When I was applying to graduate schools I had an amusing cover letter. The cover letter described my hatred towards reading for most of my life. Perhaps “hatred” is too strong a word, but for the majority of my life (through high school and even into college) I didn’t enjoy reading. Grade school’s “library time” found my in a corner with a picture book biding my time until we got to leave the boring/silent place. High school found me reading what I was asked to read and nothing more. I really disliked reading. In fact, the only time I realized that I enjoyed reading was reading playscripts for theatre. That format was the first format I can remember enjoying.
My parents were wonderful, I didn’t have any reading or attention issues, I just didn’t like reading. I did, however, like listening. I remember long stretches of nights where our parents would read us 20,000 leagues under the sea before we went to bed. A little one night, more the next, and so on. For whatever reason none of this inspired me to read. For whatever reason, most of my life was book-less (unlike my remarkable sister who, by the time she was in eighth grade, had probably read more than I had — and I was ten years older).
So it is with great pride that I say our son is enjoying longer books now. Sure, he doesn’t yet “read’ them… but he used to not pay attention if there were too many words. Now the pictures of some stories interest him enough, or he understand enough words, or he can grasp enough context that he enjoys us reading longer stories to him. Since entering graduate school I’ve really started to enjoy reading. I read a lot — and I read way more than I have to. I hope our son continues to love reading.