Bookworms

I really should wear glasses.  I spent countless hours devouring books as a kid.  Every series you can remember:  Nancy Drew, Sweet Valley Twins, Babysitters Club.  My faves were all the Judy Blume books, everything by Constance C. Greene, and various other choice authors.  I read virtually every book in our public library's youth section.  I especially loved offbeat stories about kids who lived in NYC and took the subway on their own.  Their independence and adventure was unfathomable to me as a ten year old sitting holed up in our house avoiding the thirty below weather outside the door.  Reading was my passion.  I probably averaged a book a day from about age 8 until 15. I simply could not put a book down.  I would smuggle my flashlight into my bed and read under the covers long into the night.  Even if it was not a great story I would still loyally flip page after page until I read the last line.  Glasses or not, I was definitely a bookworm. 

Today was the first day in a long time that I devoured a book, A Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou. I carried it around with me and read it in bits and pieces. I started it over breakfast, continued it while B had his bath, picked it up again while the kids played library in R's room, and then finished it in the afternoon during some downtime. It is not a long book but it is rich. It holds your interest with paradox. Maya Angelou is tough and vulnerable, proud and humble. She is beyond wise and worldly and her writing is so entrenched with her identity that you can hear the rhythm of her deep voice behind the words. Today, I was a happy little bookworm. 

Now that R is four she has a few more responsibilities and perks.  Last week she got a library card and she is so proud!  I gave her a little pink wallet to keep it in and she insisted on bringing it to preschool yesterday to show her teacher.  It is a badge of honour for her.  Tangible proof that she is growing up.  She is on the cusp of reading.  R is a wordy type of kid and she mastered her alphabet early and has been sounding things out for awhile now.  Despite my teaching background I haven't spent much time actually teaching her to decode print.  Right now she is resistant to any type of suggestion, advice, correction from me (I guess that starts young!) so I haven't pushed.  She is picking things up at preschool, though and she definitely has all of the readiness skills.  My hope is that she doesn't just simply learn to read.  I hope that R blossoms into a true bookworm who appreciates the feeling of a crisp page flipping under her thumb and strangely enjoys that musty old smell of library books.  Yes, I daresay we may have the beginnings of another bookworm!