Reading for the Rambunctious

A whirlwind of black hair tearing through the house, tugging on my mom's pants as she makes dinner, does the dishes, washes clothes, shops at the grocery store. I drive her crazy with my endless three year old questions, "Why do you separate the clothes?", "How come my sister goes to school and I don't?", "Why can't grandma come and visit?", and on and on until the veins in my mom's neck threaten to burst. She tried putting me in front of the t.v. while she did chores around the house, but that did not last long. Then one day, she grabbed a book called "The Biggest Sandwich Ever" and began to read to me. I was enthralled. Unbeknowst to her she created a new way for me to drive her crazy. Please read to me...Please read to me...Mom can you please read to me...

That first week, each time I implored her to regale me with the tale of this "...Biggest Sandwich Ever" she indulged me. Finally, one day she decided it was time to take a different course of action because the laundry had to get done and her garden was looking neglected. One day, she cunningly asked me if I would like to read to her. I told her I wanted to read it, but I didn't know how to. Then she slyly asked me if I wanted to learn how. Of course I did! Then I could read "The Biggest Sandwich Ever" whenever I wanted. There I was at the age of 3 sitting in a basement playroom in Fairfax County, Virginia being taught to read by my mom, who learned to read English through magazines and children's books. I remember singing along as she sang the ABC song to me, she taught me to sound out words and then how to read the words that looked weird (her recommendation was you just have to memorize those...). After a few months, (for my mom it was a small price to pay to be able to get some work down in relative quiet) it was my turn to repay the favor; for the first time I sat down to read "The Biggest Sandwich Ever"to my mother. Thus began my wonderful relationship with the world of reading.

Since then reading has provided an alternate universe, a place for me to go for safety, for adventure, for drama, for laughs, and for tears. Reading taught me that "green eggs and ham [can be] eaten on a train or in the rain". From books I learned that the adult human body has 206 bones and that everything you needed to know could be found in the Encyclopedia Britannica.

My older sister felt the best reading was done in magazines while pouring over beautiful clothes learning the latest fashion and make-up trends - she felt my nose was best powdered rather than being buried in a book. My dad refused to read unless it was of historical fact or significance. My mom-due to her limited reading ability-would read the end of the book or story to determine if it was worth the effort while my younger brother felt that reading was to be "taken as needed".

So for my family, my relationship with reading was at best a godsend (when I wasn't reading, I was chattering non-stop), and at worst something alien and confusing (who reads at the dinner table?) but they "tolerated" my odd habit and I will always love my family for that.
29 years later "The Biggest Sandwich Ever" is still one of my favorite books and I have since stopped berating my mom with 20 questions. Now, I have the privilege of playing 20 questions with my 8 year old son.

Maybe it's time to dust off those old Britannicas...