We had a print friendly home too. Mom read to us when we were small. She made sure we received books for Christmas and for our birthdays, and I loved getting them. I honestly did. No groaning, another book, when the all too familiar gift was set before me. I eagerly opened the book package wondering which book I'd add to my own shelf. LITTLE WOMEN, THE FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND HOW THEY GREW, MY FRIEND FLICKA, even the BIBLE made it into my collection. I'd open each new book, leaf through it carefully examining the pages, the print, the lovely illustrations (always quality editions), but I didn't read them. I'm not sure why. I tried. There may have been some attention problem, or maybe, from the time I was five-years-old, the box with the cathode ray tube in the living-room captured my attention, more then reading.
Nevertheless, I loved it when my third grade teacher read to us. Other teacher's may have also read, but for some reason, I specifically remember Miss Heaffy reading THE BOXCAR CHILDREN and it set my imagination souring as I thought about how my siblings and I would fare living in a boxcar. Not a literary classic, but certainly interesting to a third-grader.
By the time high school rolled around and those English book reviews were due, I got by, listening in class, reading the book jackets, and skimming for content to quote THE YEARLING, A TALE OF TWO CITIES, and MY ANTONIA. When it came time to review the book as a whole in class, I'd listen so as to be able to regurgitate facts on a test. I can remember thinking during those rehashes, "I wish I had actually read that book." What diverted my attention as a sophomore and junior in high school, besides the opposite sex, were the plays I participated in. My English teacher, both years, doubled as my director and guess what? He gave me grade-mercy because play practice occupied my time after school. I attended another school for 12th grade, and to be honest, blocked the memory of most of the year from my mind. Not my best year.
When I moved temporarily to Boulder, Colorado, twenty-two-years-old, single and pregnant, I packed certain books to take with me from the family shelves. Books made me feel at home. I lived in a one-room efficiency apartment across from the University of Colorado's football field, had no television to watch, no computers at that time, no friends or siblings to distract me, so I picked up one of those books and read it, cover to cover. That was all it took. I became a voracious reader.
I couldn't begin to calculate how much I've spent on the printed word over the past four decades, probably an obscene amount, or how many books I've loaned out or given away. I love sharing books with others, and when I read something I like, I usually want to share it.
Books became my companions, represented home to me wherever I traveled, were my comfort buy when I needed comfort, and opened up new worlds when I felt isolated by circumstances. Books accompanied me wherever I went.
Imagine my sense of horror when my 5th grader came home and told me he HATED to read, nobody read. Charlie taught himself to read by using a set of phonics tapes before he entered school at the age of 6, and had a love of reading that was squelched in school. I needed to find something that would capture his imagination enough to want to read for himself (this occurred as I transitioned from sending him to public school and home schooling, back in early 80s before home schooling became more visible). I didn't want him to grow up not reading as I had.
I can't remember where I read about them as a means to that end, but someone recommended THE NARNIA TALES for reluctant readers. I purchased a set and started reading THE LION THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE to him. I read through the whole set rather quickly, because we were both enthralled. It not only opened up a new world to him, but also to me. He read the series so often over the next few years, he practically knew every page by memory.
Once we ventured into the world of Narnia, Tolkien and THE HOBBIT seemed like a natural next choice, and then THE LORD OF THE RINGS. They proved to be more of a challenge to read aloud, but we persevered. Tolkien also provided him with plenty of scope to stimulate his imagination. He found SHERLOCK HOLMES on his own and enjoyed sleuthing with Holmes and Watson.
By the time Jennifer turned 5 (Charlie, 14 then), I thought certainly she'd follow in Charlie's footsteps. We tried the phonics approach he had used, but to no avail. The letters just seemed to bounce around and made no sense. I'd try from time to time to help her with reading, but found our best avenue of approach was just to read, read, read. I read everything to her, biographies, books about art, the stars, geography, math (although finding interesting books about math proved to be a challenge). Then too, we read Lewis, Tolkien, but added others, such as Lucy Maud Montgomery's ANNE OF GREEN GABLES (plus all her sequels and EMILY books), LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE series, and Beatrix Potter.
Those are the ones I remember most clearly but again, kept wishing I had read when I was growing up.
Then it was David's turn (Charlie 19, Jennifer 10); he just started reading at about 5. I read to him as I had Jennifer and never really needed much in the way of effort to help him read. They all loved the original WINNIE THE POOH, but David wasn't that thrilled with Lewis or Tolkien, not growing up (Tolkien came later). We read HUCKLEBERRY FINN, THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD, and SECRET GARDEN, JUST SO STORIES just to name a few more. David loved THE WIND AND THE WILLOWS, it was a favorite that was read again and again.
As David entered his teen years, he read less and less. One reason for that, I think, is because he was allowed video games the others didn't have (Charlie reminds me, David got all the cool stuff...Charlie didn't even have an Atari). So I wonder if David had the same problem I had, the movie screen/video screen captured more attention then reading, UNTIL, he discovered HARRY POTTER, actually in his twenties. He is still more visual, enjoys filming, making music, writing, but he has discovered reading for pleasure on his own later, just as I had. He's read the HP series through several times and keeps searching for other books that will equally capture his attention. He told me the other day, he found Michael Crichton's JURASSIC PARK to be interesting.
I'm still easily lured away from reading by the seduction of movies and the computer, but they have OFF buttons, and when I notice I haven't been reading as much, I'll turn off the electronics and settle into a favorite chair for a good read, or two, or three. I read a wide variety of books and with the addition of a Kindle, lugging a heavy book bag with me on airplanes is in the past, thank GOD. I miss not being able to read aloud to the children (someone suggested I volunteer at the local library, I just might). I wish my mother would let me read to her (I've offered, since she doesn't see well and laments not being able to read, with her Alzheimer's following a story is difficult). I'm still discovering treasures on my own, Steinbeck's EAST OF EDEN, Dumas' THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO, Hugo's LES MISERABLES, and Cather's MY ANTONIA (finally).
I am SO grateful I read whole books, interesting books to the children as they were growing up, for in the process I found books I wish I had read, but discovered late. What is it they say? Better late than never! What about you? Read any good books lately?
Thanks for keeping us interested in reading. I remember vividly playing leggo's and drawing or coloring while listening to you read to me. I remember reading with you at night and not wanting you to stop at just one chapter.
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