Educational Narrative Final Draft

During the past ten years of my life I have learned a great deal about myself, through experiences, self-reflection, and a lot of patience. One of the most useful things that I have learned about myself is that I learn most things relatively quickly.

Almost six years ago I was given a guitar for my birthday. A reddish-black sun-burst Johnson in a black hard sturdy case; lined with a plush black lining soft enough that any guitar would be proud to call it a home. It’s not the most expensive guitar, not the most elaborate, nor is it the prettiest. Honestly, its mediocre, an excellent beginner’s guitar. But the silk steel strings that line its neck emit a soft rich tone full of feeling that mimic those of the owners; strong yet often times soft spoken.

A good portion of the reason why I was given this guitar was because of a promise a good friend of mine, Brian, made to me several years prior. One of the last things Brian said to me before I moved to the big city was, “Get a guitar. Call me when you do and I will give you free lessons.”

Several years later I received my guitar and I could not have been happier. It had been a while since I spoke to Brian but I called him up nonetheless and said, “I got that guitar, you ready to give me lessons?!”

Back tracking just a tad here to offer up some history, I sort of grew up playing music. As a child I played violin for two years, clarinet for three years, choir for a year or so, and a year plus of piano. My idea of “fun” growing up was not playing Barbie’s with my younger sister or playing games with our friends, it was sitting for hours and practicing whatever instrument I was playing at the time, often times playing the same piece of music over and over again until it was mastered and burned into memory so I could play it without reading the music.  Needless to say my little sister did not find this amusing or fun and it caused many a fight between us, the fact that I was more interested in music than her; moving on.

                My band teacher in Middle School, Mr. Knatt, taught us the importance of listening to one another, being able to hear the tones in our music to the point of being able to tell by ear if players were sharp or flat. He would even go so far as to stopping our 90 person band to go through whatever section, be it clarinet, oboe  flute, or drums, making each person play to find out who the culprit was. This, this was horrifying. The stress, anxiety, and dread were not only unbearable but were also painful. Often this amount of stress would cause one to tremble and shake so badly as to cause them to mess up. Girls often left his class in tears, (though I was never one of them) he was so serious and brutal about the tone and quality of the music we put out as a class.

I attribute my ability to hear those fine details in any music I listen to now, to Mr. Knatt. Without him teaching me those skills, I would not be playing my guitar, nor would my passion for music be as great as it is now.  Music is a big corner stone of my life, and it always will be.

Now back to the guitar. So I make contact with my friend Brian and say, “Hey I got my guitar are you ready to teach me?” “I’d love too!” he replied.

I show up at his house which is about 20 minutes away from mine. It was sometime in November and it was cold and raining out. I proudly show him my guitar, play him the half a song I taught myself to play; only for him to correct me and show me how I had taught myself wrong since he already knew how to play that song. Then I started learning.

We talked for a while about the different ways he could teach me. I told him that I was a very quick learner and that I had a good ear. It was shortly thereafter that we reached the conclusion that he would not teach me how to read music, but that he would teach me so that I could play on my own if I wished or with a group of people. To this day I still do not know how to read music for guitar.

We could, more like I could, not decide on what sort of music I wanted to learn to play. Instead I insisted that he teach me everything he knew. All I wanted to do was play my guitar, it did not matter to me what sort of music it was, because all that mattered to me was getting the music that was stuck inside of me out. The first song that he taught me was the one I had tried to teach myself before my first lesson with him. Except this time I learned it the proper way. It was Lyin’ Eye’s by The Eagles. He sat down across from me and just started playing. Ten minutes later I was playing the entire song chord for chord, strum for strum like I had been playing it my entire life, minus a chord or two here and there (that darn B and F chord get me still to this day!).

Now that we had figured out a good way for me to learn, the songs came rolling through. During my peak playing I was learning to play a song a lesson and I became better and better at picking up songs by just watching Brian play them a few times through. Playing my sweet Johnson is so much fun, so rewarding, relaxing, therapeutic and fulfilling to me.

