Share your childhood memories of reading
As UWSEM focuses its fundraising, public relations, volunteer and programming energies on early learning, it's triggered all sorts of memories and feelings about my early reading days. The one that sticks out the most is when I was in grade school. I think I was in 5th or 6th grade. In my school's library, there were a series of biographies on our early American leaders. I couldn't get enough of them. From Abigail Adams to George Washington, I read them all. The biography of Abigail Adams I remember most. She was an inspirational leader, with such strength and intelligence. She didn't have a traditional leadership role, but was influential nonetheless (maybe even more so than her husband? Talk amongst yourselves.).
The problem with my reading passion was that I wasn't very good at returning the books to the library. One day, Mrs. Solomon (one of our teachers) walked me to my locker and, lo and behold, I had about 12 of those biographies stacked high! She was not pleased. But that didn't stop me from continuing to read them. To this day, I wish I knew the publishing company of that series. I would buy them all and share them with my daughter (who just happens to be named Abigail). Then again, I might just keep them for myself and read them all again!
What are your memories of reading?
The problem with my reading passion was that I wasn't very good at returning the books to the library. One day, Mrs. Solomon (one of our teachers) walked me to my locker and, lo and behold, I had about 12 of those biographies stacked high! She was not pleased. But that didn't stop me from continuing to read them. To this day, I wish I knew the publishing company of that series. I would buy them all and share them with my daughter (who just happens to be named Abigail). Then again, I might just keep them for myself and read them all again!
What are your memories of reading?
Labels: Educational Preparedness
2 Comments:
“How to Eat Fried Worms” opened at the movies last month. While the trailer inspired yuck-filled disgust from my kids, it evoked a giggle from me. See, when I was in grade school, I read the gross aforementioned book. I liked it so much that I checked it out from the library three times in a row. (Since no one was waiting for it, Mrs. Riley said I could). Then I lost it.
I recall every painful day of that experience because books were treasured in my home. Of course I scoured the school, searched every room in the house, all to no avail. There was no way I could tell my parents. They’d kill me. (I thought.) Mrs. Riley, being my buddy, fully understood. But, she explained, the book had to be replaced.
(This is where the post-traumatic-stress-disorder kicks in and I forget how much it cost.)
Coming from a family that didn’t believe in allowance (you did what you were supposed to because…you were supposed to), any amount was too much. Again, the intuitive Mrs. Riley tapped into my distress and offered me a deal. Pay for the entire book, plus the overdue fee, and no one would ever know. Considering that my dad was president of the PTA and I thought he knew EVERYTHING that happened at the school, the idea of a secret like this was overwhelming. But I agreed to the impossible.
No penny went unpinched. No couch coin stayed covered. Every nickel treat meant for the Five & Dime went to Mrs. Riley instead. And, by the end of the school year, I’d paid off the entire debt. Whew.
Was I that afraid of my parents’ wrath? Sure. I had ultimate respect for them. But, more importantly, it was the high regard we held for books, reading and education that made me want to right this situation.
I don’t remember ever being read to as a child. (That’ll make mom and dad cringe.) What I recall is the total immersion in all things learning that our household embodied. Using common sense, building book knowledge and speaking “The King’s English” were my father’s only boundaries. Beyond that, the world was ours to discover.
Every room had a bookcase – some wall length and ceiling high. My father read the paper every day, all day, front to back, comics, too. My mother attended college my entire life (from earning an LPN, to her RN, an associates, bachelors and, eventually, masters degree) and her medical books were strewn from room to room.
While me and my brothers’ bedrooms were overrun with children’s books of all kinds, World Book Encyclopedias, a set of children’s dictionaries, a series of animal journals and Ebony magazine’s African American reference library supplied my upbringing with authoritative information.
I remember teaching my dolls – lining them up along my closet wall with pencils and paper – from the time I was barely bigger than they were. (Much to his chagrin, my brother closest in age, now a major in the Marines, often got tossed into this “classroom” mix.) And what were my instructional materials? Textbooks my parents purchased from the school whenever the district revamped its curriculum.
A few years ago, while back home for a visit, I gathered all those old encyclopedias, reference books, and cherished childhood stories still stored in the basement. I carted boxes and boxes of dusty, much-thumbed and well-preserved books to my own hallways, bookshelves and coffee tables. Like the house I grew up in, my own family’s home boasts something to read in every room.
The lesson learned from losing “How to Eat Fried Worms” is that literacy is crucial. I spent one school year paying off a book and its fines. The costs of not being able to read, having access to decent schools or being open to the mind-expanding experiences education offers are socially irreplaceable.
By Stefanie Worth-White, at 1:17 PM
Since becoming a parent, I have beencaught shanking my head in wonderment on frequent occasions at by the appreciate children sometimes show for the simplest of gestures.
I see that with my son, and remember when I was easily impressed myself.
My third grade teacher at Monica Primary on Detroit's west side, Mrs. Short, had an interesting way of challenging us to read.
Each time a student read a book and delivered a brief report to the class, he or she got their picture placed on a bulletin board in our classroom. Mrs. Short also sent those students home with a gold star to show to their parents.
Today as I look back I'm still not sure exatcly why having that Polaroid picture tacked up on that bulleting board, the one covered in green construction paper, was such a big deal.
But I do know that at the time, it was like having my name in lights on the marquees of the Adams or Fox theaters I would see when my parents took me on shopping trips downtown (yes, there was a time when people came downtown just to shop).
My mother was a book lover during my childhood and always encouraged me to read. Although I never really had a passion for it. That is, until Mrs. Short gave me a reason to.
In fact I recall having the darndest time trying to decide what I would read.
To her credit, my mother knew I took an interest in history, sports and music and provided me the direction I needed.
She took me to a local library where I found a a short biography on Martin Luther King Jr. I took that book home, with a little support form my parents, was able to finish it with relative ease.
I remember being the second student in my class to have a photo placed on the bulletin board.
We were each photographed holding the book we read and reported on. I was wearing an awful sweater (although it was in style back then). I think it actually may have matched the green construction paper.
Three or four books later though, it really didn't matter what I was wearing in that first photo. I had more Polaroids posted than anyone else in my class. And nothing was cooler than that.
I had read biographies of Harriet Tubman, Jackie Robinson and other famous African Americans. I recall my father being a bit upset that I was learning more by working on my own book reports than from the lessons I was getting in school.
But that's what happens when you encourage a child to find something he or she has a passion for and give them an incentive (even one as silly as a photograph)to pursue that interest.
By R. Monts, at 4:20 PM
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