I had a blog on another site a while ago about books and my love, or some say obsession with them. I’ll repeat some of these and add new ones, including this one.
My first book. I can’t remember the first book I read as a child, which is odd, considering my love of them. I remember Pokey Little Puppy, but not reading it. My over-riding memory of learning to read was of sitting on my father’s lap in the evening. I was around three years old and he was trying to read the newspaper after a long day of work. During his “relaxation” I sat, asking him to identify word after word. I learned to read by sight words at first and then through phonics. So, I suppose my first book was probably not a book after all, but a newspaper article.
One of the first books I remember with any clarity was a book about a little creature who was made of twig. The book, entitled Miss Hickory, detailed her life in the forest. She used acorns, leaves, other pieces of nature in ways that were ingenious. They spurred me to do the same when I went outside and played in the front yard. I think it also encouraged my love of writing, as well as reading. I bought a copy of Miss Hickory a few years ago and have it in my library now. Every now and then I pull it out and reread it, love it just as much as I did then.
What were some of your memories of your first book? Was it one that you kept or did you love it to the point you destroyed it?