As a child, my mother read to me every day, and before long, books became as essential to my life as sunshine and fresh air. From the very beginning, Mama laid the groundwork for my lifelong love of reading. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting next to her, my head resting against her arm, listening as she turned the pages and brought stories to life with the gentle warmth of her voice.

She never simply read the words. She acted out each page. The characters came to life with different voices, and more often than not, she would have a fit of the gigles, laughing until she cried. In those moments, she would stop reading until she gained control. I am not sure what I enjoyed more, her laughter or the stories!

When I was about three years old, my mother began teaching me the alphabet. She would sit with me at the kitchen table and patiently point to each letter, repeating its name and sound until I could recognize each one.

Soon, I was copying the letters onto paper with a chunky pencil, gripping it tightly in my small hand, while she gently guided my fingers. I carefully practiced forming each letter as she showed me. By the time I was four, I could proudly read simple books by myself.

However, Mama did not simply teach me to read; she made learning come across like a game.

One of my favorite activities was the treasure hunt.

Mama hid small treasures around the house and left clues written on little slips of paper. These clues helped me learn some of my first sight words—go, to, and the. Sometimes, she would draw simple pictures of objects around the house with the word written underneath.

Lamp.

Couch.

Mailbox.

Each clue guided me to the next location until I finally found the hidden treasure, usually a small treat, a colorful barrette, or a new ribbon for my hair. I remember the thrill of sounding out the words and realizing that the message on the paper was meant for me to solve.

These small games turned reading into an adventure.

As my vocabulary grew, my mother began instructing me to read using the Dick and Jane Primer series. I can still remember the excitement I felt when I finally read Fun with Dick and Jane all by myself. I couldn’t wait to show my dad.

With all the pride a four year old could muster, I climbed into his lap and read the pages aloud. I still remember the look on his face as he listened, half surprised, half delighted, as the words on the page suddenly made sense to me.

From that moment on, my world expanded with each new book.

As I grew older, so did my small library. Mama always ensured that I had something new to read. Some of my favorite childhood books included James and the Giant Peach, Where the Red Fern Grows, Charlotte’s Web, Little Women, and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. I also devoured book series like Dr. Seuss, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, Little House on the Prairie, Nancy Drew, and The Hardy Boys.

Each book opened a door to a new world—one rich in adventure, mystery, courage, and imagination.

Looking back, I realize how busy my mother must have been raising us, running the household, and caring for our family. Yet, somehow, she always found time to sit beside me with a book in her hands.

She never rushed through these moments.

Instead, she supported my curiosity and made learning feel joyful and exciting. Long before I stepped into a classroom, my mother had already given me the greatest educational gift I would ever receive.

She taught me that books are more than just stories.

They were the keys that could unlock entire worlds.

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Photo Source:

• “Dick and Jane.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 7 Jan. 2023, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dick_and_Jane.