Reading – The Kitten Years

I’ve just finished a book that was, at least partially, about how children learn to read and it got me thinking about my own experiences. So I thought that I’d relate them here.

I don’t actually remember learning or being taught to read. I certainly don’t have any memories of sitting on either parents lap having stories read to me in the classical fashion – but then again I do find that HUGE chunks of my childhood are blank spaces. I know for a fact that I could read when I arrived at school age 5 or so. I suspect that both parents were involved in getting me that far although I suspect that my Mother’s motivation may have been so that I didn’t embarrass the family. She really need not have worried.

Only two early school reading related things really jump out at me looking back. The first was when I was presented with a book to read and had the whole lesson period to do so. I have a very vague recollection of what it was about but I do remember black and white line drawings and around three lines of text per page, or at least something like that. So I sat down and read it. After slowly reading my way through for about 10 minutes I looked up to see everyone else still reading and the teacher busy with something so I read it again. Now about 15-20 minutes into the lesson I was starting to get a bit bored, so I got up, walked over to the teacher and asked for another book. “You need to read that one”, she said. “I have”, I said. “Twice”. “You couldn’t have” she said. So, again I said that I had. “OK, then”, she said. “What was it about?” So I told her. She paused for a moment. Pointed over to the classroom book shelf and told me to take any one I liked.

The second incident I have a strong memory of is when a School Inspector came to visit. I think this must have been a few years later. So I was, maybe 7-8 years old. As far as I can tell she was testing reading age. I was called into a small office and sat down looking at my teacher and the visitor. I was then handed a small piece of card with typing on it and was asked to read it back – which I did. I expect this was probably the ‘place holder’ to show both that I could read and that I’d met the minimum standard. She then handed me a second card to read – which I did and handed it back. I’m guessing that this was probably to see that I was reading at my correct age group. She then handed me a third card, which I suspect was above my age group, which I read and handed back. Then another – ditto. I think she may have produced one more which I also read. At this point there was, I remember, so confusion or embarrassment because she’d run out of cards and I hadn’t run out of reading age.  

Strange as it may seem I didn’t really read much (outside school) until my early teens. The classic children’s stories passed me by and I still haven’t read them – although I am planning to during my retirement/second childhood. I do remember reading the families’ daily newspaper though. Maybe that’s where I got my word power from? The only childhood book I do remember reading – although I have zero idea how it came into my hands was a German children’s book called ‘Emil and the Detectives’ (1929) by Erich Kastner. How weird is that! But I LOVED that book. Then, around the age of 13 my English teacher obviously saw something in me and leant me her graduation presentation copy of ‘1984’ by George Orwell. Needless to say it rocked my world but still failed to ignite my reading fire. That had to wait until a fateful day, not long after, when a friend of my brother came over to our house and tossed a paperback into my lap. “This is pretty good”, he said. “I think you’ll like it.” I looked down and read the title – ‘Triplanetary’ by E. E. ‘Doc’ Smith. A few days later my mind was on fire and only on thought occupied it: MORE!