Open up My Eyes: My Childood Literacy Practices

Word ‘Literacy’ has been so popular nowadays; used for various programs and activities, especially related to education. The truth that I have just figured out many things about it makes me disappoint myself. But I am so glad at the same time that I have chance to learn and review about these all. Shortly, literacy is not only defined as anything related to reading and writing, but it is also related to any process of learning and communicating (UNESCO, 2003). Everything has its special story, and this story is not essentially only about me; it is also about my family, my environment and people around me. In relation to reading, writing and learning things, I see through my memories that I unintentionally have been finding these kinds of activities around. I am not saying that I have many experiences in reading and writing, I am good at reading and writing, or I have been growing up in a highly literate family. But the fact that literacy practices can be happened in various conditions and through various things forces me to go back to my past.

I have always realized that my father really loves reading since I was 4 or 5 years old. He has been always with books whenever he goes, but he never asks or even suggests my brothers and me to be like him. He lets us grow as who we are and who we want to be. He and my mother always support and of course give advices whenever we need. Pieces of memories about my reading, writing and learning activities before entering school are raised. I thought it was a tradition in my family that we were not allowed to enter kindergarten, and we had been able to read, write and count before entering 1^st grade of elementary school; but it is not actually like that. It just happened unintentionally, because my mother forcefully expected my brothers and me to be able to read and write Arabic—especially Al-Qur’an—before starting to learn in schools. I do not even remember how I was introduced to Arabic letters and Iqra’, and I do not really remember how my mother taught me the Iqra’. I only know that I started to read Al-Qur’an, then my brothers started to show me letters and numbers. As I remember, I did not learn through books, pictures, or videos—mediated by technology like children nowadays—but my brothers wrote them for me in wall of a room in my parent’s house. They drew so many pictures and letters; where we could learn many things together there. Basically, my mother is very neat and clean person; she would get angry if we made mess, but she agreed with my father to give the kids space and not to stop them when they want to draw or write on walls. Then, I do not exactly remember when it was, but then we stopped drawing in the house and started to draw outside using calks. If I think again, back then, it really worked. My brothers and I always drew and drew all the time; and we had story in every picture.

As we drew using calk and on a huge yard, those pictures had to be erased when there were no space left to draw, or they faded because of rain. Moreover, we—five of us—drew there everyday before going to school. Maybe my parent acknowledged this; my brothers were undoubtedly amazing in drawing; therefore, he provided a room and built a big shelf for keeping my brothers’ and my works.  When I was in elementary school, I loved to write poetry; I actually do not really like drawing because my brothers were expert in drawing and always insulted mine. I had begun to realize that her father always facilitated my brothers and me to do whatever they want to do. He always bought boxes of calks for drawing in our large yard, kids’ magazine (bobo, mentari) for reading poetry and of course there were stories and pictures in it. He often asked his children about what they had done or learnt in school and asked them to express it in pictures, poetry, stories and even comics—my first brother made short stories, my second brothers wrote series of comics, and my twin brothers drew a lot of incredible pictures. Only, my father did not really have enough time; he had to work. And sadly, those works were thrown away by her mother. Because she thought those were useless as the children had grown up. I do not know where the big shelf is right now.