When I was between the ages of about four and five I sort of taught myself to read. My only motivation being that mom was trying to teach my older sister to read and I wasn’t going to be left behind.
One afternoon I was alone in my room secretly looking at one of my sister’s books, trying to figure out what all the mystery was about (I’ll show her!). There was something about the words– the way they were grouped looked important. I remembered overhearing something about breaking them down into the sounds of each letter. Our mother was in the kitchen when I thought it might be making sense at one point, so I went and asked her to come to my room and show me how to read. She probably thought ‘Great. He’s just jealous’. She did that thing parents do when their kids disturb them with some complicated distraction– she kind of slumped a little and told me she would in a while when she wasn’t busy. Not one for patience I went back to my room and kept at it, lying on the floor staring at the words on the pages while looking at the pictures which I assumed were visual cues. I can still remember the moment it all came together.
By the time mom came to my room I told her not to worry about it, I’d figured it out myself. She’d already steeled herself for a long, tedious, and likely futile effort so she fired back in disbelief, insisting I was wrong and that I indeed had not figured it out myself. I was incensed! I argued that yes I had. Feeling like she’d caught me in a lie, she said “Fine. Prove it. Read something to me”. I did, and she was silent long enough to make me nervous. Maybe I’d done something wrong and wasn’t supposed to read? She must have thought I’d simply memorized it from listening to her trying to show my sister. She picked up the book off the floor, whipped some pages around and shoved it in front of me again. “Okay, read this!” and I did. She did it again and I read that, too. Now the dynamic changed and the school teacher kicked in. She pointed to the book and said “Read it until the end. Read all of it. I’ll be back later.” It was over for me at that point. Why bother? It’s just some bunny rabbit that stupidly lost their mittens. I couldn’t care less. I’d achieved my goal and it was time to go play with my Matchbox cars.
My point is, I’ve never been a huge reader. I can probably count on one hand the number of books that kept me up into the wee hours turning pages. In school, I typically got hung up on the textbook writer’s grammar or use of a word that had several meanings while the lesson itself passed me by. Later, toward graduation from college, I read to escape the reality of what was happening in my personal life, and that’s when I discovered there could actually be some pleasure in it. It also helped me fall asleep by filling up my head with someone else’s story instead of worrying about all the stupid or embarrassing shit I did in fifth grade that suddenly gnawed at me the second my head hit the pillow. The thing about reading in bed though is, it’s bothersome wielding a hardback book or a tiny paperback while lying horizontally.
As a computer guy since the early nineties, I eagerly beta-tested everything I could find as it came out and stood in line for the first-generation iPhone. I’ve known what Kindles were since the days when Amazon was just an online bookstore, but considered it a gimmicky piece of crap. Who would use one? They don’t really do anything except sell… books? Lately however, things have changed and my more-or-less forced retirement has left me with a lot of time on my hands. Time to overthink. Time to take a lot of self-inventory and critique some of my life’s decisions– you get the idea. Time for some reading! Maybe I’ll try out that Kindle thing people still rave about.
Most recently, I’ve really found a lot of enjoyment from reading autobiographies. I’m on a Rock and Roll tangent at the moment having started with the touchstone of them all: Keith Richards’ ‘Life’ when it came out as a hardback, but bears revisiting just because. I’m not necessarily a hard-core Stones fan (Mick Jagger is a wanker), but I am a Keith Richards fan, especially after reading his amazing life story. I also managed to get through Geddy Lee’s ‘My Effin’ Life’, but it wasn’t nearly as riveting as Richards’ book. Much more technical and proggy if you’re into that style of music and are familiar with whatever synthesizers and recording techniques he rambles on about. Right now I’m kind of blazing through Alex Van Halen’s ‘Brothers’ and it is definitely on par with Richards’ book. It’s really well-written, heartfelt, surprisingly kind to David Lee Roth, and flows nicely without getting hung up on too many technical details like Geddy Lee’s. Highly recommend!
So I’m smitten with my new Kindle Whitepaper. I will carry it proudly with me to airports or waiting rooms and no-doubt rack up a sizeable Amazon bill buying e-books. Mom would be happy.
