Friday five....

[fajrdrako]

From The Friday Five:

1. What were your favorite childhood stories?

From the youngest I can remember: A.A. Milne, the Winnie-the-Pooh books as well as "When We Were Very Young" and "Now We Are Six". A little later: "The Cat in the Hat" by Dr. Seuss. Aged 9 or so: "Sir Francis Drake" and the novels of E. Nesbit and Enid Blyton, especially the Adventure series. Soon afterwards: "The Lost Queen of Egypt" and "Merrylips".


2. What books from your childhood would you like to share with [your] children?

All of them. Or at least - all the good ones.



3. Have you re-read any of those childhood stories and been surprised by anything?

I've reread my favourites, yes, except I haven't been able to find a copy of "Merrylips". Suprises? No. I remembered them rather well, and had the same reactions. A.A. Milne is still one of my favourite writers and I particularly enjoy reading his works in foreign languages.


4. How old were you when you first learned to read?

Six. There's a bad memory there. My parents thought I would be bored in school if I learned to read beforehand, so they didn't teach me to read, but told me I could learn to read when I went to school. I was more or less counting the days till I could go to school and learn to read on my own. They read to me often and I had no lack of books. I loved books with a passion even then.

I went to kindergarten and they had us drawing circles. After a few days or weeks of this I started to wonder why we weren't going on to more interesting things. I asked the teacher when we were going to learn to read and write. "That comes next year," she said.

I was shattered. A year is a long time when you're five years old, and reading was my heart's desire. I don't think the teacher had any idea how upset I was. "Can you just show me how to make an A?" I asked, probably pretty timidly, since I was a shy kid, and it shows what despair I was in that I would even ask.

"You'll get that in grade one," said the teacher.

I probably never told my parents about this; it was too upsetting to talk about. I did learn to read, eventually - in grade one. I vividly remember being on the bus, looking at the signs on shops and wishing I knew what they said, envying all the lucky adults who were able to read them so easily.

I never got over my disappointment and resentment towards school, and the memory of that day still distresses me.


5. Do you remember the first 'grown-up' book you read? How old were you?

Twelve years and three months. It was Christmas at my grandfather's place. I was bored, and picked a Perry Mason novel off his bookshelf, and enjoyed it - I used to watch Perry Mason on TV with my mother when I was six, and loved it. Within a few months I'd read all the Perry Mason novels then in print, and "A Tale of Two Cities" and "Jane Eyre" and then I started on Victoria Holt. There was no holding me back then!

Comments

[dargie.livejournal.com]

I am SO grateful that there was never a question of me not reading until I got into school. I can't imagine how hard it would have been to wait until I was "old enough." Ugh. Why do they hold children back so?

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

It was a bad idea. I know everyone meant well but I didn't need to go through that; there was no good reason for it. And of course I was bored in school anyway!

[dargie.livejournal.com]

Yeah, those of us who found school interminable didn't do so because of what we did know, it's because of what they wouldn't let us do.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

Yes. There was never a day in school I didn't feel they were holding me back. It was a little like prison. Maybe that's why I like Oz!

[walkingowl.livejournal.com]

I wince at your [not-]learning-to-read story. There are too many such stories, all (nearly all) born from someone's good intentions, and all leaving behind scars of confused hurt in small children grown much older but no less confused or hurt... with me, it was (and still is) being laughed at when I said something they thought was too "old" for me, too intelligent or too surprising or too insightful, still can't really figure out what that dividing line is that I was crossing. The memory is of the humiliation at being laughed at, and the memory is still as fresh as it ever was. I think it's the feeling of betrayal that it's impossible to get over. When we are little, we are so used to having our parents, in essence, read our minds and know what we need when we can't ourselves verbalize what we need, that lapses and omissions and misunderstandings like these hit us so very, very hard. I am sorry for your hurt, and for mine, and for everyone else's... and I live with the fear that, when I'm a teacher myself, not too long from now, I'll end up pulling a major flub like that and scarring a student for life -- or, more immediate a concern, that I'll do it with my seven-year-old nephew, Daniel. I couldn't bear to see the look of confused hurt and betrayal in his eyes. But I'm only human, I know. I hope for the best.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

I think most kids and and do survive these things without much harm: it's hard to imagine a life (young or old) with no hurts, disappointments, or difficulties. When the hurt is done unintentionally it isn't so bad. It's when the hurt is deliberate that the real harm is done.

I did learn to read (eventually) and made up for lost time - and I don't expect I would have much liked school anyway. The difficulty was, I suppose, that the subject at the time mattered to me so much.