While I cannot remember all of the instances where I was forced to sit by a computer chair and read aloud to a mother who made me restart until she heard me pronounce every word, I can recall reading one pop-up picture book entitled Counting on Angels. The story’s main focus is teaching children the numbers one through ten with the use of cool and neutral colors that spring to life once they open a new page; but looking back, there were other elements of the book that I didn’t catch on to when I was younger.

The imagery of angels ties into Christianity, and while I do not remember any references to God, the book mentions prayer at the very end. Throughout the ten-page story, the angels are seen as figures looking over children as they prepared for bed. They are always present, but never speak to the children directly. Towards the end when they see that their “work is done” for the day, they fly off and go to other sleepy children to protect them as well. This was a subtle approach to introducing me to religion without having to throw me right into creation stories or bible verses. It allowed for me to realize that I was being watched over and protected all of the time. It was comforting to know that children like myself had guardians, and that they were benevolent beings that only wanted my safety and happiness.

Another interesting aspect of the book is that this is my first memory of diverse characters in a picture book. Like the angels tying into Christianity, I did not pick up on this consciously. There were angels of all races, which shows that the author/illustrator intended for the book to include more than one type of person. For children, this could send off a message that anyone could be an angel regardless of how they looked, and that they were protected and loved unconditionally.

Counting on Angels is simple and provides a type of interaction that one would find in most children’s books, but there are still features of it that I still probably haven’t analyzed in my adulthood. If I ever have the chance, I would like to find this book again and see what other messages I may find.

The Princess and The Pea was the first storybook I ever read. I remember coming home and showing my mother I could read with this book. I memorized the entire thing very quickly and as my mom noticed this, she came to the conclusion that I needed a new book. The story begins with a girl who is drenched wet knocking on a door and trying to find safety. She claims to be a princess, however because she does not look like one, she is overlooked. They then test her sensibility because only a normal girl could sleep sound-fully on a mattress with a pea underneath it.  To the mothers surprise, the Princess awakens the next day and says she had trouble sleeping because there seemed to be a lump in the bed. (Ridiculous, I know.) From this day forward she is recognized as a true Princess and she lives a long happy life alongside her new Prince. I loved it because it was fairly easy to read and somehow the story always kept me entertained. I had an obsession with princesses when I was younger. The ones that did not actually look like princesses intrigued me the most. (The Princess Diaries was also a favorite of mine). I wanted to be a princess SOOO badly and these books gave me hope that some day it would happen. Although the story is completely impossible, the little girl in me is still in love with this book. 

The very first book that I could recall reading was, awkwardly enough, the twelfth night by William Shakespeare. I had just turned ten years old and had been in the United States for about three years so my English hadn’t been good. My father thought I could learn the English vocabulary faster with the help of his favorite English writer and poet, William Shakespeare. Just like father, like daughter, I soon became obsessed with Shakespeare and his works starting from the twelfth night. It wasn’t odd for me to like that kind of literature because up to that point of my life, I hadn’t read any American children books that I could compare it to. I didn’t feel unusual, liking Shakespeare at that particular age because it felt nice to enjoy educated talks with my father.

As it turns out, Shakespeare was more fascinating than I had ever imagined seeing that I still can’t find a book more entertaining and scandalous as the cast of the twelfth night. Identical brothers and sisters, love affairs and of course the conventional awkward jealousy being told in 17th century rhythm and dialect was a thoroughly enjoyable read. What ten year old wouldn’t love hearing stories of dukes, lords, ships, and deceit in the earliest form of literature? The twelfth night is still one of my favorite stories from William Shakespeare. I was envious of Violas courage and Olivia, so cunning and beautiful, was inspiring to me and my unsolicited mind. I understood the dynamic between the characters before I knew the drama of life and society. There is a lot to learn from reading adult fiction at such a young age as my entire world became more of a fantasy adventure. Adult fiction is powerful because of the diction and ironic wordplay used that for younger audience, with their limitless imagination, could visualize something bigger and better than themselves. It’s one thing to imagine fairy tales and happily ever afters but it felt bigger than life to apprehend the affairs of men and 17^th century behavior.

“A Seed”

My first experience with literature was around the age of five. Give or take a few years — my memories from that age are hazy at best. I do, however, remember my father reading the book out loud to myself and my sister with great clarity. That book was The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien. I can see, vividly, the layout of the furniture. My sister and I shared a room, our twin beds lined up along one wall. My father would pull up a chair (beside my bed, I would have you note — clearly I was his favorite) and crack open the tome, dispensing only one chapter each night. No matter how much I protested, bribed, or reasoned, I would have to wait until the next evening to hear any more.

This was almost certainly the seed from which grew my love of all things fantasy, not to mention my becoming a hopeless nerd. I would tell my fellow kindergarteners how AMAZING the story of Bilbo was, what with its hobbits, and wizards, and dwarves, and elves, and, oh my gosh, the WORLD itself! As I recall they could not have cared less, but that didn’t dampen my enthusiasm.

To this day my favorite stories are big and fantastical, be they the works of George R.R. Martin or Robert Jordan or one of almost countless others (thankfully I never had a shortage of reading material). Of course I read more standard children’s works as well — Where the Wild Things Are comes to mind as a favorite — but it will always be The Hobbit that has hold of a special, very consequential portion of my heart.  I couldn’t be more thankful to my father for the role he played in instilling in me a love of reading, or more grateful that he chose such a wonderful book.

