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Jacob Erickson

Professor Stoltman

English 110

24 September 2019

Mom’s Punishment

There is always a point in life where you look back on the choices you have made and

wonder how life would have been different. In a house where a college education is the only

option, the responsibility of outstanding academic achievement and prosperity was always a true

target. Years ago, reading was one of the few things that as a young child I had not fully

understood. There were these large interesting words that I could never seem to interpret. The

stories that were told I didn’t understand. I struggled to imagine the world that the book was

describing. I could not visualize books like other kids my age could. It wasn’t until later that I

started to digest reading. Now as a young adult in college I find myself analyzing Facebook posts

and adding my own comments on interesting reddit threads that promote very strong opinions

and intriguing topics that I get caught in. None of this would be possible if it were not for my

family’s strong passion for academic achievement and success.

Mom was one of the smartest kids in her school, she always had a passion for success and

a tenacity to win. This passion was sometimes spread to me. I can recall my mom stomping up

the steps scraping her hands against the wall to try and intimidate us. Her nails clawing at the

wall, it sounded like nails scraping on a chalkboard. It freaked me out. She always seemed to

come at the absolute worst times. My brother and I were in the middle of our daily Scooby-Doo

episode when Mom would storm in with THE book in her hands. It was punishment, as mom
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was punishing us for watching Scooby-Doo for too long. My brother and I would sit perfectly

still on our beds and wait until the 30-minute timer on her watch went off. The three powerful

beeps radiating from her wrist meant that I could go back to ogling the tv screen and forget about

everything. At the time it seemed like punishment.

As the punishment continued every night, I needed to find something to do instead of just

holding my blank stare while Mom rattles off ridiculous words. I began looking at the book

Mom was holding. It was a hardback book with a very eerie look to it. The man on the front, the

obvious villain with his gray hair and toothy grin, made me anxious. There were also the three

children cowering in the doorframe. They seem to be just as anxious and fearful as me. I

attempted to decipher the hieroglyphic looking words on the front. Still unsure of what the words

mean, I could sound out all the letters. The words mean nothing to me, but I still could read

them.

Although the reading was punishment, I found myself understanding more and more of

the book. I started understanding those large words which I never understood before. The covers

of the books reflected the story. I asked questions and was concerned about the well-being of the

characters and for the absolute first time I could vividly see the setting and story. Although I

missed watching the daily Scooby-Doo episodes, the excitement from the reading was

overwhelming.

Mom turned on the lights as she stepped the first step up the stairs. I bounced off the bed

and took the 4 steps it takes to get to the tv. I swiftly pressed the pause button while I scurried

back to the bed. I could hear Mom brushing the side of the wall as she steps one step at a time. I

was excited to hear that brushing because I knew she rented the new book. As she reaches the

top of the stairs, the anticipation begins. She starts walking into the room. In her hand she holds
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THE book. It was the second book in the series. The first book was loved so much that we

convinced Mom to rent the second book from the public library. The book had an extremely

similar look as the first one but was still noticeably different. The black serpent on the front

stared into my eyes. I feared it, but I didn’t really know why. Why wasn’t the baby also afraid of

the snake like I was? Nonetheless, the rest of the words on the front of the book were forming

into actual coherent sentences. The excitement of being able to read the front cover was

something that I had never really felt.

The nightly readings were altering from totally confusing to somewhat comprehensible

ideas. Mom’s daily readings were transforming from 30 minutes to nearly hours of readings.

What gave me the ability to extend the time was the relationship and intrigue that I found with

the book characters and myself. I related to the characters on a more personal level. As a literate

college writer, I thank young me for this ability. Mom was the best at being able to put the

imagery of the book into my head the long black hair that Violet had with her dark brown eyes,

count Olaf’s defining unibrow and his frightening V.F.D. eye tattoo on his left ankle. These

images were vivid in my head. Mom pushed me to the very limit, but I loved every single minute

of it.

The strong tenacity for success in my family had finally rubbed off on me. The riveting

ability to analyze, understand and interpret reading was finally capable. I had always struggled to

read big words and reading in general was tough. Thanks to mom I learned how to read and

because of it I have developed a love for books and literature. Large intimidating words were the

bane of my existence. I was absolutely terrified of them. The worlds that Mom described finally

began to appear in my head. It was the ambitious drive that Mom had for her own kids to be

successful. Thanking someone for your literate abilities is not the easiest thing, but nonetheless I
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can’t thank my mom enough. As a kid, I never cared about reading or the importance that it

would have on my life. I understand now how the readings gave me options and there is only one

person I can thank. Daily Scooby-Doo episodes most likely would not have enhanced my literate

life, but the choice to listen to my mom’s stupid “punishment” changed my literate life forever.