I’m not kidding when I say I’ve always loved books.
Look at that enthusiasm! I remember wanting to learn to read so badly when I was about four. My cousin Marcia tried to teach me. It seems fitting now that the book was about a cat. But the magic of reading didn’t happen for me right away. When I was growing up, the schools didn’t teach reading until first grade. I was dismayed my first day when I found out some of the kids already knew how. Oh no! I was a failure already, before my school days had even gotten off the ground! But that’s the last thing I remember about that monumental time in my life of learning to read. I think it happened quickly after that first day, because I don’t remember any more angst about reading. I do remember sneaking books to read under my desk when I’d finished the first grade classwork. I heard later that my teacher knew I was sneak-reading and let me continue. Not all my later teachers were so understanding. Mrs. Justice, you were well-named….