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Andrew Bradshaw III

Prof. Raymond
UWRT 1103
6 July 2015
Writing Prompt 1: Early Memories
Over the past few years, reading and writing have been concepts that I so often take for
granted. Standardized tests like the SAT, classes like AP English, and college dual enrollment
courses turned my reading and writing into instruments of education that were no longer
nostalgic. They turned into tools of survival. Now today, the question persists; what is my
origin story? How did I begin this literary journey that has landed me here? In the simplest
terms, my family shaped my foundation for reading and writing, and my schooling placed the
bricks that began the house called my literary narrative.
My family started molding my reading journey long before my writing journey. Some of
my earliest memories take place on the laps or in the presence of various adults who smiled and
waited for me to recite the words to my favorite story, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you
See? It was so impressive to see a wide-eyed child who barely crept past the pant line of adoring
mothers recite a book at such a young age. Of course, it took a little convincing from my
persistent mother who would push me consistently to clearly articulate the words I struggled on.
I often looked to her smile after I passed a difficult word. It was her smile of approval that
pushed me for so long in my pursuit of reading and writing mastery. That smile would be ever
so distant a few years later when a particular assignment crept its way back into the Bradshaw
home. My sister, who was five years my elder, would bring this same assignment in the house,
and I remember the crying, the arguing, the shouting, and I vowed I would never have that same

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issue. When the assignment entered my point of view at that glass kitchen table, I had a feeling
the promise I made to myself was void.
I was in the second grade, and the assignment will never escape me as long as I live. It
had a simple name, a simple concept, and overall should have been simple. It was called
Sentence Night, and we as students were assigned a list of challenging words and our goal was to
take all the words in the list, and make coherent sentences with them. Usually, I received 100s
on these assignments that the teachers praised me for, but they had no idea the struggle that
ensued to turn that paper in. I hated Tuesday nights, but it was those nights that turned me into
the writer I am today. I remember specifically my mother telling me to stop writing lazy
sentences. For example, dont say everyone was doing something and she would ask Who is
everyone Trey?! Sentences like that would drive her insane and would usually be the source of
arguments. However, to this day, I have to attribute every writing achievement to my mother and
that glass kitchen table. They were my foundation.
It was around this time as well when another interest of mine began to peak; my creative
writing. I was the kid in the class who honestly believed he was a Jedi. I ran around all day
swinging fiercely at the air making accompanying sound effects. Explosions were also my thing.
Little did I know, I wielded a spark of creativity that only needed to be tamed. In second grade,
they had a standards test that focused on creative writing, and my wide-eyed self jumped into
this exercise with little to no hesitation. The works of classic writers are always best in their
original form or unabridged. My second grade work, however, needed some attention. My
stories would be filled with great explosions, little plot line, and entirely too much violence. It
was at this point that my schooling played an integral part in my growing process. My
foundation was well laid by my persistent mother, but I lacked some intangibles. Teachers like

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Mrs. Manning and Mrs. Asmus helped me not only create a good story, but develop a talent I had
deep inside of me. To this day, one of my favorite things to do is tell a story. It can be written or
spoken, but nothing excites me more than to see the ideas of my mind transpiring it onto paper.
Reading and writing was soon degraded to a survival tool as my education continued.
My growth continued to increase exponentially, but the small moments of magic began to
disappear in my journey. It wasnt until my junior of high school that I found a renaissance in
those magic moments.