Showing posts with label literacy. Show all posts

The second we entered the Children's & Young Adult reading room I'd squirm out of my dad's arms. At that point I was still about the size of a three year old but was actually between the ages of seven and ten; my manual wheelchair wasn't yet fold-able and so my parents thought  it easier to carry me everywhere in their arms. They'd set me down on the carpet and, as if I were in my own home, I'd comfortably do a crawl-hop around the bookshelves - pointing to the ones I wanted as my mom or dad took them out for me.

When I was much younger my mom would bring me to the library with her. Every week we'd come and she'd set me down on the soft red carpet, showing me how library books were organized by author last name, and how to tell which books were appropriate or good for me to read.
"You see how this label has the 'An I Can Read Book' on it? Those are the ones you should choose." Soon I would learn to not only find those labels, but also recognized the pictures on the cover and then the words of the title - unsurprisingly many of these books turned out to begin with Frog and Toad....
"Do you see this shiny medal sticker on the book? That's also a sign that it's a good book." Most of the time while she was doing that I was clambering on top of the over-sized stuffed Curious George that sat slumped in the corner. That was my routine every weekend, from when I could first confidently crawl-hop around until at least the first grade.

As immigrants to the country my parents didn't know what made-up the canon of children's literature in the U.S. So as I got older they were unable to choose books for me, couldn't decipher which were the 'good books', but still they would insist that I read all the time. Soon they entrusted my literary education to not only my teachers at school, but to the librarians and the reading lists organized by grade, kept filed away in a milk crate. My dad would pick a list and I'd simply make my way down it, crawl-hopping around to each of the towering red shelves. I'd crawl to the end of each shelf and from the ground look up at the index card taped to the side, following the instructions my mother had taught me years before about the alphabetization of author's last names.
Thinking about it now it must have been quite the odd little sight. There was me on the ground bunny- hopping around. My dad standing behind me with the list in hand following my lead, usually holding one of the little reference pencils (the ones that never have erasers) to cross off each title that I found. If I was only borrowing any less than four books I would shove them along in front of me, pushing them ahead on the floor like a stack of hockey pucks and then bunny-hop towards it. Being low to the ground I never paid any attention to the other adults around me, and the librarians all knew my name and were used to my 'peculiar way of doing things,' in fact if anything they loved my act! But once in awhile I would see the reaction another adult had whenever they saw what was going on,

"You know, you really shouldn't let her do that." I recall one lady telling my dad.
"Pardon?" My dad had set the stack of library books by the check-out counter and had picked me up while we stood in line.
"Why would you let your daughter crawl on the floor like that? It's dangerous and probably not very clean." She continued in one of those obvious-parental-styling voices.
"She's fine. She's not as young as she looks, she's eight, almost nine. It's not like she'll eat things off the floor. This is just the way she does things. She doesn't bring her wheelchair to the library." I watched my dad trying to explain and could see his words bounce off her face like rubber balls off a wall. It was pointless. Even at that age it was clear to me that she would never understand even if we spent all day explaining. And, perhaps more importantly, it was also clear to me that it didn't matter whether or not she understood my 'way of doing things.' My dad explained all that he felt he needed to explain, he spoke truthfully and defended his daughter's differences. That was all the situation required and as his child I learned that most of the time you won't ever get people to see your perspective, the point was that you tried and gave it your honest effort. And then you continue on doing your own thing because it works for you. At the time bunny-hopping and crawling around the library was what worked for me and that's all that mattered.

The line had moved on and it was our turn to check-out our books. I tugged forward and leaned towards the smiling librarian who was waiting for us, like a horse following the pull of its reins my dad walked up to the counter.
"Hi Sandy! Did you find everything you were looking for today?" I happily nodded at her and watched her scan the books, sliding it over the mysterious metal scanner and into a plastic bag. As my dad hoisted the bag over his shoulder and held me in his other arm I waved good-bye,
"Have fun reading these, I can't wait to see what you get next week!" 
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Side Note: 
I can't stress how important reading is for children. Literacy and education are probably among my top three most important 'causes' in life. Every time I write another blog post I am always humbled by the comments and feedback I get, sometimes they are about the tips I offer and other times about the stories I share. Whenever someone compliments me on my ability to express myself though I always think back to those days that I shared above. Had I not been pushed to read, read, and read - this (among so many other things) probably would never have been possible to begin with. SO PLEASE, READ & READ TO YOUR CHILDREN!

