To Kill A Mockingbird-Personal Narrative Analysis
“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover!” My teachers have preached this mantra since we were old enough to read books. Yet, I still found myself breaking this unwritten rule when I was in the eleventh grade. It was just another cold winter day in rural Minnesota when I entered my language arts class in the morning. Being that it was the first class of my day, the sun was yet to rise, which added to the overall tired mood that every student conveyed. The classroom itself was an attempt at making the school cheerful, but no amount of posters could mask the weary, beige walls behind them. As for the students, we projected our worn out mood by wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts. Thus, it was a typical, dreary day in Sauk Rapids, Minnesota.
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I assume that assigned reading always was an endeavor for me because it felt like more of a chore and something that I had to do instead of reading for pleasure. Particularly, I struggled with classic novels. I would try so hard to read and finish a book that I was assigned, but for some reason, I could not do it. Instead, I would use websites like SparkNotes to fill in the gaps.
“We will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird,” declared my teacher. I sighed and looked at Brooke. We both had the expression of boredom and loathing on our faces. We were not alone. It was clear that we were not the only ones who hated to read assigned books. She handed each student their own copy of the book.
The cover was tattered and old. The illustration on the front of the cover was simple and, I thought, unintriguing. It was faded shade of purple with a picture of a tree and a bird on the cover. If I would have been scanning through books at a library, I would not have picked up this book. When I opened the front cover of the book, the pages smelled archaic and musty. On the inside of the front cover, there was a list of the names of the many students who read the book before me. At the bottom of the page, the publication date was listed; it was 1960. With every turn of the page, my dread increased. I did not want to read this book, let alone be graded on reading this
I assume that assigned reading always was an endeavor for me because it felt like more of a chore and something that I had to do instead of reading for pleasure. Particularly, I struggled with classic novels. I would try so hard to read and finish a book that I was assigned, but for some reason, I could not do it. Instead, I would use websites like SparkNotes to fill in the gaps.
“We will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird,” declared my teacher. I sighed and looked at Brooke. We both had the expression of boredom and loathing on our faces. We were not alone. It was clear that we were not the only ones who hated to read assigned books. She handed each student their own copy of the book.
The cover was tattered and old. The illustration on the front of the cover was simple and, I thought, unintriguing. It was faded shade of purple with a picture of a tree and a bird on the cover. If I would have been scanning through books at a library, I would not have picked up this book. When I opened the front cover of the book, the pages smelled archaic and musty. On the inside of the front cover, there was a list of the names of the many students who read the book before me. At the bottom of the page, the publication date was listed; it was 1960. With every turn of the page, my dread increased. I did not want to read this book, let alone be graded on reading this