Books and Reading - Part One
I didn’t start reading particularly early, at least that’s what my
mother says, but my love for books did. As family folklore has it, at four
years old I was found in my bed one night under the blankets with a flashlight
and a copy of Winston Churchill’s memoir in my hands. I’m sure I was looking at
the pictures of course but who knew it was the beginning of a life long love of
books.
My first memories of books are from my mother. She often read to me and my siblings from a vast selection that included classics like Beatrice Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Jean de
Brunhoff’s Babar’s Stories and of
course favorites from the Dr. Seuss catalogue like Horton Hears A Who!, The Cat in the Hat and Green Eggs and Ham. I can recall the anxiousness of our weekly
trips to the library excited by the countless shelves of books to choose from.
But most of all what I remember from those early days was the monthly
anticipation of what book would come in the mail from the “Beginner Books”
series. Many of the titles remain indelibly marked in my memory: Come Over to My House, Sam and The Firefly, Stop That Ball! and
A Fish Out Of Water to name but a few. They all captured my imagination and
allowed me to go to that “other place” for a while.
My first memories of reading come in early elementary school with Fun with Dick and Jane series that led
me back to “reading” the many titles my mother had already introduced me to. I
read all of the books many times over in those early first years. It was my
“other” world, though I don’t remember recognizing it as such. Then I remember
a particular book from the “Beginner Books” series You Will Go To The Moon that led to the classic Danny and the Dinosaur and a fascination
with space and science. The pictures made the stories come to life and the
words I could now read made the pictures even more real. Reading and books were
wonderful fun.
But then, like life, things changed.
In retrospect, it’s hard to discern exactly what took place. More
words and fewer pictures were the trend in school. I began reading only for
school. The fun of reading replaced by what looked a lot like work. Most of
my reading was from textbooks. Oddly, I don’t remember much from those years.
And I don’t remember how long it lasted—but things changed again.
And change for the better they did. It was Frank W. Dixon’s (aka Leslie
MacFarlane) Hardy Boys series that flipped
my world upside down. My first Hardy Boy
book was a birthday present. Reluctant to pick it up—reading meant school that meant
work—it wasn’t long before I couldn’t get enough of Frank and Joe’s adventures.
There were many: The Tower Treasure, The
House on the Cliff and The Shore Road
Mystery being amongst my favourite. I read dozens of them. Saving my allowance to buy each new hardcover released. It was probably the start of my preference for hardcovers to this day.
No doubt, MacFarlane’s
ability to suspend my disbelief eventually finding it’s way into my own work.
But what happened next, rocked my world, and will follow in Part Two of Books and
Reading.
