Dave Weisbrich

English 1010
DSU Dr Sean George
September 7th, 2015
Influences

Turn to page 54 and read the highlighted chapters instructed the woman in the drivers
seat of the van. I am surrounded by people I barely know as I flip through the pages to find the
assigned reading for the morning. Including myself, there are 9 people in this van, all of whom
are waiting for me to deliver the daily dose of motivation before we enter the sales field. This is
an important part of our day, and is usually relegated to people who are the top sellers. It is one
of many rituals that we partake of each day, and for this task to be given to someone in their first
week on the job probably raised some doubts and suspicions among the sales crew. I am flipping
through the book- 34, 42, 46, 50- the page numbers are like a countdown to my judgement. I feel
nervous, like a comic must feel nervous making his first television performance. If it goes off
without a hitch, he will get some applause, and nobody will think a thing about it. If he crashes
and burns, though, every detail will be etched upon the memory banks of the audience, and he
will never be asked to return to that stage. I am on a similar stage. While my audience is much
smaller, I feel a connection to these people as their day of work is starting right after my reading.
Page 52 is transferred from my right hand to my left and I think to myself when was the last time
I even read a book, let alone read it aloud to someone? The butterflies in my stomach are making
their presence known, but there is nothing to be done regarding them, I am out of time, page 54
opens wide between my hands. I take a moment as I draw a deep breath in, I remind myself that
there is nothing to fear as I have always been a strong reader. In fact, I can think back to some of
my first memories to confirm this.

It is 1986 and my mother is reading to my brother from a thin, yellow, paperback book.
My brother, Matt, is about to enter kindergarten. My mother is reading to him one of his favorite
books. One about a rat named Mat and his interactions with his other animal friends. These
books are meant to teach children words by repeating them aloud from the narrator and then
associating the spoken words with the sequence of letters which comprises their written form.
The rat in this particular book likes to perform various actions, one of which is to jump. I am
barely two years old and watching her hold the book towards us with her finger following the
words at the bottom of the page. Mat the rat wanted to see how high he could- said my mother,
with her finger on the word jump. My brother responds with the correct word. Then, a few pages
later, it was time again to be tested. Our mother guided him through the next passage, Mat the
rat needed his hat from top shelf. The shelf was high so he needed to- before my brother could
respond I shouted in my two year old voice Jump! My mother was shocked that the answer
came from me, instead of my brother.

One instance of this was surprising, but nothing extraordinary. However, over the next
few nights of us reading together, I began answering more and more of the correct words. Part of
this was due to my mom diverting some of her attention to me every few pages. Part was due to
the added attention I was getting and the positive feedback and praise I would receive. Although
I was too young to have a clear remembrance of these events, I have been told this story several
times from my mother, and witnessed her repeat it many more times to other people. I think of
this as one of the first times I received positive reinforcement about abilities that I had.
My brother soon would go off to school, leaving me and my mother alone at home. She
was probably still in the mode of prepping my brother for school and decided to keep the ball

rolling with me. My reading skills would grow over the next few days and weeks. One day, my
father brought home a one foot by one foot green chalkboard with some chalk. This was for me
to practice writing my letters on. Most children, having being exposed to this type of work before
kindergarten would naturally have an edge upon entering school. However, I seemed to have a
talent for learning to where I rarely struggled with words or letters. Of course, this information
all comes from my mothers recollection, therefore it must be taken with a grain of salt. Mothers
tend to think of their childs smallest accomplishment as monumental. However, whether these
stories are accurate or not, the fact remains that the early adoration and praise I received as a
child helped build a solid academic foundation for me. During my elementary years, I was
consistently one of the brightest students in my class, and a favorite of many of my teachers.
However, this trend would come to an abrupt halt several years into the future, not due to a
learning disability, but by my own deliberate choice.

It is 1995 and I am in a new town, surrounded by new teachers and classmates, and in a
house of family members I no longer recognize. We had left California due to an economic
downturn, and settled in Page, Arizona, which might as well have been the planet Mars. It was
the first time I had moved to a new town, but certainly would not be the last. In California, I
grew up in a system where my family name was known. My brother had preceeded me by three
years, his teachers became my teachers, and they all came to know my parents. My parents
would tell those teachers about me ahead of time, and when I entered into their grade they took
special interest in me. I wasnt favored, or singled out with special treatment or extra difficult
work, but my learning was definitely fostered and not left in need. This was not the case in Page.
I was now definitely being singled out, but in all the wrong ways and for wrong reasons. Being
the new kid in town already put a target on me, but having an interest in education and being

motivated to learn made me public enemy number one. I was the recipient of many recess and
after school beatings because I was seen as the kid who made the rest of them look bad. In
contrast to my previous school, my new teachers neglected my learning, instead spending their
time working on students who actually needed the help. This, in combination with the beatings,
made me despise school. Needless to say, my progress in reading and writing grinded to a halt
during my time at school in Page, Arizona.

My parents had been my initial influence in bringing out my talents in reading and
writing. However, they separated and divorced only 18 months into our new life in Arizona.
From 1996 to 2001 I would attend 6 different schools. My experience at these schools was
similar in many ways to the experience I had in Page as the seeds of apathy that had been planted
back in 5th grade had grown into sprawling gardens. While I still had the talent and ability to be
a great student, I pushed the idea away, instead focusing on ways to be destructive. These years
held me back immensely from life, and it would be a long time before I began exercising my
brain again.
It is January of 2005 and I am sitting in the van with the strangers about to read the
highlighted passage. I take a deep breath in and begin to read. The first sentence comes out with
rust and I feel my brain, eyes, and voice all straining to coordinate the letters on the page. I
deliver the next sentence with more confidence, and the next sentence with even more. I can feel
my coworkers start listening to the words themselves instead of how I speak the words. I reach
the end of the passage and think how difficult that started off, but how good it felt at the end. I
look at the woman in the drivers seat, Melody, and the smile she holds in her eyes for me. Ive
only known her several days, but she already believes in me enough to give this task to me.

Over the coming weeks, Melody takes an interest in me. Something I havent had
someone do since I was a child. She calls on me for reading to the group more often. She teaches
me things about work, about life. She is one of the wisest and most talented people Ive ever met.
She becomes an inspiration to me so powerful, I begin to model my habits after hers. One day
there is a knock at the door. I open it and she gives me a box of books and tells me to read them.
I am thirsty for knowledge at this point in my life, and I find myself using my free time to read
instead of the destructive habits I usually indulged in. Eventually I am given a notebook with the
suggestion that I could use it for a journal if I cared to. I filled that entire notebook within a few
months. I spent the next three years writing several pages a night of my thoughts and feelings.

I have, in a way, come full circle. I have always had the talent for understanding
language, whether it be by hearing others words or by own communication. I started off at a
young age being provoked by my mothers reading. If it wasnt for her insistence of my abilities,
I may have never felt that I was unique. Having an absence of influences during my adolescence
also served me, in a way, in that when I later regained interest in learning I realized how precious
it is. By not engaging in reading or writing for so long, then immersing myself in it was like a
man having a cold drink after being lost in the desert. Having Melody as my mentor has shaped
many aspects of my life. Yet it all began with one thing- her instruction for me to read.