As a child, I was not much of a reader. I
dare say, if you had asked me back then, I would have told you that I hated to
read. But today, what is clear is that I never really had a chance to love
books.
My parents
never took me to the library. I remember coming home from school and telling my
mother that I had a book report assignment. She walked over to the mantel and
pulled one of her books down for me: A biography of Johnny Cash. The next year
it was a dictionary-sized tome: the autobiography of Norma Zimmer (of Lawrence Welk Show fame.) Is it any wonder I had no interest in reading?
"There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them."
Ray Bradbury
Surprise, surprise, I didn’t finish either
of those books. But my mother told me that was okay. I could write a report
using just the information from the front flap and back cover. I kid you not.
It wasn’t until I was a mother myself,
taking my own children, daily, to the library, that I really discovered what books had
to offer. And then I began devouring them.
"Any book that helps a child to form a habit of reading, to make reading one of his deep and continuing needs, is good for him." Maya Angelou
Maybe that sense of what I missed out on is why I read so much MG and YA
now. I am making up for lost time. And with so many amazing books to choose
from, who can blame me?
I’m in the midst of a bit of a reading
lull at the moment. But that hasn’t kept me from adding to my TBR pile. I
picked up Linda Urban’s The Center of Everything last week, as well as AnnStampler’s Where it Began. And when the time is right, I am sure that I will
devour them too.
What are you reading?
