in first person

Literature and Life

WE take pleasure in introducing the youngest of our contributors, Amrit Chahal. Here is a sensitive writer who while struggling against a serious health problem, fought to win two battles, one against the debittling disease and another to play, read and enjoy a normal life of a frolicking child. His unswerving parents made big efforts to bring the best in him. Amrit, now 18 is in the final grade of his school in Fairfax. Let us just be with him for a while and have the sense of his experiences.

“One of the greatest gifts adults can give -- to their offspring and to their society -- is to read to children”.  I began my life of literature at a very young age, and by the time I was two I could recite the alphabet.  Only three and a half years old, I was picking out the books I wanted to read for the following week at the bookstore. My parents felt no need to read to me except for when I was too tired to find out the adventures of Clifford at the end of the day. Although my mathematic skills didn’t come until I was five years old, I devoured Clifford The Big Red Dog books like a machine.  During the first few years of my life I was too sick to go to school, which drove my parents into teaching me the basic skills of communication.  When I was five I returned to school but it was to be short lived.  Within the first five months of school I received a national merit award for literature and mathematics.  Shortly after receiving the awards, I had to return home and begin home schooling due to my illness.  With every turn of the page there was an adventure.  I can remember my favorite types of books, they were the same child- illustration story, but on the side of the page there were little buttons that made appropriate sounds for the events I read about on the page.  My favorite fairy tale was that of Peter Pan and the children of Never-Never land.

When I reached the fourth grade my teacher assigned the class a book to read.  A step up from the short stories we read in our textbooks, I looked forward to story time every day.  In the sixth grade my class once again was assigned to read a novel but this time we were able to choose which novel we wanted to read.  The book I chose was Johnny Tremain.  Absorbed into the plot, I couldn’t believe what happened to the poor boy in his young age, just little older than me, and had signed up to be a soldier in the civil war.  Imagining myself standing with the bayonet in my hand trying to fight every ounce of fear, I was astounded I could almost feel the heat and stench of death that Johnny faced everyday.  The response for the novel involved a presentation in which I dressed up like a young member of an infantry in the civil war, and I received an ‘A’ for my efforts.  This would be the one-year that I would never forget.

My eighth grade was not exciting in the least. My teacher was known to be a  “devil” at times, and unfortunately for her seventh period she was in full attack mode everyday. She would purposely call a sick day when large assignment was due and fool the class into thinking they would actually have to turn it in. Then to totally bamboozle the minds of her students she would call a sick day and actually show up to class and expect to find the class to have all of their assignments, which of course we did not have because we thought we had her figured out. I can remember the first paper I turned in, I received an ‘A’, but could see by the expression on her face that she was not happy to give me this grade even though I truly deserved it.  Every test and every assignment assigned in that class was a breeze.  I spent most of my time dozing off into space only to be woken by my teacher’s shrewd voice saying “Amrit snap out of it.”  I couldn’t believe how easy English class could be at this rate I could become the next Michael Crichton by the age of sixteen.

Ninth grade English class was once again an easy ‘A.’ Most of my time was spent watching movies and periodically answering questions in the packets that the teacher Xeroxed for the class.  I enjoyed that class for its atmosphere and the “easy-going ness of the teacher.” During the first day of class, I volunteered to correct a paragraph on the blackboard and missed two of the corrections.  Beginning with that day, I never volunteered to correct the paragraph again.  I am not sure why I couldn’t gather the courage to volunteer for any corrections, maybe it was a deep physiological block, or maybe I was just afraid of my teacher telling me that I was wrong.  I always thought that English should be the easiest class since I speak it fluently but I was soon to learn of my downfall.

As I took my seat in Mr. Shapiro’s English class, I thought of how easy it would be; just like every other year since the beginning of my English career. I thought I could have simply read a short story, do a response, and expect my easy ‘A’, but unfortunately Honors English with Mr. Shapiro is very deceiving at first.  This class would not be an easy ‘A’ because of the in-depth approach that this class takes into literature and novels.  One of the first assignments was a turning point composition. I knew this would be easy so I spent only a few hours on it. Then on the day before it was due, I read a paper written by my neighbor that had the class the previous year and it was much better than mine, and she received a ‘C+.’  I spent that entire night reworking my paper and asking friends to edit it for me.  The next day I turned the paper in and received one of the lowest grades I had ever received in an English class.  Beginning that day, I knew that it was no ordinary class; this would be my greatest battle. [November 14, 2003]