Do you ever think about how happy you are to be able to read?
Seriously, if I had to learn how to read, now, I don’t think I could do it.
My mom taught me.
Before first grade.
Mrs. Rose really liked me, since I could already read.
I don’t remember learning how.
I do remember going to Nicholson Memorial Library in downtown Garland, Texas,
( I still love that old book smell you got when you walked in. And the tall shelves.)
and checking out 6-10 books to take home to read.
Apparently, Mom taught me phonics because I could sound out anything. My Sunday School teacher asks me to pronounce all the hard names. I used English phonetics for all those Hebrew names, but Bruce is all right with that.
When I was in my early thirties, Wendy called me at work one day, and, somewhere in the conversation, she used the word “misled.”
M I S L E D
I realized, I had always read that word “my zuld.” (Phonics; long I, accent on the first syllable)
Correct phonetic spelling should have been “missled”.
I told Wendy about this.
All these years, I never knew.
Now, I notice, when I look at a billboard, I focus on the middle of the message, then I jump back a word or two, then I realize, I have no clue what the billboard was about, but it’s too late, I’ve already driven past.
I’m so glad I can read.
Journal • Wednesday, Apr 5, 2017