Post by Sar on Oct 24, 2013 18:01:33 GMT -5
Pink Dot
I was a pink dot. For those outside of the first grade, a pink dot is the worst kind of human that could exist. A pink dot is the lowest level of reading in the elementary school that I attended. There is not much you can do in school as a pink dot. Not only did this limit your trip to the library to picture books but your dot color was attached to your name tag. This brand showed each of your classmates that you, as a pink dot, knew nothing. I am not saying that I didn't deserve my pink dot status. Even after two years of preschool and a year of kindergarten, I could barely write my name and reading scores were lacking. Still, even with these setbacks all I wanted to do was sit in class and learn. Much to my disliking, it would not be that simple.
Due to my inability to keep up with those around me I was quickly sent into special education to help me improve. Though my teachers saw this decision as helping, I saw it as a death sentence. At school I was already pink dot girl. Most of my classmates distanced themselves from me due to that title. What would happen when they saw me head off to special education classes each day? With these worries in my mind I dreaded the walk to my pink dot classes. When all of the other students headed to their desks in the nicely decorated classroom, I was escorted to a table in the hallway where my lessons would be given. Though this would have been the perfect time to improve my situation or even get to know the other children around me who were in the same boat, I decided it would just be better to shut down and not participate. As I sat their ignoring the work in front of me, all I could do was hear the students pass my hallways table. As they pointed and giggled I could only hide my face and my pink dot. It was at moments like these when I decided that reading was not only unnecessary but a complete waste of time. However, it wouldn’t be too long before mind set would change.
I can still vividly recall coming home on one frigid winter day. Tired of my wasted hours in the hallway I decided that it was about time for me to give up on school altogether. So I walked up to my mother and informed her that I, as a six year old, would not be returning to school. This did not fly over well with her. Nonetheless, she saw this as a red flag and she had just the plan. She picked me up and led me over to the fireside bookshelf. It was this shelf that held all of the chapter books. She lifted me up so I could be level with the fourth shelf.
“I’d like you to grab the book with the boy on the front.” She told me.
I scanned the shelf until I found one that fit the description. “The one with the broom?” I questioned, not sure what my mother wanted with such a large chapter book.
“Yes, Melissa,” My mother said simply giving no explanation to the book that I held, keeping it close to my chest as she lowered me back to the ground.
She brought me to a nearby chair and sat me on her lap. Before I could question her on the book, she had already opened it to the first page and began. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” It only took that one sentence to set me into awe. Until this point I had never truly seen reading as anything more than a chore. Sure my mother had read to me before but it had never been a book like this. Any other story that I had been told before this point had been filled with basic rhymes and pictures that were far too busy to give any worth to the short sentences that accompanied them. It was at this moment my thoughts of reading and it worthlessness vanished. With every word spoken, I was further transported into Harry’s world and the more I wished for the ability to control my adventures with Harry. I knew that pages my mother read, as magical as she made them, could be turned into so much more if I was the one interpreting the words.
The next day when I returned to school something had changed within me. I no longer sulked in my chair as the instructor tried to bribe me to read. Now I leaned onto my desk, my finger underlining each word as I tried my best to stumble through. I knew that I had a lot to accomplish and not too much time to complete it. Yet that did not hold me back. I always saw myself as a failure when it came to reading but with this new found self-confidence I became Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of my age.
The school days that once dragged on now sped by and each day I made more improvement than the last. But my journey to reading did not stop in the makeshift hallway classroom. Every day when I returned home and after I completed my school work and the kitchen table, I would hurry to the shelf, climbing the shelves like they were a ladder to reach for Harry’s first adventure. When I returned to the ground I would set myself in the fireside chair and start working my way through the pages of the books. Though at the beginning my progress was slow, after about a month I was burning through the pages of the book, hoping for more and more. Following this process it wasn’t just my school work improving but I also finished the first book in Ms. Rowling’s series.
Finally, on a damp spring day like any other, my hallway teacher pulled me aside. She held my nametag in her hand and I stared at her in confusion. I gave my teacher an extremely confused look. In the hallway class we no longer used the name tags due to the small size of the class.
Kneeling down to my level, my teacher smiled and said “Congratulations,”
She then slipped my name tag necklace around my neck. Before I asked any more questions I looked down at my tag. No longer was there a single pink dot. Instead it was covered by a proud orange dot. Never before had I seen an orange dot on any of the students my ages, only the older children. With this new color dot I reentered the reading classes of the rest of the students, not only keeping up with them but excelling. At the beginning of the year, my parents and teachers questioned my ability to move onto second grade. Now the only question about my education was if I was to start the elementary honors program.
My journeys at Hogwarts taught me how to work hard and keep moving forward. Harry gave me the confidence that I needed to believe that I could do succeed. Ron gave me the courage to move forward. But most importantly, Hermione gave me the idea I could do whatever it was I set my mind to as long as I set my mind to it. These were the lessons that shaped me as a reader, as student and, most importantly, a human being. While that journey to reading was more than a decade ago, while packing to leave for higher education, I knew that J.K Rowling’s books were going to be the first things packed in my trunk.
