Learning to REALLY Read
Most people can’t remember anything before the age of 4 or 5, but I certainly can. I can still picture the first place I ever remember living. It was the front unit of a duplex that my grandparents owned. My earliest memories are from when I was about 2 years old and living in that small front house – so small, my older brother and I slept in bunk beds on the service porch that was off to the left of the kitchen. I was the type of child that could sit quietly entertain myself for hours as long as I had a book or something to doodle with.
My earliest and fondest childhood memories are of my brother and I sitting in the plush, green grass on warm Southern California days in my favorite light blue halter top that tied around the neck and a pair of shorts while my mother kept an eye on us through the screen door. My brother is a little over 4 years older than me so of course he was in school before I was, but that didn’t stop me from picking up his books and watching his every move as he learned to read and write. Before I could even talk, books held a special fascination for me. I’ve always had a love for school and learning, reading and writing in particular. Early on, I also liked being read to and becoming drawn into whatever story was being told, but it wasn’t until a few years later that I learned reading is about more than just saying words written on paper.
I started learning to read in pre-school, so at about 4 years old. At such a young age, I found it easier to follow and understand the story if it was being read to me, rather than me reading it myself for reasons unknown to me at the time.
As I entered elementary school and became a better reader, or so I thought, and I was the fastest reader in my class. I was such a fast reader that in the 2nd Grade, I was always sent to a 4th or 5th Grade class for reading. Because of my reading speed, it was assumed that I was also a good reader, but being a good reader, means that I could recall what I had read. This couldn’t be further from the truth for me. Whenever it came time to recall what I had read to answer a question or take a test, I wasn’t able to. I always had to refresh my recollection by referring back to my book. It wasn’t until 3rd Grade that I found out that reading and comprehension go hand-in-hand.
When 3rd Grade started, I was assigned to Mrs. Fuller’s class. Mrs. Fuller had heard about me, the speed reader, as had a lot of the other teachers. That meant that she had also heard about my comprehension problem. Even though other teachers had an idea of why I was having trouble with comprehension, none of them really took the time to figure out for sure that my speed reading was the issue.
One day, our class was taking turns reading a paragraph each from our reading books with until the story was completed. Most of the students in my class were good readers, but of course I whizzed through my paragraph faster than anyone else. When we were done reading, Mrs. Fuller went around the room asking everyone to recall what they had read. I remembered everyone else’s part with no problem, but I couldn’t recall my own. It was like I was able to listen to everyone else, but not myself.
Later on that same day while the class was busy with another activity, Mrs. Fuller called me to her desk in the corner of the room and asked me to slowly re-read to her the paragraph that I had read aloud to the class. I did, but still at lightning fast speed. I tried it again, and was able to read a little slower that time, but still could not recall exactly what I had read. After a few more tries, she had me sit by myself to practice and checked on my progress from time to time.
Almost every day when I got home after school, I would rush home, get my other homework I needed to get done out of the way, so I could curl up with a book and a snack and practice my reading. It seemed like the only way I could really concentrate on my reading was if my surroundings were just the way I wanted them: a nice, neat room, a comfy and quiet corner, and a yummy snack. It was if I needed that same situation Mrs. Fuller had created for me -- my own part of the room away from everyone else -- to really focus. I would practice my reading with anyone I could until I could finally read and recall the stories that I had read in my own words. I was the “genius” of the family, so my mom and dad encouraged everything I wanted to do when it came to education – even if it meant listening to me read everything from Reader’s Digest to cereal boxes. Much to the chagrin of my friends and other family members and a lot of new books, I finally mastered slowing down my reading so that I could remember what I had just read. I was so excited to get to school and show Mrs. Fuller that I could do it.
I remember picking out my favorite dress -- a yellow dress with a butterfly on the front, and a full skirt that billowed out when I spun in a circle -- to wear the day Mrs. Fuller and I were scheduled to have one of our solo reading sessions again. It only added to the excitement I felt, and I couldn’t wait to show her that I had finally learned what she had been trying to teach me.
So she wouldn’t think that I had read the same book over and over again and merely memorized it, I read to her from one of several new books that my mom had bought me that I had saved just for this occasion. I assured her that that was my first time reading it, and that I would be able to read to her a passage AND then tell her what it was about in my own words after I was done, and I did. I breezed through the rest of grade school, reading – really reading – and doing very well in school.
Today, whenever I need to read, write, study, or just clear my mind and think, I always search for that perfect spot, most likely tucked away in a corner, to get comfortable, have a snack and let my mind run free to its next adventure or to think up my next big idea. Whether it’s at home, at a bookstore or on the train during my daily commute to or from work, I discovered that I could make anywhere I am into exactly where I want and need it to be.