Virtually every night of my childhood, my mother would read my sister and me a book (or two) before bed. We had a lot of different picture books when I was growing up, but I still remember that the first book I read on my own was Green Eggs and Ham by the great Seuss. I must have been either three or four at the time, and I was all alone in my room on a cloudy day when it happened. I remember feeling really proud, even independent as I made my way through the whole book without any trouble.

Thinking about this incident for the first time in a while, I realize that this was most likely a case of pure memorization. Not only had my mom read that book to me countless times, but I even had an interactive storybook computer game of it. By the time I read the book on my own, there is a good chance that I’d memorized it from those sources alone.

But that only illustrates two points. First, that memorization is a starting point from which a person can start to really comprehend. I was too young to make much sense of language, but the frequent exposure I had to it through reading made the learning process much easier. Second, I learned to read so rapidly because I loved books, and I surely couldn’t have gotten there at such a young age without the fascination with both pictures and words my parents encouraged every time they read to me. As a poetry major who draws constantly and often flirts with the idea of making picture books instead of going to grad school, I can say that this fascination has never left me, and still colors much of my interaction with the world. While I wouldn’t say that reading Green Eggs and Ham on my own was the moment that I realized my true purpose, the factors behind that moment definitely shaped me, and they continue to show their influence.