stood near her and hesitated to hand
her the piece of paper in my hand; it was the the order form for the Scholastic Book Fair. She
took a glance at it, then uttered This will be easy. There were three items on my order form this
year: A book with world maps, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator by Roald Dahl and The
Babysitter's Club book series by Ann M. Martin. The Scholastic Book Fair was the most exciting
time of year for me as a second grader, and I couldn't wait for it to come to our school. My mom
turned to me, Didnt you already read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? I shrugged, she
wouldn't understand; it was the sequel I wanted to read. The books by Roald Dahl were far more
interesting than the movie, and I needed to know what happened to Charlie Bucket. We didn't
continue the conversation and I went off to school. This interaction between my mother and I
was my first realization of how important an adults role is in a childs literacy journey. Because I
experienced both negative and positive feelings associated with reading and writing, I learned to
lean on fictional novels to carry me through my adolescent years. More importantly, it would
take one very special family member to renew my love of reading and writing. As I found out in
my own literacy journey, no matter if the experience was negative or positive, a blueprint for
literacy was formed through my childhood and now shapes my literacy as an adult.

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The Scholastic Book Fair

As the day of the Book Fair grew closer, I couldn't wait to see what would be on the
shelves in the library, even the smell of the new books was something I looked forward to. I
loved when my books would get so worn, I could feel the page I left reading the night before. On
the day of the Book Fair, most of our teachers would help us choose our new books depending
on what they knew interested us. Community volunteers would set up areas in the library to read
to groups of us at a time. This was the first time I'd seen folks not affiliated with our school come
and read to us. It was also my first understanding of a community volunteer. I sat on the rug in
front of a woman who was about to read to a group of us. As a second grader, the first thing I
noticed was that she had long brown hair and reading glasses on. She looked at us with
excitement as she opened the book and began to read slowly. While sitting on the rug in front of
her I listened intently as she animated every character in the book she was reading, engaging all
ten of us. She was having just as much fun as we were! The woman was a fantastic reader, and I
wanted to read as well as she did some day. What I learned from listening to the volunteer that
day was, first, I must love to read, and second, I must practice.
The Move
Although I don't remember the day I fell in love with reading, or when I felt as though it
rescued me; saving me from my very small life and my sometimes unstable world. I saw the
example of my mom reading quite often growing up, but she didn't read to me as a child. I knew
my mother Mary loved to read, and I knew she was an intelligent woman. In my eyes, she was
intelligent because she read at a college level in elementary school, and was promoted a grade
level from fourth grade to the fifth grade. I knew she had the answers to all of my questions as a
child, I also knew she corrected my grammar constantly. My mother was well-spoken, and was a

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leader in everything she did, including work. At age twenty, she became a legal assistant for a
well-known attorney, although she had not yet attended college. To my elementary self, my
mother was an incredible motivation toward my reading literacy achievements. I was unaware
that my motivation would later be challenged by my mothers decision to move us out of the
state. As intelligent as she is, I can't say she's always made the best life choices with a child to
raise. I grew up in a single parent household of a very young mom who did her best with her life
choices.
The most significant life choice that impacted me was my mothers announcement: We're
moving to Texas! It was October of my Sophomore year in high school, and I was having the
time of my life. I was an Honors Student and had been in the Gifted and Talented Education
(GATE) program since first grade. I felt secure with my academic career, my great friends, and
caring teachers. My mothers words shook me out of my daze, Victoria, Texasto be closer to
family, she explained. OK was all I could muster. What am I supposed to tell my friends? Or
my teachers? My school was very important to me, so much so, that it I felt it was the reason to
wake up in the morning. I felt devastated at sixteen years of age, and I knew instantly that this
move would negatively impact my grades. After hearing the news about moving, I went to my
room and searched for a book to comfort me. There it was, Charlie and the Great Glass
Elevator, by Roald Dahl. This book supported my feelings of wishing to escape, as I read once
again about Charlie leaving Earth in the Great Glass Elevator. However, two weeks later and
without interruption, we moved from our home in Tucson, Arizona to Victoria, Texas, population
150,000.
On my first day of high school in my new town, I quickly knew I didn't belong. My new
high school was now a four story building with a broken elevator, graffiti on the walls and a

