My earliest recollection of reading was when I was about three years old. I honestly don’t know if I truly recalled or if it has been told by my mother over and over again that it has become my own memory.
I had this set of children’s books that my parents bought from Reader’s Digest and each book had pictures in it to illustrate the nursery rhymes. Before I turned a year old, mama read the books to me and I memorized her words and could recite the rhymes as I see the pictures. Eventually I was able to actually read it. Giving me a book to read was my parent’s way of keeping me still. I will not budge for hours as long as I have a book or a cockroach blocking my exit — my parents were quick to use what I fear against me too.
*paused to obsessively find if the books are still in publication*
It is still in publication! The jacket cover might have changed but it’s still available to delight new generations.
At about five, I got started reading my cousin’s Hardy Boys collection. He loved reading and when we were growing up, his family was rich and could afford books, he would lend me anything from his collection as long as I return the books unscathed. I could not completely understand the words so I would either derive the meaning from context or I would hunt them on the dictionary –Webster’s English dictionary with the red and blue jacket.
At six, when I started first grade, I got my first library card. Our school had Nancy Drew and Bobbsey Twins in their fiction section and I would alternate between the school library and my cousin’s growing collection. He eventually left for university to take up A.B. English and ended up with more books which he ships home.
A couple decades later, his eldest daughter is also an avid reader and currently reading The Hunger Games which I honestly think is too dark for a twelve year old. So I am going to send her Ella Enchanted which may be too tame in comparison but will definitely entertain with a more positive theme.