Narrative 101

Morgan Carlson

Dr. Sonia Begert

English 101

October 20, 2015.

Narrative 101

     I learned to read using a series of books about natural science. The series started with large bold type and simple words. Each sequential book increased in difficulty. The stories became more complex as the writing became smaller and the illustrations more ornate. It gave me a wealth of knowledge about all kinds of interesting animal behaviors and facts. I knew about owls, raptors, snakes, insects, reptiles, and amphibians. The books had unique and interesting tidbits of information that I shared with my friend George.

      George and I got together every week while our older siblings attended a class together. They were learning about Biology. George’s grandfather was a scientist so he knew all about that type of information. He was well skilled and offered to teach all the older kids. The books they had were very thick and they talked about scientific terms that we did not understand, they would dissect different dead things that had been ordered through a special Home school magazine. The formaldehyde took our breath away when the plastic wrappers came off the preserved creatures. We were happy to get out of there giving them the quiet that they needed. As a home school family, we were accustomed to having classes that were divided between the older and younger students. George was horrified by all the guts strewn across the table on those days and was more than happy to leave as quickly as possible. We obediently went outside about our business of playing, leaving the older kids to their studies.

     Frequently, George would be finishing a beginning reading lesson when I came in the door. George sat slumped in the straight backed chair as his mother systematically pointed at words sounding out each syllable with her mouth. His low voice croaked out noises as he struggled to repeat the words. He stared at the page with his round eyes half shut, his shoulders curved forward as if becoming part of the table, his fair hair blended into his kaki colored shirt. His mother finally released him so we could play outside in the woods to climb trees and play in the creek. The house was at the top of a hill. A gentle slope led down to mossy alder trees leaning in toward a small trickle of water rimmed with huge clumps of ferns. We spent all of our time together watching the insects, animals, and birds that visited the muddy edge. We studied the little foot prints and tried to determine who had made them. George was particularly interested in the Damselflies. One landed on a fallen log. Its slim body covered with iridescent wings shimmered in the filtered light. Pin-sized legs clung to the spongy bark. “That Damselfly is a male because he is more brightly colored.” I told George. He leaned forward with his stocky body, “How did you know that?” he asked. “I learned about them in my reading books. The eggs are laid in the soggy logs and then they hatch into nymphs. The nymphs molt repeatedly until they undergo metamorphosis.” George clung to every word I said. I continued, “The skin splits down the back, and they emerge and inflate their wings and abdomen to turn into their adult form.” George’s eyes grew large and his mouth dropped open. “You learn that in your reading books!” George chirped with excitement. ”I will bring you the first book next week. It is the one with the Damselfly story.” I said.

    His mother loomed like a shadow over the table as George grappled with the words. “The  b..b..box is on the h..h..hill.”  His large eyes looked hazy as I watched him glance to the side watching a fly bang repeatedly against the window pane. George’s round face transformed as he noticed that I had slipped quietly in the door. “Did you bring the book?” George piped. I pulled the first book of the series with the large type out from behind my back as though it was a surprise. He leaped up from the chair which fell backward crashing to the floor. “Please be careful George!” his mother screeched. “Sorry”, he said apologetically and clumsily tucked the chair under the table. He didn’t run out the door as usual. He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to plunk down on an oversized faded couch where he eagerly started leafing through the pages of the book until locating the picture of the Damselfly. “There it is with an illustration of the life-cycle.”, he said as his mother stepped back. He was glued to the page. Together we examined each stage of the nymph as it metamorphosed into adulthood.  He was quite content as we sat elbow to elbow slowly and carefully progressing from chapter to chapter. “I will leave this book with you. I finished it and don’t really need it anymore. So, you just go ahead and keep it if you like.” I said. He was engrossed in the illustrations, scrutinizing every detail so I didn’t disturb him as I slipped out the door.

     George’s mother was radiant when I arrived the next time. Her head moved up and down with approval as George moved along with the story, “It sw..swims in fr..fr…esh water.” His eyes were wide open and he was sitting straight up in the chair. “That book was really great!” George’s mother with a very happy tone in her voice. “He read the whole thing from front to back.” “I brought the next one, but it might take a little more time because it has a lot bigger words” I said. “You need to go out to play you have been sitting at this table a long time.” George’s mother said coaxingly. I never thought George would need encouragement to go outside. I guess he had worked very hard to read the whole book before I had arrived. Out the back door we headed down the hill for our usual jaunt in the woods. This week’s adventure George and I headed farther back through the boggy valley. The earthy moist air was perfumed with skunk cabbage. Small birds fluttered their wings above our heads. Squirrels made scolding noises as they clung to trees on opposite sides of the creek.  I carefully lifted my feet high above the sedge grass so my shoes would not get wet. George didn’t seem to care about wet feet. He tromped through the mud unaware of his feet, totally focused on the treasures we would find along the way. “What’s that?” he exclaimed. A clear, gelatinous, glob floated in a puddle. Each bubble had a dark center with a small curled comma shape. “Those are frog eggs”, I said. “The frogs hatch out into tadpoles which swim like fish until they develop legs. Then they become official frogs.” George was flabbergasted. It was as though I had told him about something that was impossible. “You are making that up, don’t tease me like that”, he said. “I am not making it up. It is in the second reader. You will see”.

    When I arrived the following week there was George sitting on the oversized, sun-bleached couch reading to his little sister. Her eyes looked up admiringly as he explained about the tadpoles.  His lime green sweater reflected brightly against his face. When he spotted me, he hopped up leaving his sister to look at the pictures. “I read about frogs today. You were right. They do start out like fish. Did you bring the next book?” Yes I had.