– Chris Kimsey

I can remember the first book I ever read: There is a Town, by Gail Herman.

More importantly, I remember the feeling I had when I read it for the first time. Apart from being proud, I was excited, because I knew more about the world than I did before I read it. I knew something about a little girl, who wasn’t me, about what she got for her birthday and what her family was like, and how the streets in her town were different than the ones in mine. I have now read a plethora of books, and I can say with confidence that I have learned at least one thing from each of them. Even if I didn’t benefit just by virtue of the information from books, the process of reading has helped me in my academic life since elementary school. After being diagnosed with ADHD, many parts of school were a struggle for me, with the exception of English. For years, reading the only time I never felt distracted or confused. I think succeeding in my favorite subject gave me the confidence to apply myself in others, and allowed me to getting better at using the same concentration I had for reading in more areas. My lifelong love for reading has been the most valuable asset in my English courses at Georgia State, and has also been one of the skills I’ve developed the most. I consider reading to be something beyond the physical act of sitting down and looking at a text. Instead, it’s a foundation that enables me to think critically about the world around me, understand other people, places, and times, and reflect on issues that are overlooked.

I can vividly see the book now, even roughly fifteen years later. The book had a hard cover that had been lovingly worn down to that soft material that painted cardboard becomes under the insistent touch of children begging for one more read. Bulging out of the thin, stained, soft-worn cover was two enormous eyes that constantly rolled around, surveying the room. Even after years of abuse, those eyes never even had a scratch (or atleast it seemed that way). My mom (as patiently as a mother of three possibly could) read those 32 pages an uncountable amount of times through all three of our childhood… Which is impressive, considering Barney and Friends was banned in my house once my brothers moved on and just before I was old enough to catch on– just to save that poor woman’s sanity. But, there was something irresistible about the book. The bug puns, clever word play, and the way it seemed so unique to us. I could never imagine another family reading this, dying laughing at the punchline… Other books I knew were readily available to every kid, but this was one of the few things I felt I had the advantage for.. This book was mine. So, naturally, every  character was played out in very specific voices and specific lines were left the space of silence needed to react to what we (I) knew was coming each time. Regardless, I read that book for years; then again when I re-found it at a time where I needed comfort. The absolute ridiculous characters within the book were so spot on to me as a child. I remember saying my grandmother looked like one of the characters (a particularly gaudy bug), who coincidentally did not think it was as enlightened as I felt– nor as funny as my parents seemed to find it. So this book taught me not only the art of a true mystery and word play, but it also started my lifelong journey to figure out exactly how tact works.

When I was younger I was not very good at reading. I was so bad at it that my younger sister was able to learn to read before I did. I even remember early into my schooling I had to go to someplace after school where they taught me the basics. In elementary school there were classes to help children who were testing below the average testing scores to get their scores up, I was put into the one for reading. My elementary school continued to place me into these classes until after the third grade. As much as everyone tried to raise my reading level, I never really saw the point. For the most part, reading was just something boring that I was never any good at, so I never really bothered trying to do it outside whatever assignments that my teachers made me do. It wasn’t until I was assigned to read The Bad Beginning in the third grade that I realised that books could actually be interesting.
Lemony Snicket’s narration was very different from anything that I had read before. None of the children’s books I was told to read had such an expressive narrator. As far as I had known, third person narrators were void of personality, just faceless voices that described what happened to the main characters. The way that Snicket told the story of the Baudelaire orphans that was also wrapped in the story of the character Snicket just entertained me for some reason. Another thing that attracted me was the story’s focus on three children and not just one child. If I was reading a story and found that I did not care for the main character’s personality (I felt that most of them were really bland), what was the point of continuing with the rest of it. With A Series of Unfortunate Events I was given three main characters with distinct personalities, if I did not like them there were still two more to relate to (however, this was never a problem the Baudelaires). I think what appealed to me the most is how morbid the story could get at times. It did not feel like it was a book for little kids like One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish; it felt like a book for older kids.

The first book that I can recall being read to me was, Love You Forever by Robert Munsch. I’m not sure what it was about this book, but I felt the need to make my parents read this book to me every night. In my opinion, this was probably the first book that I learned to read. The reason that I have to say “probably” is due to the fact that my parents seem to feel that, seeing as I was only 3 years old, I wasn’t actually reading, but had simply memorized the book from the multitude of times that I had heard the book read to me. The problem that I have is that when I read the book aloud to them, I was reading the correct words for the correct pages. It was, however, a picture book, so I could have been associating words with certain pictures, but even that seems like a bit of a stretch for a three year old.

The first chapter book that I can recall falling in love with would definitely be Matilda by Roald Dahl. It was recommended to me by my school librarian at some point during elementary school (I would suppose somewhere between 1^st and 2^nd grade), and this book swept me away. I suppose I became so infatuated with the book because I felt as though Matilda was a very interesting character. We were both rather introverted readers, and for that, I felt as though she was relatable. Furthermore, she had telekinetic powers that she used to get back at her enemies, which made her that much cooler to me. Reading this book sent me into a phase where I was reading every Roald Dahl book that I could get my hands on – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, The BFG, just to name a few. I think that it was books like those that made me develop the passion for reading that I have today.