The Discipline of Words: A Story of My Mother and Me
Presentation
ONCE UPON A TIME...
It’s not easy to grow up under the watchful eye of your mother, especially when your mother is a schoolteacher. Mine was a primary school teacher for many years. I can still hear her firm voice setting the rhythm of each morning. My routine was set: wake up early, shower, eat breakfast, and get ready for school. That was just the first shift. The second shift began when I got home—afternoon lessons in reading, writing, and homework, every single day. These sessions began when I was just six years old. At first, they were rough, filled with raised voices and the occasional slap. The words I struggled to read seemed to float meaninglessly in front of my eyes. But little by little, they started to make sense, to take shape, to become something more.
struggle & growth...
Over time, her strict method began to bear fruit. What began as an obligation slowly transformed into a habit I craved. I discovered that stories could transport me to other worlds. Newspaper reports taught me the power of detail; magazine features revealed the richness of narrative voice; and the classics on those dusty bookshelves showed me the universal strength of emotion. Every text I read uncovered a new corner of my imagination. Every word I wrote began to carry its own voice.
My mother made me read everything: newspapers, magazines, comic books, and old, worn-out novels passed down through generations. “Read everything you can,” she said, “and write down every idea that comes to your mind.” At that age, I could barely form full sentences, but she had me transcribe articles from the culture section of the newspaper, copying paragraphs word for word to memorize their rhythm. There were no exceptions—homework and reading had to be finished, no matter the hour. Many nights stretched late into the evening.
TRANSFORMATION By the time I was thirteen, my mother still demanded discipline, but she also began to smile with pride as she flipped through the pages I had written. She found something genuine in me—something that was hers, too. My teenage years brought new challenges: exams, turbulent friendships, and the need to fit in. But writing became my refuge. While others played soccer, I went home to invent stories with imaginary characters. Writing not only helped me organize my thoughts, but it also allowed me to explore my fears and joys without holding back.
Genially
TRANSFORMATION
01
In high school, I took a few literature classes and read books like Romeo and Juliet, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Don Quixote, Pedro Páramo, and The Broken Spears. But one book left a lasting impression on me: Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, the first part of The Divine Comedy. It tells the imaginative journey of the soul toward God, beginning with a descent into Hell, guided by the poet Virgil. The Inferno is divided into nine circles, each punishing souls according to their sins. The book is a masterful blend of theology, philosophy, and social critique, offering a medieval vision of sin and divine justice. That story ignited my imagination and deepened my desire to keep writing.
Looking back, I realize that my journey through words mirrored Dante’s descent into darkness. The early days of writing were full of confusion, frustration, and resistance, my own personal Inferno. But like Dante, I had a guide. My mother’s relentless push for discipline and excellence led me through the chaos. What began as punishment became revelation. Her lessons were not just about grammar or vocabulary; they were about perseverance, about finding light in the act of expression.
DISCOVERY OF PASION
RESOLUTION...
Today, I still write. Not because I have to, but because I need to. Writing is how I understand the world, how I slow down and make sense of what I feel. It remains my greatest tool for reflection and creativity. And though my mother no longer looks over my shoulder, her voice still echoes in my mind, reminding me that every word has weight and every sentence a soul.
FINALLY...
In the end, it was through both severity and love that she taught me the power of language. And like Dante, who emerged from the depths to glimpse the stars, I found my own clarity through the discipline of words.
Invitation
The words of our childhood can be chains … or wings. Which will you choose? Let your words be a bridge, not a prison.
Save time
DANTE'S INFERNO
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The Discipline of Words: A Story of My Mother and Me
Luis Becerril
Created on September 20, 2025
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Transcript
The Discipline of Words: A Story of My Mother and Me
Presentation
ONCE UPON A TIME...
It’s not easy to grow up under the watchful eye of your mother, especially when your mother is a schoolteacher. Mine was a primary school teacher for many years. I can still hear her firm voice setting the rhythm of each morning. My routine was set: wake up early, shower, eat breakfast, and get ready for school. That was just the first shift. The second shift began when I got home—afternoon lessons in reading, writing, and homework, every single day. These sessions began when I was just six years old. At first, they were rough, filled with raised voices and the occasional slap. The words I struggled to read seemed to float meaninglessly in front of my eyes. But little by little, they started to make sense, to take shape, to become something more.
struggle & growth...
Over time, her strict method began to bear fruit. What began as an obligation slowly transformed into a habit I craved. I discovered that stories could transport me to other worlds. Newspaper reports taught me the power of detail; magazine features revealed the richness of narrative voice; and the classics on those dusty bookshelves showed me the universal strength of emotion. Every text I read uncovered a new corner of my imagination. Every word I wrote began to carry its own voice.
My mother made me read everything: newspapers, magazines, comic books, and old, worn-out novels passed down through generations. “Read everything you can,” she said, “and write down every idea that comes to your mind.” At that age, I could barely form full sentences, but she had me transcribe articles from the culture section of the newspaper, copying paragraphs word for word to memorize their rhythm. There were no exceptions—homework and reading had to be finished, no matter the hour. Many nights stretched late into the evening.
TRANSFORMATION By the time I was thirteen, my mother still demanded discipline, but she also began to smile with pride as she flipped through the pages I had written. She found something genuine in me—something that was hers, too. My teenage years brought new challenges: exams, turbulent friendships, and the need to fit in. But writing became my refuge. While others played soccer, I went home to invent stories with imaginary characters. Writing not only helped me organize my thoughts, but it also allowed me to explore my fears and joys without holding back.
Genially
TRANSFORMATION
01
In high school, I took a few literature classes and read books like Romeo and Juliet, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Don Quixote, Pedro Páramo, and The Broken Spears. But one book left a lasting impression on me: Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, the first part of The Divine Comedy. It tells the imaginative journey of the soul toward God, beginning with a descent into Hell, guided by the poet Virgil. The Inferno is divided into nine circles, each punishing souls according to their sins. The book is a masterful blend of theology, philosophy, and social critique, offering a medieval vision of sin and divine justice. That story ignited my imagination and deepened my desire to keep writing.
Looking back, I realize that my journey through words mirrored Dante’s descent into darkness. The early days of writing were full of confusion, frustration, and resistance, my own personal Inferno. But like Dante, I had a guide. My mother’s relentless push for discipline and excellence led me through the chaos. What began as punishment became revelation. Her lessons were not just about grammar or vocabulary; they were about perseverance, about finding light in the act of expression.
DISCOVERY OF PASION
RESOLUTION...
Today, I still write. Not because I have to, but because I need to. Writing is how I understand the world, how I slow down and make sense of what I feel. It remains my greatest tool for reflection and creativity. And though my mother no longer looks over my shoulder, her voice still echoes in my mind, reminding me that every word has weight and every sentence a soul.
FINALLY...
In the end, it was through both severity and love that she taught me the power of language. And like Dante, who emerged from the depths to glimpse the stars, I found my own clarity through the discipline of words.
Invitation
The words of our childhood can be chains … or wings. Which will you choose? Let your words be a bridge, not a prison.
Save time
DANTE'S INFERNO
Click me
With this feature...
You can add additional content that excites your audience's brain: videos, images, links, interactivity... Whatever you want! Attention! In Genially we use AI (Awesome Interactivity) in all our designs, so you can level up with interactivity and turn your content into something that adds value and engages.