Blog #3 "Superman and Me"

In Sherman Alexie's Superman and Me he describes how he learned to read by looking at Superman comic books.  At first, he would make up what he thought the words said by the pictures, and in this way he quickly learned to read by the age of three.  How, if he was something other than an Indian boy growing up on a reservation, he would have been considered a prodigy.  I love how he explains how he found paragraphs and that he looked at all things as a paragraph.  The reservation was a paragraph, his house was a paragraph, his family a paragraph and through genetics and common experiences they where linked together.  He explains his father's love of books and because he loved his father with an aching devotion, he too would love books. Ha paints for you a picture of how reservation life was for him and the expectations that are placed on Indian children.  He reminds us that being able to read is the gift by saying over and over, "I am smart, I am arrogant, and I am lucky and I am trying to save our lives." 

     The picture he painted for me was a door in the middle of an open prairie. On one side, a small child is locking the door and standing against it afraid, he is standing on the other side with the knowledge of the world.  He is demanding they open the door to knowledge so they can walk through the fear.  I was the child locking the door.  I don't remember learning to read.  I know that I struggled for a long time and I was always put into the lower reading groups.  I remember my sister's making fun of me when I was small because I wrote my three backwards.  I withdrew from learning and began to not care about school.  I would rather be outside playing where I was free to be who I was out of the confinement of school.  My daydreams and imagination told me the stories.  I struggled with grammar, reading, math and as a result I never felt smart.

     I really struggled with math and I felt stupid and afraid.  I decided to go back to school when I couldn't help my daughter with her homework.  I sat in that first math 10 class and fought as hard as I could to resist the information as I had always done.  I was the locked door in the prairie.  My teacher was knocking, but I was too afraid to open the door and walk through.  I sat there at times holding so tight to my chair in fear that if I let go, I would run screaming from the room.  I felt that way most days in that small, cold room.  My teacher kept telling me to let go and allow the numbers to move around the page and that I was doing better than I thought.  I got an A+ in the class, but I was still standing behind the door.  In math 20 during the review I unlocked the door.  However, I just stood there looking out, clinging to the door handle.  One night I was doing homework with my daughter and she didn't know what to do.  We sat there looking at the paper, most nights would end with me very upset and angry because I couldn't help her, but this night I was able to help her.  I finally let go of the door handle and walked through.