Learning to Read
by Colshy
genre:
Nonfiction
description:
Adam Stefan is much more smarterer than I
chapters
chapter 1:
Learning to Read
Learning to Read
chapter 1
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updated 01/20/08
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2144 characters
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0 people liked it
I want to remember when exactly I first learned to read. But for some reason I can only think of Adam Stefan. Adam and I were classmates in Mrs. Crowe’s morning Kindergarten session at the old, brick Prospect Street school. We were friends as much as 5 year olds can be friends—meaning we probably sat next to each other during snack breaks and both liked dinosaurs.
It was just another average day early in the school year. The big kid bus driven by the old and blinding Mr. Zecker picked me up at my neighborhood stop and dropped me off like always in front of the crumbling building I believed at the time to soar into the sky… but in actuality is just two stories high.
All of us were playing in the classroom before an intense fingerpaint session started. I may have been building a wall with the foam bricks I loved or calling Fred on the Flintstone’s phone. Those were my favorite playtime toys
Next thing you know Mr. Stefan bursts in through the door with Adam riding on his shoulders. Mr. Stefan was holding Adam’s hands above his head and shouted, “He can read!” Skinny little Adam was smiling and shrieking, “I can read!” Suddenly reading was the coolest thing to do… and I couldn’t do it yet. And there was Adam—like an astronaut returning triumphant from his mission to Mars.
Mrs. Crowe, a comforting figure, whose face is completely forgotten to me now except her proud smile that day, Mr. Stefan, beaming with fatherly love, and Adam, with his pink embarrassed face; they were all so happy!
Mrs. Crowe told the class (some of whom were watching this unfold while others were still playing the pretend kitchen game) that Adam was leaving us. He was skipping ahead to the first grade.
And when he left the room that’s what I thought he did…
His father skipping up Prospect, and onto Green St. all the way to the elementary school—Adam’s arms raised high like a champion prizefighter, as if reading was Rocky and illiteracy was Apollo Creed.
Maybe I’ll never remember when it was I first learned to read because I know it’ll never make as good a story as Adam Stefan’s.
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It was just another average day early in the school year. The big kid bus driven by the old and blinding Mr. Zecker picked me up at my neighborhood stop and dropped me off like always in front of the crumbling building I believed at the time to soar into the sky… but in actuality is just two stories high.
All of us were playing in the classroom before an intense fingerpaint session started. I may have been building a wall with the foam bricks I loved or calling Fred on the Flintstone’s phone. Those were my favorite playtime toys
Next thing you know Mr. Stefan bursts in through the door with Adam riding on his shoulders. Mr. Stefan was holding Adam’s hands above his head and shouted, “He can read!” Skinny little Adam was smiling and shrieking, “I can read!” Suddenly reading was the coolest thing to do… and I couldn’t do it yet. And there was Adam—like an astronaut returning triumphant from his mission to Mars.
Mrs. Crowe, a comforting figure, whose face is completely forgotten to me now except her proud smile that day, Mr. Stefan, beaming with fatherly love, and Adam, with his pink embarrassed face; they were all so happy!
Mrs. Crowe told the class (some of whom were watching this unfold while others were still playing the pretend kitchen game) that Adam was leaving us. He was skipping ahead to the first grade.
And when he left the room that’s what I thought he did…
His father skipping up Prospect, and onto Green St. all the way to the elementary school—Adam’s arms raised high like a champion prizefighter, as if reading was Rocky and illiteracy was Apollo Creed.
Maybe I’ll never remember when it was I first learned to read because I know it’ll never make as good a story as Adam Stefan’s.
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