My earliest memories of reading are like snapshots. I don’t remember the first books I read or figuring out letters. I believe that most of my memories start when I began to attend school in second grade, but I know that I was reading for about 3-4 years before then, having been homeschooled by my mom who was and is a voracious reader. I do know that all of my snapshots are full of sunshine – reading has always held positive associations for me. From my mom and I in fits of laughter over a series of books I can no longer remember the name of (and neither can she) to my dad explaining to me the curved swords of Narnia as he read to me at night. I remember asking question after question about the books in order to try and keep him there just a little bit longer. Having grown up religious, I remember the plethora of Bible stories. Cartoon stories of Moses or Jesus read by our babysitter’s voice as she creatively manipulated their voices into contortions that would make any story hilarious. I remember bringing books to church and making rhymes for my brother about it: Erch, Erch, go to church, don’t forget your books Erch! I remember being allowed to read before naptime and the one time I was punished by not being able to read. There were so many trips to the library I’m sure we must’ve gone two or three times a week. They had a Secret Garden section I loved to read in with benches and wooden flowers. All of my favorite book and movie characters also loved to read: Belle, Rigoletto, some I can no longer remember the name of. I even had two “Abigail” books: Abigail’s Alphabet and The Quilt Story which were probably my earliest favorites.
When I was 8, I had a memorization project for school that resulted in my dad and me memorizing Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken,” a defining moment for me poetry wise and literacy wise. I learned that I loved poetry, loved memorization, and that the act of memorization was both meditative and a bonding experience with my father. After that, I got hooked on Shel Silverstein and memorized “Messy Room,” “The Fanciest Dive” and a handful of others. I remember being asked to perform them for adults at parties.
Like my parents, and I’m sure because of them, I read voraciously through my childhood, spending my summers completing book challenges, reading inside and outside, carrying books with me places always. I read the Little House on the Prairie series and the series about both the mother and daughter of Laura Ingalls Wilder. But my favorite (older) childhood book that I must have read at least 4 times between 4-5th grade was called Just Like Always and was about two best friends. I fantasied about having a friend like that.
Writing seemed a natural evolution from my love of reading. I remember finding writing assignments I’d done for school in the trash because my mom simply couldn’t keep them all. I was, of course, devastated, but now completely understand! I started journaling in 4th grade in a blue, green, pink, and purple journal with flowers on the front. It was a mix of secrets, boy crushes, and ballerina drawings I can still see in my memory. When I was older and awkward, I threw it out because I was embarrassed someone would find it. I remember the first book I ever tried to write. It was called Bookworm and was supposed to be a horror book about a girl who gets eaten by the worms who grow out of the books she’s obsessed with. I was in 5th grade then and had also started writing my own poetry that same year. My first successful poem was called “I Can” and won me entrance into a junior writer’s conference that influenced the trajectory of my life forever. It was how I knew I had found what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
Leave a Reply