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police station in the center of the campus. I never saw anyone reading or studying or writing
papers for English class. As a matter of fact, in my English class I was taught that yall was an
English word. Are you kidding me? Yall is not a word, this is ridiculous! is what I heard
from the back of English class one day. It was the new girl, Brenda from Chicago, Illinois. This
comment would bond Brenda and I over our disgust for our new high school environment.
Brenda and I would spend the next two months showing up late to class, walking to the
corner store and not completing any of our assignments. I was turning into someone I no longer
recognized. Oh how I missed my old life. I used to sit in the front of all of my classes, hanging
on my teachers every word, excited to learn something new. Or spend my weekends curled up
with my favorite book ready for the journey it would take me on. Now, I don't even know where
my favorite books are, or where my diary was. Did my teachers miss me? Would my friends stop
writing to me? These questions plagued me as I refused to engage in academics in my new high
school.
Even with my unanswered questions and unwillingness to participate in school, our new
neighbor was interested in inspiring me to read again. This new neighbor happened to be my
mothers older sister, my Aunt Alicia. However, almost upon reuniting with my aunt, I could not
help but vent my frustrations about my longings to be back home in Arizona. My Aunt Alicia
didnt mind my constant complaints about her beloved home town, she would just offer to read
me articles in the local newspaper. When I was disinterested, she would show me her collection
of books and ask which ones Ive read, or which ones I wished to read. I now realize what she
was doing, my aunt was using books to distract me and provide a safe place for me to escape to.
She knew what many adults know, which is the power of reading and writing and the impact the
adults have on a child.

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Love to Read and Practice!

Would you guess what my little second grade cousin Andrew came home with one day? A
Scholastic Book Fair order form! I couldnt believe itI was immediately transported back
home, back to my own elementary school. Andrew was so excited because my Aunt Alicia was
scheduled to volunteer as a reader at the Book Fair, and I remember thinking how much I
respected her for it. My little cousin marked the calendar days until the day of the Book Fair, and
I wished I could be at the event to see his reaction to the new books and volunteer readers.
While my weekdays were filled with making up my missed classwork at school, Saturdays
were reserved for reading and writing. I would tell my mom I was helping Aunt Alicia clean her
house so we could sit in her bed and read together. Aunt Alicias bedroom was one of the largest
rooms in the house with ornate drapes and bedding that she changed seasonally; it was our
favorite place to read and write together. The sun would beam in through the picture windows as
we drank sweet tea and read aloud to each other. She would read hand-written letters from her
mother (my grandmother) causing us to laugh hysterically. My grandmother and aunt were the
best of friends, so these letters consisted of hilarity and sarcasm mixed with quick-wit and
southern charm. I quickly realized that my aunt gained her love of reading and writing from her
mother (my grandmother).
On Sundays, we would drive to garage sales to add to our book collection and Saturday
morning reads. She even gave me an empty desk drawer to keep all of my letters to my friends
from my old high school, promising to respect my privacy. My grades at school began to
improve as I grew more comfortable in Southeast Texas. I formed lasting bonds with new friends
and began connecting with my teachers again. I remember telling Aunt Alicia one Saturday,

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while sitting in her bed These are the exact things Ill do for fun with my own daughter. Her
reply was Yall will, my love.
Its Raining in Texas
As I sat in the front row of Aunt Alicias funeral last October, scenes from my literacy
journey played vividly in my head. The events that seemed traumatic werent so bad if I had a
good book and someone special to share it with. I thought about my love for the Book Fair, my
respect for the volunteers who shared their passion for reading with me; how beautifully Aunt
Alicia must have read to the kids. I thought of the way new books smell. I thought of my
crummy Texas high school beginning and the way somehow I overcame my dislike for the word
yall. I thought about Brenda, from Chicago and what became of her? As I held my face in my
hands and closed my eyes, I could still see the words on the books and letters we read together.
The funeral service was held in Victoria, Texas where my aunt lived almost all of her life.
The funeral director told us theyd never had this many people in attendance before this day.
She must have been a special woman, he said. I glared at himhe had no idea. At the rosary
we shared stories and laughs, much more than that, we shed tears. I told my grandmother about
the letters my aunt read to me on Saturdays. I watched as she covered her mouth, hoping she
hadnt written anything inappropriate.
It was raining the day I said my final goodbye to Aunt Alicia; the clouds were so grey and
dark, almost as if to mourn with us. The river birch trees wilted in the rain, unable to be uplifted.
I stared at these trees wondering if they were merely mimicking my own body language. As my
aunts mahogany and gold casket was slowly lowered into the wet ground, I conversed with her
in my head. I thanked her for renewing my love of reading and writing. I promised her I would

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share her love of bonding over books, hand-written letters and laughs. I told her I would
acknowledge the use of the word: yall and how it is a pretty good English word.
As I think about reading and writing, it is all so clear to me now how this journey of
twists and turns has come to an end. My aunt renewed my love of reading and writing, and now
it is time for me to give the gift to someone else. Will it be a child in my neighborhood? Or will
it be a teen struggling to grasp lifes events? No matter who it will be, I know I will make an
impact by introducing them to their own great escape in a fictional novel. I will teach them the
significance of a hand-written letter, and explain to them that someday they will need to pay it
forward too. Each literacy journey is unique, but it will always take someone special to shape a
childs literacy journey in a positive way.

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