My sister unearthed one of her school composition books from 1947! Enclosed was a note from my mother to the teacher. The note was probably hastily penned, telling the teacher what a help my sister was with my brother and I and how we looked forward to the end of the week when she would play with us and read to us.
And there it was. I was four and looking forward to being read to. The beginnings of a life-long love affair.
The romance of words can begin early. For a developing child to hear the sparkling stream of words flowing over him endlessly is really one of the treasures that is freely available to all. But I mourn that lack of focus today. Now it's much rarer that those words aren't accompanied by moving images of the most sophisticated kind, overshadowing the distinction of language. Whereas, God bless my sister, mother, teacher who read and read to me stories, poems, nursery rhymes - words danced through all my days and took strong root in the fertile soil of my imagination. I filled in the blanks.
No comments:
Post a Comment