Aside from learning how to play my wonderful guitar I also learned the amount of diligence it takes to truly become good at something. Yes I have a “knack” for learning and retaining information and experiences quickly but just having this ability is not enough to make one great. Practice, hard work, dedication, and motivation are also needed.  My passion for music also grew during this period of learning. Music is a tremendously huge part of my life. Lastly, my desire for learning this instrument aside, I could not have done it without a good friend teaching me everything he knew.  

Extremely Rough, rough draft of Ed. Narrative

Almost six years ago I was given a guitar for my birthday. A reddish-black sun burst Johnson in a black sturdy hard case; lined with a plush black lining soft enough that any guitar would be proud to call it a home.  It’s not the most expensive guitar money can buy, nor is it the cheapest. Honestly it’s pretty mediocre, an excellent beginners guitar. But the silk steel strings that line its neck emit a soft rich tone full of feeling that mimic those of the owners; strong yet often times soft spoken.

A good portion of the reason why I was given this guitar was because of a promise a good friend of mine made to me several years prior to getting this guitar. One of the last things this friend said to me before I moved back to the big city was, “Get a guitar. Call me when you have it, and I will give you free lessons.”

So I got the guitar. And I couldn’t be happier.  It had been a while since I had talked to my friend but I called him up none the less and said, “I got that guitar you ready to give me lessons?!”

Back tracking just a tad here to offer up some history, I sort of grew up playing music. As a child I played violin for two years, clarinet for three years, choir, and a year plus of piano.  My idea of fun growing up was not playing with my younger sister, but sitting for hours and practicing whatever instrument I was playing at the time. Often times playing the same piece of music over and over again until it was mastered and burned into memory so I could play it without reading the music. My band teacher in Middle School taught us the importance of listening to one another, and being able to hear the tones in our music to the point of being able to tell by ear if players were sharp or flat. To the point of stopping our 90 person band to go through whatever section, be it clarinet, flute, or drums, making each person play to find out who the culprit was. Girls often left his class in tears he was so serious and brutal about tone and quality of the music we put out as a class. But I attribute my ability to hear those fine details in any music I listen to now, to him. Because without him teaching me those skills, I would not be playing my guitar, nor would my passion for music be as great as it is now.

Now back to the guitar. So I’ve made contact with my friend “Brian”. Said, “Hey I got my guitar are you ready to teach me?” And he said, “I’d love too!”

I showed up at his house about 20 minutes away from mine, it was sometime in November. So it was cold and raining out. I proudly showed him my guitar, played him the half a song I knew how to play (only to find out I had taught it to myself wrong, cause of course he knew how to play it already!) and started learning.

We talked for a while about the different ways he could teach me. I told him that I was a very quick learner and that I had a good ear. And it was very shortly thereafter that we reached the conclusion that he would not teach me how to read music, but that he would teach me so that I could play on my own if I wished or with a group of people.

We could, more like I could, not decide on what sort of music I wanted to learn to play. And insisted that he teach me everything he knew. All I wanted to do was play my guitar, it didn’t matter to me what sort of music it was.  The first song he taught me was the one I had tried to teach myself before my first lesson with him. Except this time I learned it the proper way. It was Lyin’ Eye’s by The Eagles. He sat down across from me and just started playing. Ten minutes later I was playing the entire song chord for chord, strum for strum like I had been playing it my entire life, minus a chord or two here and there (that darn B and F chord gets me still to this day!).

Now that we had figured out a good way for me to learn, the songs came rolling through. During my peak playing I was learning to play a song a lesson. And I became better and better at picking up songs by just watching him play them a few times through.  It was so much fun, so rewarding, relaxing, therapeutic, and full filling to me. I knew prior to playing the guitar that my “knack” for things in life was learning and retaining information and experiences quickly but I did not know it was to this degree, being able to watch someone play a song and by the second time through knowing it in its entirety.

Differences

The three narratives that we read were extremely different from one another. They all had different writing styles, voices, and most importantly, experiences. 

