My Reading Life Began With a Crime

On the last day of kindergarten, I "borrowed" two items. One was a plastic horse that one of my classmates brought to school for sharing. I remember it only had three legs, but I still wanted it. The second item was a book from the class library.

It was the official first-grade reader filled with all sorts of exciting stories that involved adventures with Dick and Jane.  I learned how to read the book over the summer, and couldn't wait to show Mrs. Valentine, my Mary Poppins perfect first-grade teacher, newly acquired reading skills.

We sat down side-by-side and I read. I read those words with pride and glory, knowing I was unlocking a new world.

Mrs. Valentine said, "Lorrie, that was wonderful. You are a reader now.” I beamed. “But, Lorrie, is this your book?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Valentine.  This is my book."

Mrs. Valentine opened the book to the inside cover. She pointed to a big stamped emblem.

"Lorrie, can you read any of these words?"

Before my eyes were words far too big and complicated for my novice reading abilities.

Property of Hacienda Elementary School

"No, Mrs. Valentine."

In those days, kids walked home from school. My mom was waiting for me at the door. How was it possible that she already knew of my crimes? Mom marched me back to school with the book, an apology, and a promise never to steal anything again. (Of course, I didn’t mention anything about the three-legged pony hiding in my closet.)

Alas, my first reading experience was also a morality lesson. That didn't deter me. Nothing could stop my growing love affair with reading.

When I became a teacher, I wanted my students to love reading just like me. I had lots of tricks up my sleeve, but one of my favorites was beginning the year with a literary timeline. Students created an annotated list with one significant book from each year of their lives. Here’s an example from a high school student:

For my fifth graders, I gave examples to get them started.  Of course, I led with my life of kindergarten reading crime to get their attention. Then, it was Nancy Drew for elementary school.  For high school, it was Gone with the Wind which I read in three days on a road trip from California to the Canadian Rockies.  My dad was so pissed that he'd driven thousands of miles and I never bothered to look out the window. Clearly, he didn't understand the power of Rhett Butler.

For my college years, it was My Antonia (still my favorite book of all time). I love the prairie landscape and that strong pioneering woman who persevered no matter the challenge.

When I started teaching, it was Tuck Everlasting, a book that asks the following question: if you found a way to live forever, would you take it even if your loved ones would still die?  One year, two parents died and two were diagnosed with cancer.  I'll never forget the deep and real conversations I had with that room of ten-year-olds because we dared to open the pages of that precious book and talk with vulnerable hearts. (By the way, Where the Red Fern Grows and Bridge to Terabithia were also required reading, but I refused to read three crying books to my students that year!)

When my daughter was born, I had to spend a few extra days in the hospital. My husband asked me if I needed anything from home. I asked for two things—my tweezers (because who wants messy eyebrows and stray hairs?) and Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver. That book was like a big hug.

When our daughter was a toddler, we read Sandra Boynton's, The Going to Bed Book, every night when we tucked her in bed. Eventually, we didn't even need the book—Ron and I could recite it in our sleep. 

“The sun has set not long ago.
Now everybody goes below to take a bath in one big tub with soap all over--SCRUB SCRUB SCRUB!”

You get the picture. Think of all your big life eras (hey, Taylor!) like elementary school, high school, college, single life, married life, parent life, grandparent life, writing life, teaching life, or any ole part of your glorious reading life.

It's such an easy ask, but it's one I think we need to do more often because it opens up conversations that connect people in deep and meaningful ways.