Nyleek Moore

Professor Albuerme

Fall 2025 

ENG 11- 18906

 

Dear Professor A,

In my Language and Literacy Narrative, “Lessons from the Kitchen Table,” I wanted to capture a childhood memory that shaped the way I view learning and language. The story is about the night before my second-grade spelling bee, when I failed to study all week and tried to make the best of the time I had with my mom. She turned a frustrating study session into something fun and creative. That moment taught me that learning doesn’t always have to come from repetition or any normal method. It can come from rhythm, connection, song, and even laughter.

My primary audience is you, my instructor, but because this is a relatable and interesting story, it’s also open to anyone else who might want to read about a child’s perception of learning and reading being changed for the better. When writing this assignment, an insight that I gained was that your perception of learning and reading largely has to do with how you were brought up as a child. I know that in America, we have a severe literacy crisis, and this is likely because of a failure on the school system’s part, but also a failure of parents to encourage their children to learn and read by making these things fun. Concepts like audience, purpose, and context helped shape how I approached this essay. Thinking about my audience made me more intentional with how I told the story. I wanted to make it clear enough for readers to connect emotionally but also reflective enough to show its meaning. Understanding rhetorical situation and exigence also helped me realize why this story mattered and what message I wanted to leave with readers: that learning can be joyful and personal, not just academic. 

 I chose this memory because it represents a key moment where my love for reading and learning grew because I saw it from a different lens. My mom’s patience and creativity made me realize that words have power beyond just spelling or grammar; they can express emotion, imagination, and identity. Writing this essay helped me appreciate how those early experiences influenced how I approach school and writing today.

When I was writing, I focused on using sensory details such as describing energy in the room, the quiet apartment, and the rhythm of the word “special” to help readers feel like they were sitting at the kitchen table with me. Although most of the details captured the real feeling of that night, I felt like I could’ve done a better job with describing the rhythm of how my mom said “special”. I also tried to balance story and reflection so that it felt personal but still meaningful. If I were to revise again, I’d work on tightening some sentences for rhythm and experimenting with different ways to transition between reflection and action.

Overall, I’m proud of how this essay shows growth, not just in how I learned to spell a word, but in how I learned what words themselves can do.

Sincerely,

Nyleek Moore 

 

Lessons From The Kitchen Table 

“No, that’s not the right way to spell it, try again.”

My mothers’ words echoed in my head as I looked at her blankly. I had been trying to get this word right for the past five minutes, but eventually I checked out. It was the night before the second-grade spelling bee and me and my mom were at the kitchen table practicing. Unfortunately, my mom was starting to get annoyed, not just because I’d only told her about the spelling bee that night, but because I hadn’t practiced all week. I can recall my mom closing her eyes and exhaling slowly, her patience wearing thinner with each minute. I remember the silence of the rest of the apartment, as if it was holding its breath, anxious for the outburst that could spring from my mom at any time. Every time I misspelled a word, I could almost feel her annoyance.It wasn’t anger exactly, but the quiet frustration of trying to help someone who just isn’t getting it. The clock ticked in the background, each second louder than the last.

Eventually, we landed on a word that would change everything. “How do you spell special?” my mom said. After thinking about it, I gave an answer. “Try again,” she said. So I did, and I did, and I did… Wrong. Every. Time. For some reason, that word just wouldn’t stick in my head. I kept switching the letters around—spical, speical, sepcial. 

Just as I could see my mom almost give up, her eyes perked up. “S-P-E-C-I-A- L.” she said with a distinct rhythm to it. I repeated after her, “S-P-E-C-I-A- L”. I was starting to get the hang of it. She made it sound like a song, and I even started to pair it with small beats that I made on the table with my hands. I finally spelled it right and it felt as if a weight was lifted off of my shoulders.

That small moment—just a few minutes long—has stayed with me for years. It wasn’t really about spelling the word special right; it was about realizing that learning could be creative, alive, and even fun. My mom turned frustration into laughter and showed me that understanding doesn’t always come from repetition; it can come from rhythm, connection, and joy.

On the day of the spelling bee, I felt confident walking into the auditorium because of the work my mom and I had done the night before. While many of my classmates looked nervous, I was calm. I didn’t end up winning, but I was proud of myself for getting up there and remembering the new word we practiced together. Seeing my mom’s smile in the audience was the best reward of all.

That same warmth and encouragement carried beyond that night. My mom brought that spirit into everything she did—our shelves were always overflowing with colorful books, and whenever she read to me, her voice brought those stories to life. I didn’t realize it then, but she was teaching me more than just how to read; she was showing me how language could breathe emotion and imagination into everyday life. That night at the kitchen table was only the beginning. It was the moment I learned that words aren’t just something you memorize—they’re something you feel, something that can make even the hardest lessons… special.