Reading

I am an avid—insatiable—reader. But have always been baffled as to how in the world I came to enjoy reading so much. Maybe you’ll see why when I tell you my story of learning to read.

I’m feeling quite small, holding onto my dad’s hand walking me down a very long hallway. Quite vivid in my memory is how deathly quiet it is except for the echo of our shoes on the concrete floor. After walking what seemed like forever, we finally came to my new school classroom. Dad was in the Army. We were transferred according to their needs; not our school’s schedule. And school, of course, had already begun.

Dreading actually arriving at the classroom, we are finally standing in the doorway. The entire class is staring at me like I’m some kind of alien creature. Well, actually, I felt like an alien. I didn’t know anyone and was quite sure no one would like me anyway. Can you tell my poor little self’s esteem was not dealing too well with always having to go into new classroom situations every few years? It must have gone alright. Though I have absolutely no recollection of it. Just the sound of our shoes clacking on the floor of that oh-so-very-long hallway.

With all this moving around, I was a shy little girl with not a great sense of myself. I recall most especially the reading circle. I absolutely dreaded reading circle. With chairs in a circle, someone would start. As we would make our way around the circle, each one having to read a part of the book, I was in sheer dread of them finally getting to me. I was absolutely certain I would screw it up!

So there I am again. Everyone looking at me. Just as in the trauma of walking down that very long hallway, that same dreadful feeling of standing in the doorway of my new classroom. My entire world staring at me. Judging me. I was utterly certain I would never measure up. So, by the time it was my turn to read, I was a basket case! Absolute terror. Then, to make matters worse, my teacher would always make a big deal out of the fact that I’d scrunch up my face and lips into these weird contortions when I would come to a word I didn’t know—or know how to pronounce. How I ever got out of that alive is beyond me!

So how did I transition from the trauma of that reading circle so long ago to an such avid reader? As it turns out, I didn’t read much until many years after graduating from high school; I was just glad to be done with school. In my late 20s, I finally had a desire to learn more and return to school for a degree. As I started learning more, I wanted to learn even more—and in many different areas. Learning had become a joy. Mostly I wanted to understand myself, but also understand nature. Many years later I remembered those early hardships of learning to read. I realized it was my yearning to learn more, and to better understand myself and the world I live in, that kept me reading. Now I understand that it was my growing love and desire for learning that let me drop any trauma from those early years. Yes, I wish I was a faster reader and that I retained more from all the many books I read. But I don’t let that stop me from reading—and reading lots. I want to soak it all up like a sponge. So I’ve always got books I’m reading everywhere—and on many different subjects.

The miracle of my passion for reading is awe-inspiring to me and I’m grateful for that love . . . given the absolute trauma I put myself through learning to read. You’d think that, after that kind of start, I’d never want to pick up a book again. But, just the opposite, I would love it if I could read TEN books every day! And to be able to understand and retain it!

I have an incredible—ravenous—desire to learn more. Whether it’s about places, environments and critters, or how different writers share their stories. I am clearly passionate about learning and reading.