My First Reading Memory
In elementary school, it was much to my librarian’s chagrin that I only sought after Junie B. Jones, Nancy Drew, and The Babysitter’s Club books. Nancy Drew was my opposite. She was brave, fierce, adventurous, and independent—everything a young girl should aspire to be. I, on the other hand, was shy and books offered my perhaps only avenue to excitement. Every year in honor of Dr. Seuss we celebrated DEAR, a time to Drop Everything And Read. An intercom announcement would go off, in the morning or late afternoon encroaching toward pick-up time, and we would stop, almost as if in a game of freeze tag. I read Nancy Drew every single day, and then later in the evening, I would begin right where I had left off. It amazed me that Nancy could find, and ultimately solve (always), one mystery after another. At the end of the DEAR week, students who met a free reading goal, say half an hour per night, received a very official-looking certificate. However, while many of my classmates played video games or watched television, I continued to read. Nancy tagged along with me on long bus rides home, even though I get carsick. She was there during indoor recess, when the upstate weather became just too gloomy and the idea of playing jacks bored me to pieces. Nancy became somewhat of an imaginary friend, but to me she was very much real. I mentioned her at dinner—“oh, today, Nancy solved the case of the model with a peanut allergy.” She represented everything I wanted to be and everything I was not. I idolized her, beaming with glee when a set of shiny new Nancy Drew books arrived in the library. Nancy was my foray into the world of books, a world I’ve come to live in more and more.
In elementary school, it was much to my librarian’s chagrin that I only sought after Junie B. Jones, Nancy Drew, and The Babysitter’s Club books. Nancy Drew was my opposite. She was brave, fierce, adventurous, and independent—everything a young girl should aspire to be. I, on the other hand, was shy and books offered my perhaps only avenue to excitement. Every year in honor of Dr. Seuss we celebrated DEAR, a time to Drop Everything And Read. An intercom announcement would go off, in the morning or late afternoon encroaching toward pick-up time, and we would stop, almost as if in a game of freeze tag. I read Nancy Drew every single day, and then later in the evening, I would begin right where I had left off. It amazed me that Nancy could find, and ultimately solve (always), one mystery after another. At the end of the DEAR week, students who met a free reading goal, say half an hour per night, received a very official-looking certificate. However, while many of my classmates played video games or watched television, I continued to read. Nancy tagged along with me on long bus rides home, even though I get carsick. She was there during indoor recess, when the upstate weather became just too gloomy and the idea of playing jacks bored me to pieces. Nancy became somewhat of an imaginary friend, but to me she was very much real. I mentioned her at dinner—“oh, today, Nancy solved the case of the model with a peanut allergy.” She represented everything I wanted to be and everything I was not. I idolized her, beaming with glee when a set of shiny new Nancy Drew books arrived in the library. Nancy was my foray into the world of books, a world I’ve come to live in more and more.