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.”


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.

She laughed.

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


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