Everyone grows up learning how to read, it’s a natural habit. Nevertheless, not everyone grows up to love reading. Fortunately for myself, my love for reading only continued to grow older I grew. It all began when my parents and grandparents would read to us on long car rides, or at bedtime. Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear, had become one of my favorite bedtime stories when my grandmother read it to me, as a toddler.
Without it, our world becomes limited to what is close to us. My mom was a teacher. She wanted us to love reading and realize how important it was to our future. As I think about my earliest experiences of learning to read, I remember my mom taking my sister and me to check out books at the public library. When I walked into the library for the first time, I became overwhelmed.
For as long as I can remember I have loved reading. Fiction, non-fiction, biographies, it doesn’t really matter to me. I remember my mom trying to teach me how to read when I was three. I started off reading small Dr. Suess books and then it was on to newspapers and chapter books. One of my all-time favorite books when I was a kid was Junie B. Jones.
I wrote hundreds of stories. I never shared them with anyone besides my family because I didn’t think they were any good. When I was around nine, I started to appreciate music. I had always been around music growing up, but I never was astounded by what I heard. This all changed when my mom bought “Rocket to Russia” by The Ramones for me.
This occurred when I was 5 years old. I did not know how reading, however my grand mother did read them for me. I was insatiable. I was always requesting someone to read me something. At the beginning everyone at home were enchanted with the idea but then it became a problem, they had responsibilities to attend to instead of being reading to me all the time, so my mother
This is the story of my mother when I was a little tot of 4 years. My mother was passionate about reading magazines and novels. She would ask my father to bring many such books from the town library. He would bring as many as the librarian allowed at a time. My mother would finish up all her household works and keep plenty of time for her to read the magazine.
It was a gloomy Sunday evening. The rain had stopped, and I pondered over asking my parents whether they have any good book recommendations for me. I told them it was for my English independent reading project and that I had to interview them about the book after I read it. At first, my dad gave me a few suggestions that he thought would be a good read for me. They were The Old Man and The Sea, Great Expectations, and 1876.