WHEN THE READING LIGHT WENT ON

My earliest recollection of reading is the time I would spend with my grandmother, listening to her read stories from the Bible and the Psalms. The 1st Psalm, the 23rd, the 27th, the 86th, the 100th. I remember her helping me sort out words and then understand what the meanings were.

When I was about 10 or 11, I was stricken with rheumatic fever. I was bedridden for nine months. My school work was done with a tutor. I could not move around, and I was not permitted to get up. All of a sudden I had two choices: I could sit there and stare at the ceiling and not enjoy it. Or I could begin to read.

I remember reading “Gulliver’s Travels” over and over again and Reader’s Digest from cover to cover. I would especially linger at the jokes.

I also have vivid memories of reading a book about a hockey game that was played somewhere in New England. I can’t remember the name of the book, but I can still see the game being played.

At this time, I listened to the radio a great deal. That was about 1949, ‘50, ’51. I listened to the Grand Ole Opry, “The Green Hornet,” “The Shadow”--all radio shows. I listened and imagined what was going on.

Because of that, I could pick up a book and put life to the words. When I read, I could see what was being written. I enjoyed books of all types. I found them fun to be with, because I couldn’t do some of the sports other kids would do.

In my mid-20s, I would sit and read to my grandmother, who had Alzheimer’s. I would read the Psalms she had read to me. That was the time I could feel the connection with her. I treasure that. I’m glad she taught me how to read.

We now have eight grandchildren. They go to our big book basket, pick one out, and either my wife or I read to them or they read to us. It makes me feel great just listening to them and watching them.