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| Jaaka Giha This message was updated on 2/28/2006 10:16:16 PM by Jaaka Giha | Literacy revisited posted on: 2/28/2006 10:15:31 PM Since Sativa's well intentioned thread was hijacked by petty bickering bullshit, I thought it worthy enough to repost here so the rest of the mature world could see and hopefully keep the thread intact. quote: I am forever grateful to my mother for one reason. She had me reading at age 3 on my own, and even as a child, the most effective punishment was to have me write essays on what I did wrong, why it was wrong, steps needed to correct those things, and so on. My writing used to be something that I did but rarely if ever shared. I was too self conscious to open myself up for criticism that I felt was sure to follow. Over time, one of my dearest gf's (more like my older sister than friend) said something to me that stopped me cold. In her beloved blunt Scottish manner..."You are selfish to hide this from everyone" Dumbfounded didn't even begin to describe my reaction. I knew she was right, but still questioned the wisdom of opening up to people, even those i considered close friends. But during this time, I'd begun to learn how to build simple web pages, and I decided to put them up on pages. My thought was that if I were going to share my intimate feelings, good bad sarcastic and ugly, then I would go full throttle, and share them with friends and strangers alike. By no means are all of my writings on web pages nor are they all posted here, but eventually they will be. I began writing from childhood. Reading from age 3 (on my own), my mother figured out pretty quickly that the only true punishment for her tomboy daughter wasn't grounding, or spanking...she made me write essays. What I'd done wrong, why it was wrong, the consequences of such behaviour, and why I wouldn't be doing 'that' again. It stuck. In my teen years, it became the only way I could truly communicate with her. Emotions run high in any teenager and I was more passionate than many I knew/know. With my imagination so fueled by reading and already writing advanced beyond those my own age, it's no wonder my emotions were over-developed. We would scream and fight and there never seemed to be a way to just sit and talk anything out. I would pour my heart out in letters to her in the wee hours of night, hiding them in her purse as she readied for work the following morning. Tucking them away so I knew she wouldn't find them until she was AT work. She would read them on a break or lunch or whatever, then come home, and only THEN could we discuss something. Naturally I'd still end up crying, which she HATES with a passion. But at least things were cleared between us...until the next time, when it would start over again. So continued my habit of writing out how i feel. I never knew at the time that many therapists advise doing just such a thing as writing in a journal. My mother, through what she considered punishment, had given me a tremendous key to dealing with the ever-present overwhelming emotions I struggle with to this day. Now this topic isn't about "me". But it is about something I have always held close to me, the ability to read and comprehend the written words of others. Grown people feel like they are less than human because of something as simple as being able to sign a name, or read their children a book. It has been a cause for grown men to feel ashamed of themselves, because they can't read a lick. I can mutilate the english language as well as anyone, and believe me, being southern I have a wide variety of slang terms to use on a daily basis. But when it comes to serious writing, mature communication, when it counts, I wholeheartedly support anyone who takes the time to help those who can't read on their own. Disablities affect not just the person with it, but those around them, and in children especially, they can be extremely unforgiving of even the slightest appearance of a "defect" from normal. I thought it was a great post Sativa, and it deserved to be responded to without snide petty comments. |
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