Tucked away on this shelf, which holds some of my old and antiquarian collection, is a humble (and not at all valuable) book. Despite that, it is one of my most precious.
This, as far as I know, was my very first book. It is made of cotton fabric which is now frayed, stained and with faded colours. It would have been published around the time I was born, in the late 1960s.
It's not just the fact that it was my first book, in what would become a lifetime of collecting them; it holds a very dear, early memory.
I can remember being very small - a toddler - and sitting with my mum while she read every page out loud to me, in one of the two cheap rooms that my parents rented at the time. And that one particular memory is that every time we we got to this page...
...she would read it in a certain way - 'isn't he a clever dog', emphasizing the 'clever'. I have very few photographs of my mum, but I can still just about hear the echo of her voice, from those long ago days, reading that one, simple line in such a way that I would never forget it.
Although my parents were poor, they knew the value of reading and I was encouraged to read and look at pictures almost as soon as I could walk. And even though I was to lose my mother and father when I was still a child, I will always be grateful for the gift of reading, of being read to, and for that very special memory.
8 comments:
That's a beautiful memory-and a start to a life long love of reading. Thank you for sharing. I'm amazed that you managed to keep that book all these years.
What a wonderful post. No one read to me as a child, but there were always books around and we were encouraged to read. Love your little dog book.
how lovely! i have quite a few childhood books, including a bug book that my father used to let me use from his man cave/studio...i used to think i was so special to be able to sue dads art pens and draw bugs from the book as a child, such fond memories. i also love 'tales from end cottage' which was a real delight when my elderly neighbour gave them to me when i was in hospital...i still re-read them even though i know the stories off by heart. those stories take me straight back to lovely memories and the lost ones i shared those books with...
I think when you lose a parent as a child, the very few memories you have of them are incredibly strong. Like you hearing her voice as she read that page, I have a visual of my dad walking across the lawn of a favorite vacation lodge. I call them my "handful of memories" because that's all I have of him...and they are very strong because there are so few.
Loved this story today.
Our Mom read to us too...from the worn out and dirtier pages of a section of an old encyclopedia set. One book of the set had stories or nursery rhymes in it. We four would sit all around her on a big old velvety covered chair ... I remember sitting up on the big overstuffed arm of it.
I was the eldest...and, so, once I learned how to read ...I would then read to the other kids...Mom was probably glad not to have to read the same old stories forever more. She used to use voices too when she read certain bits here and there....like the deeper voice of Billy Goat Gruff, or the high squeaky voice of some other little creature, etc... we loved it.
I remember at school, one of the teachers forced me to read to a class of older kids sometimes to show them it was possible to read... seeing as I was much younger than they were. It used to embarrass me something terrible...but, I just looked at the page...went beet red and read whatever she indicated. I couldn't add 2 and 2...but, I could read dammit. Nothing ever changed either... I still can't even add my golf scores very quickly...but, I can balance my cheque book so it is not that critical. Reading a recipe is. .. and, I can do that very well thank you.
What a most precious memory.
A lovely memory Gretel and do you know... those pictures are so familiar to me - maybe I read it when I was tiny too! I love Bumble Vee's comment. Early reading has such a big effect on us doesn't it. That's why I loved teaching infants - every day was a joy, especially when little ones had that "moment" when they really were reading for themselves.
Such a lovely story, Gretel. Thank you for sharing it. Your mother must have been a wise woman.
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