RE 5040
Intellectual Biography
Renee R. Carpenter
After reading other autobiographies, I feel somewhat limited in my memories about early reading experiences. Prior to starting school as a first grader I have no, or very vague, recollections of any reading experiences. I do not remember my parents or grandmother, with whom we lived until I started to school, reading to me. Surely they must have read to me and with me, however my mother and grandmother are both gone now and I regret not asking this while they were still very much a part of my life. My father continues to be an important part of my life, but as a truck driver, he was not usually at home during the times associated with bedtime stories or homework.
What I do remember is reading Sally, Dick and Jane in Mrs. H’s first grade classroom. Everyone read the same text, regardless of the level of success they experienced. I recall one day my mother picked me up early from school and Mrs. H asked me to read for her, bragging about what a good reader I was. Standing there, I felt somewhat awkward, wondering why or how I had become a better reader than some of the other students in the class. It was as if I thought being a good reader was just something that happened to some of us, like having black hair or being short or tall. Trying to expand on this memory, I realize that my first grade thinking patterns must have followed a somewhat unique path. Just like I knew everyone didn’t have the same hair color, and everyone wasn’t the same size, I also knew that everyone couldn’t read. What I didn’t know was why they couldn’t read. I still can’t tell you how I learned to read. Whatever Mrs. H did to teach me to read, it just seems to have happened. There is no conscience line between my not being able to read and being a good reader. As far as memories go, I have always been able to read.
I recently discussed my early reading experiences with my sister, who is two years older than me, hoping she would have some recollections that I didn’t. However, her memories are very similar to mine. She is quite sure we weren’t read to as children or even throughout our school years. She contributes this to the fact that our daddy was gone a lot of the time and our mother was a self-employed hairdresser, and eventually seamstress, often working very long, odd hours.
I spent all of my elementary school years, first through eighth grade, in the same school. Throughout all of those years I continued to be a good reader and was always in top reading groups and at the top of my class in other subjects. I never experienced how those not as fortunate felt. I, however, did not look at them negatively and often found myself working with and helping friends who were struggling. Perhaps that was the first indication that I would some day be a teacher. However, being a teacher was far from my mind during those years. What I wanted to be was a psychologist. I wanted to attend Appalachian State University and study psychology. My mom and dad, who were overly protective, said I would be homesick and would not let me go. Instead, I attended community college at Gaston College in Dallas, NC. Here I received an associates degree in Accounting and began working in the business world. I found working with numbers quite satisfying and believed I had chosen the right path.
It was not until my second child, now twenty, was born that I was drawn, out of necessity, to the world of education. He attended a day care that demanded he be picked up by 5:30, even though my job, twenty-five miles away did not end until 5:00. After two years of racing out of work and speeding to pick him up every afternoon, I decided I had to find a new job. I applied for a job as a teacher assistant in a local elementary school. I was hired and started the job two weeks later. I worked in third grade for several years before becoming an assistant in an exceptional children’s classroom. The teacher there, Mrs. H (no relation to my first grade teacher) was an exceptional teacher in more ways than one. She had the interest of every child close at heart and was convinced that every one of her students deserved the best. I learned so much from her during the four years I worked with her prior to her retirement.
From Mrs. H I finally learned phonics. When my children were small I read to them voraciously and could help them solve any math problem, but when it came to phonics I was at a loss. I just didn’t get it. It was frustrating not being prepared to give them the help they needed. Perhaps that feeling of frustration was what the lower reading groups from my childhood felt.
It was also from Mrs. H that I learned what a difference a teacher could make in the lives of her students. With this in mind and close to my heart, I returned to school to pursue a degree in teaching. For two years I worked all day as a teacher assistant while attending classes at Belmont Abbey College four nights a week and all day Saturday. Determined to be a teacher and impact the lives of boys and girls, I left home most days at 7:30 a.m. and returned around 10:00 p.m. most nights.
Looking back now, I sometimes wonder how I did it. Perhaps it was the drive instilled in me by my mother. I may not remember her teaching me to read, or reading with me while I was little, but I remember that there was nothing that lady couldn’t and wouldn’t do for the betterment of her family. After closing her beauty shop, she worked for years in a sewing factory, coming home at night to sew for people in the community. She was one of the most talented seamstresses I have ever known and although it has been over twenty years since she worked professionally as a seamstress people still talk about garments she made for them. She returned to school at the age of 45, majoring in Transportation, and became a transportation rate clerk for a nationally known trucking company at the age of 47. Here she remained until she passed away in 1994, working 50 and 60 hours a week; making clothes for herself and her family; adoring, catering and reading to her two grandchildren; and cooking enough food to feed the neighborhood. Mama may not have been the primary force behind my love of reading, but she was a major force in my belief that education is everything and that it is never too late to follow your dreams. One of her last requests was that I be able to finish my education. Thanks to her I was able to fulfill my dream of being a teacher.
I say fulfill my dream, but I wonder if dreams are ever truly fulfilled. Dreams are what brought me to this class to pursue a Masters in Reading Education. Although reading is my most coveted past time, I view teaching reading as a weakness. My dream now is to overcome that weakness and give more to my students than good scores on standardized testing. If I have even one child who leaves my classroom struggling as a reader I feel there is more I could have done. I want each and every one of my students to grow up and love reading with the passion that I do. Reading has brought me through some hard times and personal struggles, while providing me with the resources necessary to be successful.
In my opinion, reading is what you want it to be. It is an escape for many and a window of opportunity to be opened for all. I have been afforded this opportunity thanks to some very special teachers throughout my childhood and into high school where I had probably one of the most awesome teachers to ever teach. Mrs. M shared with us the power of reading and allowed us to experience it live, by taking us to dinner theaters where we saw such classics as Oliver Twist and Macbeth. She challenged us to challenge ourselves while proving to us that reading could make it all possible.
I know what reading has meant to me. It has, and continues to be, the most usable tool I have ever acquired. My goal is to provide every child I teach with that same tool – the tool necessary for them to obtain their dreams, dreams they will know exist through the books they read and the places those books can take them.