Literary Narrative: How the death of a spider taught me the power of a book

“Literacy as a resource becomes available to ordinary people largely through the meditations of more powerful sponsors.”

 

A powerful sponsor in my life showed me the power of reading a book. Something I will remember and carry with me for the rest of my life.

 

The first book that made me cry was about a pig and a spider. Spoiler alert the spider dies.

 

It was a rainy afternoon. My first grade class had just finished snack time and it was now my favorite part of the day, story time. While most of my fellow classmates squirmed and whispered to each other the gossip of a first grader. I was sitting criss cross applesauce at the front of the alphabet rug listening intently. My first grade teacher, who in my mind was one of the best person on the planet and could do no wrong, had been reading us Charlotte’s Web for the past few weeks and I had fallen in love with the story. I had been begging my parents for a Wilbur the pig of my own for weeks and instead of shrieking when I saw a spider I would now smile and wave. We were getting towards the ending and I was excited for the happy ending that I was sure to come, Wilbur and Charlotte would live at the farm for the rest of their lives, Fern would ditch her boyfriend and start spending more time with Wilbur again, and Wilbur would win the 1st place ribbon at the fair. I knew that not because Brimmer told me the ending (Though he did say he would tell me the ending if I wanted to know because his mom had read it to him before but I told him I would never speak to him again if he did.), but because that is how all the books I have read or been read to always worked. Everything would always work out for the good guys in books. Back then a story with a happy ending wasn’t just a possibility, it was a guaranteed.

 

So when Ms.Fleanor read the part where Charlotte dies I was shocked. The third of my classmates that were actually paying attention let out gasp and voiced there dismay but I let out the loudest no of them all.

 

“Charlotte can’t die. She is Wilbur’s best friend.” I cried lower lip trembling. Ms.Fleanor must have read it wrong there must have been a mistake! But no Ms.Fleanor was the smartest person I knew she wouldn’t have read it wrong.

 

Brimmer who was sitting right by my best friend Caitlin laughed at me (That kid disappeared from my school after third grade. My theory is prison). “Why are you upset it is just a stupid spider?” (And that was back when the word stupid was considered one of the worst swear words you could say.).

 

That is when I lost it. I don’t mean just lips trembling and tears in eyes but full on bawling. The kids sitting next to me looked at me horrified. No old and mature first grader was suppose to cry. But here I was bawling and snot hanging down my nose.

 

Ms.Fleanor shut the book. “Let’s finish the story tomorrow. It is time for free choice.” My classmates hopped up from the mat excitedly in a race to be the first to grab ethier crayons, building blocks, or play dough. All but one little girl in pigtails who was glued to the letter D (I always sat there because it had a picture of a dog on it.) still crying.

 

Ms.Fleanor kneeled next to me and gave me a kleenex to blow into. I couldn’t look her in the eye I was so embarrassed. I was honestly thinking about running out of the classroom and never coming back becoming the first ever first grade dropout.

 

“Isn’t it amazing how powerful a story is?” She asked smiling down at me like I was the cutest girl in the world, despite my red face and runny nose.

 

I peeked out from under my tissue confused.

 

“A story uses only words to make us happy and sad. It makes us think and wonder. It puts us in other people’s shoes. Even a little spider.” Just then Bailee, a friend of mine,tugged on Ms.Fleanor’s elbow to show her yet another picture of Snoopy she had drew. As she went to Bailee’s desk she turned around and smiled at me. “Never forget just how powerful a book can be.”