My Parents Never Read to Me

My parents never read to me, or at least, I do not have any recollection of them reading an actual story to me. So, when I saw this challenge, I dismissed it quickly and moved on with my day.

Still, for some reason, I couldn't get this challenge out of my head. As I was about to open My Baby's First Words to read to my squirming, nearly 6-month-old son, a few things came to me.

First, my teachers read to me, and in many ways, they were like parents to me. Though not at bedtime, these stories stayed in my heart and mind as I drifted off to sleep. One, which I do not remember the exact title or author, was about cats having 9 lives. Why did this book stand out to me? Well, first, the artwork was intricate and thoughtful. Its author put panels on the sides of the pages with detailed art to show what would happen on the next page. As a first grader, this book taught me foreshadowing.

I remember the teacher asking, "What do you think is going to happen next?" I loved staring at the panels and raising my hand frantically to impress Mrs. Miller.

The theme of the book? Well, it fit perfectly into my life. My life seems to have disaster after disaster (so far), and I'm not sure how many lives I've used up yet, but the book always gave me hope as I struggled. I know I have reinvented myself at least 5 times as an adult. So, I guess I still have 4 lives left.

In first grade, I was placed into the nicely-termed "remedial" reading class. I knew at the time that meant I was "slow" in some way. I was behind, a late bloomer, so to speak, which was the theme of another book we read in first grade. It was about a tiger who was a late bloomer but eventually succeeded. That stood out to me.

My parents weren't all bad though. Although my dad did not read to me, he did drop me off at the local library. This gave me time to explore mountains of books. In 2nd grade, it was like I was a whole different student.

I read and I read and I read.

To my surprise, in 6th grade, I was tested into gifted, despite being in the remedial class at an early age.

I realized, at least subconsciously, reading was a gateway.

In high school, I remember I would devour books. In study hall, a girl turned around once and asked me, "Why do you read so much?"

"Because I like it," I replied and continued reading.

We live in a society where reading is often looked down upon or viewed as a "nerdy" activity.

But I know better. I know the more words you know, the more the world is opened up to you.

In my Sociology and Linguistics classes in college, I learned about language and how it enlightens and broadens one's perspective. On top of that, language shapes identity.

The more we read, the more we shape and influence our identifies. We transform. I always cry at the end of a book, whether happy or sad. Why? Every book I read changes me.

So, as I said, my parents never really read me stories, but they introduced me to reading, and that was enough.

But, with my baby, Chase, I'm doing things a little differently.

I read to him as much as possible, and I am telling him stories, too.

Right now, he is on "Baby's First Words" and I am teaching him to focus from the left side to the right side.

I am also building him a library of physical books. I want him to know the pleasure of physically turning a page. When he is old enough, I'm going to drop him off at the library, too, but I'll be there reading with him.

It is 9 am, now, and I hear his slight cries that he is waking up. What book should I read to him today?

Oh, and by the way, I became an English teacher, and I love reading stories to my students. Sometimes, I look into their eyes and see me as a child, and maybe, just maybe, I am helping change their worlds through words, too.