Learning to Read

I loved books even before knowing how to read. As a toddler, I'd tote around second-hand books and examined the shapes of the letters as I can only guess early Egyptologists studied hieroglyphics. Before learning to talk, I would push books towards my Dad hoping to hear a story. After learning to talk, I would ask for certain stories to be read out loud before bedtime assured that reading would help me sleep and once asleep the words would bring sweet dreams into that great land of nod. After learning to read, I would  sneak off to areas in the redwood forest to read. I sometimes decided to climb a pine tree where I had a little book nest. 

Of course, there are some particular parts to my experience. One was that my father also loved to read. He spent the end of the 70s and 80s reading paperbacks... lots of paperbacks... specifically science fiction with really "interesting covers." At that time, he was a teacher so these books allowed him to blast off away from the Reagan years to the fantastical stories contained in those mysterious pages. Eventually, the paperbacks filled paper bags which my mom donated during a spring cleaning to my early remorse. The books that stayed were encyclopedias, classic books (Oz included) inherited from my mothers grandparents, the second-hand golden books, and history books. 

We knew that when he was in his "chair" with his book it would be best to be patient. Seeing my Dad and how he valued that time must have implanted an idea in my young mind, because I became a solitary reader too. Until recently... now I try to share my experiences with Stanley (the baby). I know that seeing my Dad's relationship, quiet and interpersonal, formed my reading habits. For this, among many other things, I am very thankful.