All my life, I have loved listening and reading words, watching them float out of a person’s mouth or off of a page, forming into images. As a child, every morning, every night, was spent listening… listening to my mom, dad, or ba (my grandmother) read to me. I would walk up to them with my tiny toes and button nose and give them a book, whether it be Goodnight Moon or Runaway Bunny by Margaret Brown, or a book by Eric Carle, most likely The Secret Birthday Message. As I have gotten older, I have started to appreciate reading alone, and analysing books by myself. From about four years old, reading word after word, carefully digesting them in one by one has come natural to me. Reading historical fiction, specifically about the Holocaust has
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When I was a little girl, staring at the pictures in a book had always been something I enjoyed doing; analyzing how they were drawn, what colors they used. Entertaining was one word to describe this, but what I loved most was listening to the voice of my mom, dad, and ba: how they pronounced the words, the way they spoke the words, the accents they used to portray the character. I distinctly remember the days of age three. Sitting on the wood dining chair, I silently stared out the window looking outside at the five-year-old swingset left by the previous owners. I had just finished eating a pile of small little green peas, my favorite food at the time. Quietly, I plopped off of the wood finished dining table chair, with an empty plate in hand. As I set my plate down by the sink, I heard the garage door open. “Daddy!” I shouted. Dad was home from work and a late meeting, and I was ecstatic! I quickly ran up to my room, picking a book off of my shelf, The Secret Birthday Message. It had arrived the day before, surviving a rather short journey across the Atlantic. My aunt had sent it in the …show more content…
My love for reading bloomed, like a lotus in the water. Spending every moment with a book in my hand, specifically The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss, was all I wanted to do. This book was my new best friend. I took my time analyzing the pictures, the words -- one by one, piece by piece. The story moved me, it made me feel special as if I had conquered what made me struggle most. Before then, reading was a challenge. But, my brain started to grab ahold of the words. They stuck like superglue. I can still remember when I had showed my mom my new ability, a major milestone in my life. After I had read The Cat and the Hat over and over, the words implanted in my brain, I sprinted out of my bedroom, up to my parents’ bedroom, and shouted, “I know how to read all by myself!”. My mom had shock written all over her face, and was visibly overjoyed, “Wow honey! I’m so proud of you,” she cried. I quickly took out the book, my most prized possession, and slowly showed my mom what I could do, as I was sitting on the white carpet. “The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house All that cold, cold, wet day,” I rhymed, conquering each word. “That is amazing!” my mother exclaimed, as she quickly started getting ready for the day ahead. My little sister, only 2 at the time, waddled on in through the bedroom door. “I wanna wisten” she exclaimed in a baby voice. I took her hand, with my book in the other and lead her to her bedroom. We
When I was a little girl, staring at the pictures in a book had always been something I enjoyed doing; analyzing how they were drawn, what colors they used. Entertaining was one word to describe this, but what I loved most was listening to the voice of my mom, dad, and ba: how they pronounced the words, the way they spoke the words, the accents they used to portray the character. I distinctly remember the days of age three. Sitting on the wood dining chair, I silently stared out the window looking outside at the five-year-old swingset left by the previous owners. I had just finished eating a pile of small little green peas, my favorite food at the time. Quietly, I plopped off of the wood finished dining table chair, with an empty plate in hand. As I set my plate down by the sink, I heard the garage door open. “Daddy!” I shouted. Dad was home from work and a late meeting, and I was ecstatic! I quickly ran up to my room, picking a book off of my shelf, The Secret Birthday Message. It had arrived the day before, surviving a rather short journey across the Atlantic. My aunt had sent it in the …show more content…
My love for reading bloomed, like a lotus in the water. Spending every moment with a book in my hand, specifically The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss, was all I wanted to do. This book was my new best friend. I took my time analyzing the pictures, the words -- one by one, piece by piece. The story moved me, it made me feel special as if I had conquered what made me struggle most. Before then, reading was a challenge. But, my brain started to grab ahold of the words. They stuck like superglue. I can still remember when I had showed my mom my new ability, a major milestone in my life. After I had read The Cat and the Hat over and over, the words implanted in my brain, I sprinted out of my bedroom, up to my parents’ bedroom, and shouted, “I know how to read all by myself!”. My mom had shock written all over her face, and was visibly overjoyed, “Wow honey! I’m so proud of you,” she cried. I quickly took out the book, my most prized possession, and slowly showed my mom what I could do, as I was sitting on the white carpet. “The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house All that cold, cold, wet day,” I rhymed, conquering each word. “That is amazing!” my mother exclaimed, as she quickly started getting ready for the day ahead. My little sister, only 2 at the time, waddled on in through the bedroom door. “I wanna wisten” she exclaimed in a baby voice. I took her hand, with my book in the other and lead her to her bedroom. We