I was just on Stephanie Bond’s online journal reading about how she has this picture of herself (at about 3 yrs of age) with a Golden book, and it brought back memories. Not that I have a similar picture, but I remember reading my way through every Golden Book I could get my hands on.

I learned to read at the age of 3. My older sister was in first grade and I sat with her when she did her homework, fascinated with the ABC’s and 123’s and the whole learning process.

One day my mother came upon me ‘reading’ to myself aloud and listened in, thinking how well I’d memorized the story. She got another book and asked me to read to her, because she suddenly realized I wasn’t skipping any words or paraphrasing.

By the time I entered first grade (going to kindergarten back then was unusual) I was reading on a 5th grade level. Lord, I wish I remembered his name, but a boy from one of the 5th grade classes would occasionally bring his reader down during story time and I’d read to the class.

Reading was like traveling to other worlds, getting to know people I’d otherwise never get a chance to meet in my dinky, hot, dusty little Texas hometown. Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Trixie Beldon and Laura Ingalls Wilder. The list was endless and my librarian usually let me check out 6-8 books a week, knowing full well it would probably be less time before I’d return them. When it got too hot to venture outside? Read. When you’re bored with Chatty Cathy and Barbie? Read. When it’s too hot to help Granny hoe in the garden, or pick produce? Read. Any excuse was a good one. 😉

One summer I spent so much time with my nose in a book, my mother started taking them AWAY from me and insisting I spend SOME time in the great outdoors, even if it was in the early mornings and late evenings.

Humph! Like I needed more mosquito and chigger bites.

So, tell me… Do you remember falling in love with reading?