I was a pink dot. For those outside of the first grade, a pink dot is the worst kind of human that could exist. A pink dot is the lowest level of reading in the elementary school that I attended. There is not much you can do in school as a pink dot. Not only did this limit your trip to the library to picture books but your dot color was attached to your name tag. This brand showed each of your classmates that you, as a pink dot, knew nothing. I am not saying that I didn't deserve my pink dot status. Even after two years of preschool and a year of kindergarten, I could barely write my name and reading scores were lacking. Still, even with these setbacks all I wanted to do was sit in class and learn. Much to my disliking, it would not be that simple.
Due to my inability to keep up with those around me I was quickly sent into special education to help me improve. Though my teachers saw this decision as helping, I saw it as a death sentence. At school I was already pink dot girl. Most of my classmates distanced themselves from me due to that title. What would happen when they saw me head off to special education classes each day? With these worries in my mind I dreaded the walk to my pink dot classes. When all of the other students headed to their desks in the nicely decorated classroom, I was escorted to a table in the hallway where my lessons would be given. Though this would have been the perfect time to improve my situation or even get to know the other children around me who were in the same boat, I decided it would just be better to shut down and not participate. As I sat their ignoring the work in front of me, all I could do was hear the students pass my hallways table. As they pointed and giggled I could only hide my face and my pink dot. It was at moments like these when I decided that reading was not only unnecessary but a complete waste of time. However, it wouldn’t be too long before mind set would change.
I can still vividly recall coming home on one frigid winter day. Tired of my wasted hours in the hallway I decided that it was about time for me to give up on school altogether. So I walked up to my mother and informed her that I, as a six year old, would not be returning to school. This did not fly over well with her. Nonetheless, she saw this as a red flag and she had just the plan. She picked me up and led me over to the fireside bookshelf. It was this shelf that held all of the chapter books. She lifted me up so I could be level with the fourth shelf.
“I’d like you to grab the book with the boy on the front.” She told me.
I scanned the shelf until I found one that fit the description. “The one with the broom?” I questioned, not sure what my mother wanted with such a large chapter book.
“Yes, Melissa,” My mother said simply giving no explanation to the book that I held, keeping it close to my chest as she lowered me back to the ground.
She brought me to a nearby chair and sat me on her lap. Before I could question her on the book, she had already opened it to the first page and began. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” It only took that one sentence to set me into awe. Until this point I had never truly seen reading as anything more than a chore. Sure my mother had read to me before but it had never been a book like this. Any other story that I had been told before this point had been filled with basic rhymes and pictures that were far too busy to give any worth to the short sentences that accompanied them. It was at this moment my thoughts of reading and it worthlessness vanished. With every word spoken, I was further transported into Harry’s world and the more I wished for the ability to control my adventures with Harry. I knew that pages my mother read, as magical as she made them, could be turned into so much more if I was the one interpreting the words.
The next day when I returned to school something had changed within me. I no longer sulked in my chair as the instructor tried to bribe me to read. Now I leaned onto my desk, my finger underlining each word as I tried my best to stumble through. I knew that I had a lot to accomplish and not too much time to complete it. Yet that did not hold me back. I always saw myself as a failure when it came to reading but with this new found self-confidence I became Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of my age.
The school days that once dragged on now sped by and each day I made more improvement than the last. But my journey to reading did not stop in the makeshift hallway classroom. Every day when I returned home and after I completed my school work and the kitchen table, I would hurry to the shelf, climbing the shelves like they were a ladder to reach for Harry’s first adventure. When I returned to the ground I would set myself in the fireside chair and start working my way through the pages of the books. Though at the beginning my progress was slow, after about a month I was burning through the pages of the book, hoping for more and more. Following this process it wasn’t just my school work improving but I also finished the first book in Ms. Rowling’s series.
Finally, on a damp spring day like any other, my hallway teacher pulled me aside. She held my nametag in her hand and I stared at her in confusion. I gave my teacher an extremely confused look. In the hallway class we no longer used the name tags due to the small size of the class.
Kneeling down to my level, my teacher smiled and said “Congratulations,”
She then slipped my name tag necklace around my neck. Before I asked any more questions I looked down at my tag. No longer was there a single pink dot. Instead it was covered by a proud orange dot. Never before had I seen an orange dot on any of the students my ages, only the older children. With this new color dot I reentered the reading classes of the rest of the students, not only keeping up with them but excelling. At the beginning of the year, my parents and teachers questioned my ability to move onto second grade. Now the only question about my education was if I was to start the elementary honors program.
My journeys at Hogwarts taught me how to work hard and keep moving forward. Harry gave me the confidence that I needed to believe that I could do succeed. Ron gave me the courage to move forward. But most importantly, Hermione gave me the idea I could do whatever it was I set my mind to as long as I set my mind to it. These were the lessons that shaped me as a reader, as student and, most importantly, a human being. While that journey to reading was more than a decade ago, while packing to leave for higher education, I knew that J.K Rowling’s books were going to be the first things packed in my trunk.
