Leah
Nieman
English
101 – 5:30 – Narrative Final
Sonia
Begert
10/14/15
A Dedicated Mother
I have a love for poetry. Poetry is
something that has given me many assets in which I have used and will continue
to use in my life. But I didn’t always love poetry; it was my loving mother who
nudged and encouraged me to memorize and study it.
It was the first day of school of my
5th grade year when my mother pulled off the covers of my warm cozy
bed and told me sit in the living room. I begrudgingly obeyed, crawled up the
stairs and sprawled on our large white living room rug. My older sister Beryl
entered into the room in a similar manner. This was soon to become an everyday
routine.
My mother came in, took a seat on a
black leather chair and held out a book of poetry.
“Girls, this school year I want you
two to learn poetry.” As she said this Beryl and I exchanged some looks of
pain, “You will need to wake up at 8:00 AM, make your beds and head straight up
here to learn. You got that?”
My sister and I both nodded, but
were not pleased about the situation we had just found ourselves in. This was
our fourth year of being homeschooled, and never before did we have a morning
wake up call.
That morning the learning began. I
look back to it as one of the most exciting mornings, a morning where I would
begin a journey of patience, hard work, and endurance. The very first poem we
learned was The Tree by Joyce Kilmer
and I still remember it to this day.
We memorized slowly at first. At the
very beginning my youngest sister Ariel tried to learn with us, but since she
was only 5 at the time, she ended up just dancing and being a distraction as
always. It wasn’t long until Beryl and I became competitors on who would
memorize the poem the fastest. I am almost positive she has a photographic
memory, able to read something once and remember it immediately. This led her
to winning practically every time and being able to collect the goods: a candy
bar. I on the other hand had a very hard time memorizing. It took several
repetitions and concentration for me to retain the information, and even then I
would forget it after a short while. This ended up making me feel like I was
not as smart as Beryl. I then started to not try, and would purposely say
things wrong so my turn would be skipped. But my mother wouldn’t have any of
it. Whenever I wanted to give up my mom would say things like, “Don’t worry Leah, keep working at it
and you’ll have it by tomorrow.” or, “Leah, you and Beryl are very different.
When you memorize something it is something you have worked very hard at, which
I admire almost more than if you were able to memorize right off the bat.”
These sayings eventually gave me hope to
continue on, and I would sooner or later memorize the poem. This is how my
mother is, a person who is able to encourage with knowing exactly what to say
at exactly the right time. She doesn’t let you give up on your goals, but she
does supply you with the strength to conquer them. She is a stay-at-home mom
and is in love with her job. Every morning as a child I would wake up to some
sort of goodie in the oven, either cinnamon rolls, sticky buns, or wonderful
breakfast quiche. My mother has an easy smile, a vast vocabulary, and a canny
way of playing on words.
By mid-January I had figured out tricks
to help me memorize better and it became easier and easier. Pretty soon Beryl
and I were neck and neck, that was when poetry became fun. Not only was I
enjoying the healthy competition, I was finally understanding the poetic language
and what each poem was trying to convey. This was when I really began to love
poetic literature.
Beryl was also very glad for the
competition I had brought to the table, though she never voiced it. Beryl is
quite reserved, graceful and cautious. When she expresses herself, she never
stumbles over her words, but says exactly what she means to, which is quite the
opposite of me. She bestows a gorgeous head of sandy blonde hair, something I
always envied before I came to terms with my copper head. She and I are the
closest out of my three siblings, and I firmly believe that it was through this
experience of memorization that she and I bonded.
In the spring, after us girls had
memorized several poems, my mother started taking us to nursing homes to recite
the poetry to the elderly during their lunch hour. At the beginning neither
Beryl nor I enjoyed it, the smell of the “mush” food and having to almost yell so
the elderly could hear us was not pleasant, but we did as our mother told us.
Soon we realized that people were enjoying it, and we created some friendships
that are still there to this day. Not only was reciting poetry a blessing to
the seniors, which they clearly informed us of, but it was also another
learning experience through poetry, an experience of public speaking.
All year long Beryl and I spent every
morning on that white rug and Mom in her black leather chair, repeating stanza
after stanza, reciting past poems, and laughing together at our mistakes. By
the end of the school year, my mother had taught Beryl and I fifteen different
poems, all of different lengths and difficulty levels. We also had recited at
nursing homes over ten times, and performed for family members on multiple
occasions. We then had the ultimate recital. On the very last day of school my
mother invited both sets of grandparents, uncles and aunts, and neighbors over
to our house to hear our poetry. That day we performed all fifteen poems in
front of them without a single mistake, and afterwards a celebration of cake and
ice cream was held. This is a day that will be forever locked in my memory.
Looking back on this time I see how
great of an impact this had on me. The year I spent memorizing poetry was a
year I learned many different skills. Developing tricks that helped me memorize
at that age has helped me incredibly with studying in high school. Also through
poetry I gained experience in public speaking, which is something not everyone
gets a chance to do. But most importantly, through poetry a firm and loving
relationship was built between me and my mother.
My mom was the one who introduced me to
poetry, which I love so much now. She has been the one to inspire and encourage
me, to never let me give up, and to always have the highest hopes for her
girls. Every morning she dedicated herself to us, pushing us forward, knowing
that we would benefit from it. It is because of her actions that I have
benefitted, and that I wish to never forget. The experience of memorizing
poetry has been a huge step for me in the world of literacy, and my mother is
to be attributed.
Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree’s whose hungry mouth is
prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing
breast;
A tree that looks to God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree
By – Joyce Kilmer