 Franklin’s narrative was more of time line of the educational events in his life. Starting from the age of eight when he was put into grammar school and ending when he was in his teens. It also seemed that he had a relatively supportive family, with his father exposing him to so many different trades. Franklin also in the end pretty much had the ability to just do sort of whatever he wanted in the end. 

Rose’s narrative was very descriptive. He spent a lot of time going through great detail about the people who were involved with the experiences that he had. He also had a pretty rough educational experience.   Sort of coming from “da hood” while trying to make his own way, figure out life, and get an education at the same time.  Having test scores mixed up with someone else’s and getting the “wrong” education has got to be extremely disheartening. 

Malcolm X’s was about one particular event that sort of changed his view about education. Being highly motivated, self-driven, and independent; took his education into his own hands and made the best of a not so ideal situation.  He was very detailed in his words and really painted a picture of what his experience was like teaching himself to read and becoming educated. He also did not really have a support network to help him through this experience and really had to rely upon himself to get through it.

My Favorite

Of the three narrative’s that we have read so far, Malcolm X, Rose, and Franklin , I would have to say that the one I liked best was probably Malcolm X’s. I really enjoyed the flow of the paper, it seemed very seamless to me. And I really enjoyed how descriptive it was, it was easy to imagine what was happening based off of his description experiences and events. For example, “At one hour intervals the night guards paced past every room. Each time I heard the approaching footsteps, I jumped into bed and feigned sleep. And as soon as the guard passed, I got back out of bed onto the floor area of that light-glow, where I would read for another fifty-eight minutes until the guard approached again.” (Learning to Read pg. 2) Being so detailed as to note exactly how many minutes he sat on the floor reading in the glow of the light not only adds to his experience but states it  in a way that any reader would be able to understand and maybe even relate too.

 I also really appreciated how much responsibility he took for his education, how much motivation, and pride he had of educating himself for no other reason than wanting to learn and teach others. It was not for a degree, to please anyone else, or to acquire a different social status.  It was for himself.  “Not long ago, an English writer telephoned me from London, asking questions. One was, “What’s your alma mater?” I told him, “Books.” You will never catch me with a free fifteen minutes in which I am not studying something I feel might be able to help the black man. “(Learning to Read pg. 3) I feel like today so much of what we choose to do with our lives is just a mirror of what others’ want to see us do and accomplish. It takes a really strong person to be able to walk away from the expectation of others and say, what I am going to do from now on will only be for myself.

Strategies

It has been so long since I have taken an English class that I honestly do not remember what sort of strategies I have used for the development for my papers. In spending a very short time reflecting upon my last experience writing papers (which was about ten years ago), I guess I would have to say cause and effect. I am a facts based person. I like to know about the “how” and the “why” of things. I really enjoy cause of what makes things work and their effect on them.  The real only memory that I have of using this as a strategy was a research paper I wrote when I was eighteen about America’s Prison Systems compared to other countries. That paper used compare and contrast, and also causes and effect. I very briefly compared and contrasted our prison systems to those of other countries, and then more in depth described what I believed the cause and effects were of the prison systems as a whole.  Really backing up my ideas with extensive research that not only included research done online but also through interviewing sources I had access too. I am a person who greatly enjoys doing research and learning as much as I can about topics that relate to my life and things I am passionate about.

Rose's Text

The questions at the end of Rose’s text about his school experience are ones that are provocative and really get your mind thinking and comparing his experiences in school to your own. For me at least it is quite helpful in getting the gears turning towards the Narrative paper we are going to be writing. It has been almost ten years since I was really in school. I have taken some college classes here and there but never enough at once to be fully immersed in it, not like now. A lot of what is talked about in these questions not only applies to the sort of education you receive in school but to education you might get out of real life experiences. They are all questions that could be applied to any sort or learning situation. And I guess after thinking on that for a little while that is what I have started to think of. What sort of learning experiences have I had, both formally and in real life? How were they copped with? What strategies were used in working through them?  We as people get so caught up in everyday living that sometimes we forget to reflect upon ourselves and experiences, which is, I feel, an important part of learning. Because if you don’t take time to reflect upon what is learned, how will you remember? And how will you truly learn from them?