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The first memory I have of reading was in first grade. I am not sure why I remember this particular incident but I remember sitting next to Billy and we were in a circle reading from a book. I remember the teacher writing "girl" on the chalkboard.
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My friend of seven years moved to another state when I was twelve-years-old. We began writing letters to each other. I so looked forward to her letters and I learned the value of written communication. Those letters helped me cope with her moving away.
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In college I had to write and present a persuasive speech to about 75 people. I was so nervous explaining why it was important to donate to the Salvation Army. I knew it was successful when my professor told me that he was so moved he donated that week.
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One of the first lessons I taught as a student teacher was how to read and follow directions. The students were so engaged as we read a recipe and baked brownies. It was incredible to have all these students listening and learning from my instructions.
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A college professor would find obscure facts in our textbook and make them an exam questions. Instead of reading material to understand the concepts, I would read trying to memorize every little fact. It was a frustrating way to read and study.
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When my husband and I starting dating, we would play long games of Scrabble. We learned a lot about each other while we worked on expanding our vocabularies.
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During our first family vacation at the beach, after playing all morning my husband took the babies back for a nap and I had two hours to read on the beach. This renewed my love of reading and reminded me to find quiet time to relax with a good book.
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When my son was in the first grade, I volunteered in his classroom helping the students read. It enjoyed listening to the fast readers as well as assisting those who were struggling to read. I also read to them hoping to pass along my love of reading.
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When my grandmother was sick and in hospice care, she stopped talking. She loved to read so I brought one of her favorite books and would sit and read to her. I believe that she was able to hear me and that was a beautiful way our last hours together.
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My daughter had to read "I am Malala" for a school assignment. We read it together taking turns reading it out loud. We both learned a great deal about a different culture and I enjoyed bonding with my 12-year-old daughter during these too busy days.
