I learned to read words when I was three, but it was in my first-grade classroom that I encountered literature for the first time. Each day after lunch, we laid our heads on our desks, my teacher turned off the lights, and for thirty minutes, she read to us.
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was my introduction to the world of fantasy, the world of literature, the world of imagination. I remember the first day she read to us quite vividly--the scents, the sounds, the images that surrounded me--even after all this time. I remember how the classroom was arranged, where my desk sat, and the posters on the wall. I remember her voice, soft and melodious, rising and falling in a rhythm unique to that particular story. I remember how the language and style fascinated me, was like nothing I'd ever heard or read before...
Most of all, though, I remember my wonder and awe.
That day, in that classroom, a first-grade teacher found the right book for the right child at the right time, and a reader was born.
Thank you, Mrs. Jones. And thank you, Mr. Lewis. You have both enriched my life immeasurably.
2 comments:
I can't remember a time in my life without books, without that other world. I can't point to one moment, as you have, and say, a-ha that's when I fell in love. I don't even really remember any particular book at that age that I loved.
I remember, and still experience, that moment right before you open a book. You've read the jacket and it sounds good. You might even know the author. It might be a new book in a series, where the questions you have been asking will finally be answered. I love that moment right before the crunch of the spine when everything inside the book is possible. I still feel that.
There isn't a single day in my life when I haven't read. And I don't say that for effect. I really don't know of any day when I haven't gone to bed reading something. All of those books weren't wonderful, but most have offered me something: a diversion, an insight, a chuckle, or a tear.
I love the smell of books and the tactile experience of holding this other world in your hands, the power to end it when you want, and the rapture of being carried away: you know the books that you can't put down even though there are a million other things you should be doing. I love the books that make me feel, that transport me, that present the unusual, the unexpected, and even those that present the usual in poignant and beautiful ways.
No I don't remember a specific moment, but I have them every day. I don't remember one book, but many: Little Women, Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, Bridge to Tarabithia, Sound of Thunder...some of many.
I thank all the writers who are willing to share their worlds with me and to my parents for never Not-allowing me to read; they changed my life.
I can't even begin to measure the impact that reading has had on my life. When I was a child, we moved so often (and so unpredictably) that I began to see the effort of making friends as futile and hurtful; I knew that I would eventually have to leave, and that I probably wouldn't have the chance to say goodbye.
My "friends" became the characters in my books: Nancy Drew and Ned, Joe and Frank Hardy, Trixie Belden (and Jim, Di, and Honey), Anne Frank, and Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy...these were the children I grew up with, my companions when I was feeling blue, my partners in adventure when I felt trapped and lonely.
At one point, I owned every single Trixie Belden mystery--and each had been read and re-read until it was dog-eared, smeared with PB&J, and obviously much-beloved.
I don't know whatever happened to my original collection, but I recently began collecting them again, searching for them in antique shops and used book stores. I could probably find them more easily online, but there's something special about the search, about the discovery of a dusty, much-loved book found in the corner under a dusty brass teapot.
It's a treasure-hunt, and the reward is to be reunited with my all of my cherished childhood friends...
Post a Comment