Here’s a post for you, the people who read my blog. I assume most of you come here because you read books. (If you don’t read books, well you can tell us why too).
So what I want to know is this: what started you on that road? At what age did you become a reader for life? Were there times when you didn’t read? Were you the odd one out in the family?
My mother read to me all the time before I could read for myself. I expect I also nagged my sister into reading to me too, although I don’t actually remember that.
I was a dedicated reader from the moment I learned how to read for myself, which was about five. I read passionately in spite of a lack of reading material (compared to what is available to kids nowadays) and have never stopped. If I had nothing to read as a child, I re-read and re-read. I read adult books as soon as I have the vocabulary for them, or even before I had the vocabulary for them. I borrowed books. I read my sister’s books from the university library when I was still in primary school.
At five years old I missed the school bus stop (on a public bus) because I was reading Millie Mollie Mandy and the headmaster had to come hunting for me (he was the only teacher with a car).
At primary school the library was a single bookcase in each classroom and we were permitted to borrow one book a week. I nagged my friends into letting me read their borrowed books so I could get my hands on more than one book a week.
Why? Because there were only two forms of entertainment on the farm: books and one’s imagination. Oh, and kindergarten of the air on ABC radio. My siblings were at school long before I was even a twinkle in my dad’s eye. Neighbours were a long way off and play groups were unheard of.
The default for me was books.
So what about you?