Reading

 

I remember being about six years old, sitting beside an unnamed adult who held a copy of Babar by Jean de Brunhoff. They read the story aloud, and I was thrilled listening to the words and looking at the pictures. At some point I grabbed the book and stared at the lines of print myself. That was when I realized I could not read. My little brain was stunned. I felt frustrated, I wanted to read the book on my own. 

Not long after, I found a copy of Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans. I held it with hope, but the words did not make sense. I kept looking at the pictures and tried to make sense of them.  

Time passed, and I went to grade school. Slowly, patiently, the letters began to make sense. Sounds formed into words, words into sentences, and sentences into entire worlds. Reading finally came to me.  

Georgia