I love a good story. From Jane Austin to the Brothers Grimm, from JRR Tolkien to Aesops Fables there is nothing in the world like being carried off to another place and time on the wings of a good book. I didn't always love books this much. In fact, I used to think that reading was invented only to torment me.
At the tender age of five my brother took me aside and told me the 'secret' of how to read. I carefully guarded the secret and practiced reading until I got to the first grade where formal teaching began. Filling the assignments was easy and I felt smart because I already knew what was going on.. Then between the first and the fourth grade something happened that caused a shift in my thinking. About that time I began to think that reading was difficult and painful. I did everything I could to avoid reading of any kind. It made me feel a little bit like a fugitive from the law. I was always trying to scrimp on book reports, skim reading assignments and gather enough information from chapter headings and lectures to be able to get through school.
I didn't know it at the time, but I was suffering from dyslexia. Reading was slow and agonizing, but I thought it was because I had a bad attitude. My mother, seeing my discomfort, tried every means to persuade me to read, thinking that all I needed was practice. One particular day she took me aside, as she had dozens of times before, and asked me to read a certain book. I rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh that meant, “Here we go again.” Mother took from behind her back a torn and yellowed old book whose covers had long since fallen off and whose last page was only half there. The book had been carefully taped on it's front page to form a makeshift cover and altogether it looked like something out of a cave in Egypt. The pages were frail and brittle and the back was hanging by a few threads. “Now THIS...”, mother began, “This is a special book, just for you.” She carefully pealed back the first page, lovingly stroking the letters. “Here.” she said, with a touch of mystery in her voice. “Read this and tell me what you think.” Naturally I was skeptical. Mother had tried everything else to get me to read. But here was something different. This book seemed so old, so fragile, so unlike all the clean, neat library and school books I had been forced to read and mother had been trying for so long to get me to read that I decided to humor her this once in hopes that she would leave me alone for awhile.
After reading only the first page I was caught hook, line and sinker. The opening lines of the book transported me to a private study in England where a man was revealing the nature of a document old and worn, much like the one I held in my hand. From then on I was part of the story and my book was the book he was writing about. In that magical moment my life changed from the dreary world of assignments, drudgery, and vain attempts at escape to a wonderful world of possibilities, hopes and enjoyment beyond imagination. Life within life was waiting for me on the pages of that book and I feverishly devoured every word like a starving man with his first taste of food. I finished the book in record time (for me) and ran eagerly to my mother to inquire as to the whereabouts of the next book whose pages held the remainder of the story which I had been reading. To my utter dismay she only smiled and shook her head saying that she didn't own the other book and that I would have to look at the library to find it. I was in agony! I needed that book as I had needed nothing else in my life.
My search took me from one library to another and finally to a book store to order the book. When at last it arrived I locked myself in my room to read and I have been reading for the love of it ever since. I have never forgotten the diligence of my mother in trying to persuade me to read and I shall be forever indebted to a wonderful author who invented the perfect story, wrapped me in it's pages, healed me of my handicap, and introduced me to the love of my life. Thank you mother and thank you Edgar Rice Burroughs for giving me the opportunity to live in the jungle, swing through the trees and meet Tarzan, the best friend a twelve-year-old girl ever had.
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