Reading the printed words
I was a late reader in our family. I started to read books when I was in seventh standard. My sisters, both avid readers, started off when they were in third or fourth. Because of their enthusiasm in reading, I had quite a collection of comics and books at home by the time I had my senses. The love for books is a common factor in our family. I cannot remember a time where books were not around in my home. We used to have all sorts of discussions on books. My ma and pa always encouraged us in this, yet I was pretty late. I used to love the books with pictures when I was little. I would turn the pages of these comics and come up with my own stories, ignoring the print completely.
This was more to do with my difficulty in reading. I had trouble reading words and sentences. I remember my classmates reading very fluently where as I could only stammer through the lines. Was I put off? Nope. I was in a world of my own and these things didn't bother me at all.
But by the time I was in my eighth standard, I could read as fluently, if not better, than my classmates. This transformation was because of the help that my family added. They encouraged me to read and the interest in books were set from then on. However, if I were to single out one specific reason why my reading improved, it would be my father. He made me sit and read the newspaper to him for an hour or more everyday. It did not matter that he had already read the paper a couple of times before that. He just wanted me to read.
Initially, it was a royal pain. I tried my level best to get out of it. But no. There is no way I could get out of it. My ma and siblings turned a deaf ear. Told me it was for my own good. Yes yes, I agree now :) It was for my own good. I would get yelled at for trying to get out just five minutes into the session. I would try all sorts of things, from headaches and stomach aches to leg aches. But there was no escape. It is amazing now that I look back fondly at something that aggravated and terrified me so many years back.
This was more to do with my difficulty in reading. I had trouble reading words and sentences. I remember my classmates reading very fluently where as I could only stammer through the lines. Was I put off? Nope. I was in a world of my own and these things didn't bother me at all.
But by the time I was in my eighth standard, I could read as fluently, if not better, than my classmates. This transformation was because of the help that my family added. They encouraged me to read and the interest in books were set from then on. However, if I were to single out one specific reason why my reading improved, it would be my father. He made me sit and read the newspaper to him for an hour or more everyday. It did not matter that he had already read the paper a couple of times before that. He just wanted me to read.
Initially, it was a royal pain. I tried my level best to get out of it. But no. There is no way I could get out of it. My ma and siblings turned a deaf ear. Told me it was for my own good. Yes yes, I agree now :) It was for my own good. I would get yelled at for trying to get out just five minutes into the session. I would try all sorts of things, from headaches and stomach aches to leg aches. But there was no escape. It is amazing now that I look back fondly at something that aggravated and terrified me so many years back.
:) Thanks for sharing! I might try this when my daughter is a bit older.
ReplyDeleteHey nona, you are welcome.
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