Those who love books could likely give up a favorite food quicker than swearing off the world that a good adventure through reading provides.
Books take up priority space in my home, and I admit it can be hard parting with my favorites.
When a new book shows up, sometimes purchased used, my husband rolls his eyes and says, “Another book?” So I have taken to asking him if he would like to read it first.
“Oh, I’ve already read that one!” says the man who never picks up a book. He then jokingly tells me, “You aren’t going to like the ending on that one.”
It seems impossible to me for anyone to not love reading.
Books can take us places we will never otherwise go; a well-written historical account can let us experience a moment in time with incredible accuracy. I also find myself studying writing style, and I thoroughly enjoy the art of a great storyteller.
I still have fond memories of learning to read, even before I started school.
Having older sisters and a grandfather who worked in schools, we had cast-off student desks and books. We played school like it was our job, and I benefited from it in many ways.
The first time I sounded out a complete sentence about Jack and his dog named Spot, I realized I knew how to read.
It was a very big accomplishment, and I celebrated it with full-throated enthusiasm.
I now see myself in my granddaughter, thriving in first grade. Little Landry gets as excited as I did during Scholastics week, begging her mom for money to buy a book “to keep” just like I once did.
The first book I ever bought is still in my library. “The Middle Sister” is yellowed and a bit beaten up, but it is so treasured. The cover portrays a young girl, her blonde hair in braids.
Somehow holding that paperback book takes me right back to the child who handed over cash from a little coin purse, accepting the book as her very own.