At first I did it because we all had to. I was in the 5th grade and we were each assigned a 'Reading Buddy', a Kindergartner who we would read picture books with and then do some sort of literacy-related activity. I was roughly the same size as my Reading Buddy but I remember reading together all the classic favorites like Corduroy, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, countless Frog and Toad adventures, and Dr. Seuss' Yertle the Turtle and Other Stories. Back then my favorite thing about Reading Buddy Time wasn't the fact that I was helping some six year-old guess at "what might happen next?" It was the fact that I got to read, and then as the year went on I loved the fact that I was helping my Reading Buddy learn to read, and hopefully - love reading as much as I did.
I also enjoyed the fact that although I was a kid who might be the same size as a Kindergartner, and might have still needed to be pushed on the "baby" swings - it was possible to have someone else look up to me. More than that though I was also able to help this other person share in an activity that I loved so dearly. While it's quite some time ago and I can't remember how it exactly all made me feel, I imagine that I felt important, purposeful, and for once - I probably enjoyed the feeling of being able to offer someone else help as opposed to it always being the other way around. For a ten or eleven year old kid who was always the only one in her school in a wheelchair, that last feeling was huge.

And so it began: I grew to want and love helping others.  


As I grew older I volunteered at Special Olympics, sang at retirement homes, and tutored younger students. Though I never really consciously thought about it at the time, I am sure that a part of my drive for volunteering began with wanting to "prove something" to others. I'm not sure if it was ever just one thing I was trying to prove, but here are a few that come to mind:
1. I don't need as much help as some people might think I do
2. That I have something to offer to society
3. I don't expect to always be on the receiving end of assistance in society

In college I became more involved in volunteering on a different level. During this time I actually avoided one-on-one volunteering opportunities (i.e. feeding the homeless, doing a shift at a food pantry, or helping underprivileged girls find the right prom dress). At the time I wasn't sure if I really believed that those efforts "worked" or made any "real" dent in the larger-scale issues like poverty or homelessness. But more importantly I avoided those opportunities because I wasn't sure who I was yet. I still felt that I had something to PROVE about being disabled while being able to help other people, I just wasn't sure what it was! I didn't believe that I could offer anything to people in those situations (because they were so different from my own), and instead focused my student-run club (Students for Social Justice) on spreading awareness on bigger picture topics. We invited guest speakers to campus, had discussions after we watched documentaries, or went to protests. I still loved helping others, and at each club meeting or event I was fired up and motivated by my passion to educate others on the issues.
The months and weeks leading up to graduation I had a lot of big decisions to make. I was swamped with finals, law school scholarship applications, trying to decide whether or not I wanted to go straight into law school, or if I should continue figuring out what it was I wanted to help others with. Because law school is such an expensive and mentally intensive commitment I figured that if I was uncertain about it then I probably shouldn't force myself to go. So instead of going straight into grad school I opted to do a year of service with AmeriCorps. I wanted to figure out how I could best serve, in what areas of society, and with what populations; law school I knew would always be there waiting for me.

After too many AmeriCorps applications and researching programs I decided to go with an AmeriCorps Mass Mentoring program - this is a corp of (mostly) young people who serve in mentoring programs throughout the state of Massachusetts. Why did I choose the area of mentoring? I have been incredibly lucky to have many mentors in my life. Because I was the only one in my family who was disabled and had many different interests from the rest of my family members, I always sought out mentors to help me in things that I was interested in or struggled with. I recognized that I would not have gotten to where I am today without my mentors and also realized that many students fall between the cracks and miss out on meeting that important connection to another adult in their life. So for an entire year I spent developing a mentoring program for 18-24 year olds at a local community college in Boston!
The work was exhausting and I was frequently frustrated but what kept me going was that similarly to my love for reading, I truly believed in the importance and effectiveness of mentoring. I knew that if I could only have ONE student go through the mentoring program having had a positive experience, and understanding the importance of having a mentor in his or her life then I would be successful.

That was last year, and now a year later I have a better sense of the population I know I can best serve and why it is important for me to work in that area. But what I think is most important to me is that I have come to understand that I will always continue offering assistance to others, but it won't be because I have "something to prove" - now it's because there will always be something in my life that I love (whether it's a way of life, an activity, some issue I am passionate about, or a hobby) and want to share this with someone else.

This is the group of AmeriCorps Ambassadors of Mentoring I worked with!