I was born on October 1st, 1992 in Detroit, Michigan to my amazing parents. I was also welcomed by my older brother, Nicholas, who always referred to me as "my baby". My childhood was beautiful and idyllic, and I consider myself incredibly lucky to have had such a carefree experience. We lived in a gorgeous Detroit neighborhood that was populated primarily by the city's law enforcement and fire workers. Therefore, my brother and I never had a shortage of playmates.
I began attending preschool at the age of two at the Alex and Marie Manoogian School: a charter school in Southfield, Michigan. Since my mother is Armenian, attending the school provided my brother and me with a unique opportunity to be immersed in our Armenian culture on a daily basis. One of the aspects of preschool that I loved the most was the bookshelf. I absolutely loved to sit down quietly by myself and thumb through the colorful picture books that always seemed so alluring.
From a very young age, reading constituted a large portion of my daily activities. My mother was a Reading Recovery teacher, and she would bring books home for me to read. We would sit on the couch together every night and work on my reading. At first, I fought hard to avoid reading because I have always had a difficult time sitting still and truly focusing on something. However, as each night went by, my interest in reading and books began to grow. I was encouraged and empowered by my success, and my mom began to figure out which books I would enjoy most. I started to request certain books to read during our reading lessons. I was finally able to read, and I began to constantly ask my mother to go to the library, where I would pick out a large number of picture books to take home. I became infamous in class for sneaking books in and reading during classes.
My first introduction to writing was in my kindergarten class. We had alphabet workbooks in which we would copy down each letter and eventually copy down small words. There was also a daily hour-long Armenian class, and I was learning how to write and read in Armenian at the same time. I cannot remember my initial feelings about writing, but I do remember being chastised often for my "sloppy" handwriting, which was very discouraging to me.
Once I entered first grade, it was apparent that my mom's reading lessons had paid off. My reading level was significantly higher than many of my peers. I vividly remember being instructed to go to the neighboring second grade classroom during reading hour (along with a couple of other students). I was initially terrified, and couldn't figure out why I had to go to learn with the big, scary second graders. That day, I was officially tracked into the advanced reading group.
Reading groups met on a daily basis. Along with a few other first graders, we would meet with second graders in reading groups. Typically, reading groups were strictly read aloud sessions with a little bit of guidance from the teacher whenever it was needed. I do not recall any deeper questions about the text that may have been asked, although I believe that question and answer sections at the end of each story were most likely assigned.
As elementary school progressed, I became a writer as well. My third grade teacher famously called home to tell my mother that "During math, Mary was reading a book. In Social Studies, she was writing a book!". I would be a very rich woman if I received a dollar every time I heard my mom retell that story. I am so thankful to my mother for planting a seed in me to love literature and writing.
I began attending preschool at the age of two at the Alex and Marie Manoogian School: a charter school in Southfield, Michigan. Since my mother is Armenian, attending the school provided my brother and me with a unique opportunity to be immersed in our Armenian culture on a daily basis. One of the aspects of preschool that I loved the most was the bookshelf. I absolutely loved to sit down quietly by myself and thumb through the colorful picture books that always seemed so alluring.
From a very young age, reading constituted a large portion of my daily activities. My mother was a Reading Recovery teacher, and she would bring books home for me to read. We would sit on the couch together every night and work on my reading. At first, I fought hard to avoid reading because I have always had a difficult time sitting still and truly focusing on something. However, as each night went by, my interest in reading and books began to grow. I was encouraged and empowered by my success, and my mom began to figure out which books I would enjoy most. I started to request certain books to read during our reading lessons. I was finally able to read, and I began to constantly ask my mother to go to the library, where I would pick out a large number of picture books to take home. I became infamous in class for sneaking books in and reading during classes.
My first introduction to writing was in my kindergarten class. We had alphabet workbooks in which we would copy down each letter and eventually copy down small words. There was also a daily hour-long Armenian class, and I was learning how to write and read in Armenian at the same time. I cannot remember my initial feelings about writing, but I do remember being chastised often for my "sloppy" handwriting, which was very discouraging to me.
Once I entered first grade, it was apparent that my mom's reading lessons had paid off. My reading level was significantly higher than many of my peers. I vividly remember being instructed to go to the neighboring second grade classroom during reading hour (along with a couple of other students). I was initially terrified, and couldn't figure out why I had to go to learn with the big, scary second graders. That day, I was officially tracked into the advanced reading group.
Reading groups met on a daily basis. Along with a few other first graders, we would meet with second graders in reading groups. Typically, reading groups were strictly read aloud sessions with a little bit of guidance from the teacher whenever it was needed. I do not recall any deeper questions about the text that may have been asked, although I believe that question and answer sections at the end of each story were most likely assigned.
As elementary school progressed, I became a writer as well. My third grade teacher famously called home to tell my mother that "During math, Mary was reading a book. In Social Studies, she was writing a book!". I would be a very rich woman if I received a dollar every time I heard my mom retell that story. I am so thankful to my mother for planting a seed in me to love literature and writing.