Narrative Final

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 5^th 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