Why Writing Matters to Me

For reasons I will never be able to explain, I was a natural reader. As a child it took me longer than usual to start talking (interpret as you wish), but I picked up reading very quickly. My parents would read to me at night - a combination of traditional childrens' books and Grimm's Fairy Tales, depending on who was doing the reading - and I would watch in silent attention. Apparently, I would learn as well, though that emerged as a big surprise.

My mother would often tell they story of when she first realized I could read. I had just turned three a couple of months earlier, and we were driving up to the city where my great-aunt and great-uncle could babysit me while she visited my father, who was in the hospital. This was the early 1970s, so naturally I was in the front seat with Mom, who was paying more attention to the highway than to me. As a three-year-old, this would not do, and I decided to get her attention. How? I started reading the billboards aloud to her as we passed them.

That got her attention. She actually pulled over on the highway to validate this, and I read her a few more signs. Amazed, she rushed me to the city, and showed this amazing feat to her aunt and uncle, who were surprised if not amazed. I eventually visited my father in the hospital and Mom showed him what I could do. He's the one who discovered I could read things upside-down as well as rightside-up, but that's another story. My mother knew I could read, and she just went with it. I just wanted some attention, but I got much more.

Whenever she got the opportunity, Mom would read with me - not to me - and put me to the test with whatever she had - newspaper articles, magazines, her ever-present books, whatever. As I have mentioned in past posts, she was a journalist amongst other professions, and she would let me sit by her and read her stories as she wrote them. I learned to read her incredibly proper cursive at the age of four (although I never had the penmanship to match her skill in that regard), and I walked into Kindergarten fully literate. 

By then, I realized what reading and writing were - they were more than communication, they were connections between people even when one wasn't there. She taught me that with something as simple as the written word, messages could transcend our existence and our voice could arrive at any location we wanted. I could now read the letters sent from my Aunt Isabelle (a teacher who taught us kids plenty over her many years), and I could send letters to my grandmother in another state. I could talk with the whole world now, and Mom made sure I was as skilled at it as possible. My mother made all that possible, and of course she was in the dedication for my first novel.

My mother passed away Tuesday night at the age of 86. She was an avid reader, but as her health declined she lost the ability to enjoy a good book, a story, and eventually any engagement with the world. However, everything she wrote is something I can read thanks to her, and in that regard she is still very much around. The conversations will be different, but I will always have that connection.

Thanks for teaching me to read, Mom. And thanks for everything else.