Copyright 2021
by Lori-Ann Willey
Growing
up, both of my parents were avid readers.
Each always had a book going. I
remember when I was like eight years old, at bedtime I’d go into my parents’
room to see my mother and father reading the same book at the same time. My mother always held the book while my
father looked onward, which seemed odd, but one day, Mom made a comment that my
father read faster than she did, so she was in control of flipping the
pages.
I
never quite understood the lure of books.
I mean, I’d look at the pictures but could’ve cared less if there were
words or not. Visually, I created a
story of my own anyway. Despite always
having books, I had to be bored to read the words. I wanted to be up running around, outside
playing or doing something …anything except take the time to read predetermined
words (story) in any book.
As
a result, my reading skills were slow to develop. I remember becoming frustrated as I grew
older …when I HAD to read books for school.
I was fine reading textbooks because I was learning something. However, even then if I didn’t care for the
topic, I’d skim. I knew teachers tested
on names, dates, location, etc. So, I learned those, but otherwise, picked out
keywords so I’d pass a test. I skimmed a lot in my younger years, and you
could say that I was a “marginal note reader” when I could be. I loved to learn, but my brain was picky about
how I learned.
Throughout
my Jr. High years, reading a certain number of books during the school year
became mandatory. Not only that, but I
also had to draft a report, too? To me,
that meant certain doom! Both my brain
and eyes read one word at a time still and boy was THAT slow and tedious for
someone that would rather be doing other things. As I read, my mind wanted to write
its own story as I flipped the pages …sometimes several at a time. I became frustrated. To me, my story was much more entertaining,
adventuresome, and fun to see play out in my mind. That was until I realized I had “read” for
15-30 minutes and hadn’t flipped a single page!
I
don’t know how many books that I actually read throughout my school years, but I bet I could count them on all ten fingers, or less. I fudged my reports. To me, I had read a million pages …and I
probably had, because I had to read every paragraph many times and each time,
I’d become lost in my own thoughts, stories told by family, or recalling my own
experiences. Throughout my grade school
years, I was always in the lowest reading group, and quite honestly, I was way A-OK
with that.
During
my younger grade school years, I remember sitting with other students around a table
with a recorder sitting in the middle.
All I had to do was slide a big heavy earphone set over my ears and plug
the cord into the recorder, and I was read to.
I didn’t have to read at all. I
loved that! Though I was supposed to
follow along in a book, I didn’t. With the book open in front of me, I simply
waited until the machine said, “Now it’s time to turn the page”. Even now, when I read books to kids, I still
hear that male voice saying, “Now it’s time to turn the page”. I smirk as I look at the child I’m reading to
before I continue reading.
However,
embarrassment came when I was in the 7th grade and the teacher
called upon me to read a few paragraphs in a book read by the class as a
class. I had sunk in my chair. I hoped like hell the teacher would somehow
just skip over me. I was such an
inexperienced reader still that my eyes hadn’t been trained to fluently see
each word ahead of time. They fastened
to one word at a time and that was how I read aloud. I hated it.
I wasn’t stupid, but I felt as if I was.
Then, one day, I found a book on how to read faster. It wasn’t a speedreading
book, though as an adult, I did learn how to do that quite proficiently, acing
the tests to boot! The very first lesson
told me to scan my eyes ahead 3 words at a time. Well, hell.
That made a whole lot of sense!
Why wasn’t I taught THAT little trick in school? Why was I still stuck only seeing one word at a time?
Once
in high school, I was thankful that I did not have to read aloud in front of
the class anymore, or so I thought.
Because of my poor reading skills, my 8th-grade teacher
recommended that I start out with 9-C English. C being the level of my English
skills. Well, I wasn’t so keen on that
because my skills were fine! It was my
reading that needed help, not my knowledge of the language! Language came easy! The following year, I asked to be moved to
English 10-B. Come to find out that teacher
made us read more books! UGH! Come my junior year, I asked to advance into
an English prep class. The same for my Senior year. Why? I
knew I could do the work, but I also knew those level classes went more in-depth with poetry. More specifically, Shakespeare! I was in love! During the Shakespeare units, I didn’t mind
being called upon to read orally at all.
Yes, my reading was still quite choppy, but know what? So wasn’t reading the works of Shakespeare!
When
called upon to read in class, I did so with ease. Shakespeare was my style, my comfort
zone. Until then, I thought I was a poor
reader, but it turns out that I wasn’t.
Not really. One day, as I left the classroom, the teacher took me aside
and applauded my oral reading skills. I
cringed inside and thought he was just being nice and that he sensed my fear of
oral reading in front of my classmates.
It turns out that he was serious.
He appreciated my style as I read passages as they were meant to be
read. Not only that, but I also understood
what I was reading and could explain to the class what I had read! Say whhhaaat? The teacher called upon me to read more often
because of it. Who’d’ve thunk that
Shakespeare would help my psyche?
As
an adult, I became an avid reader, sometimes I have six books going at once and
I had/have no problem picking each up and knowing exactly where I left off months
ago without confusing the stories, etc.
These days, though, I read mostly for knowledge and can easily say that
I research curiosities at least an hour a day …some days two or three
hours. Since we bought camp, though I
had written stories for my kids, I spend much of my “reading” time writing my
own books of my experiences, children's books, etc.
So,
what brought me to write about this? Today,
I came upon a “review” for one of my books that said,
“When
I first received your book, I have to admit I was quite disappointed there were
no pictures. As I come to find out,
pictures would have only been a distraction.
You are a very descriptive writer.
I did not miss the pictures at all. I saw them all in your words. Your style
is fluent.” -PDT
Back
five to six years ago, that review brought a quick, appreciative smile, but reading
it again today, it brought more. I’m
stuck on one word in particular, “fluent”.
To me, even today, there is nothing fluent about my writing style, but
others disagree. I think I will forever
consider my writing style choppy. It was
the sole reason I named my blog so aptly, “The Inept Blog” (now, The Inept
Blogger).
To
this day, I cringe as I recall my early reading struggles, my struggles to be
attentive and understand a boring story, and my struggles to see and read more
than one word at a time, too. I had zero
patience for reading as a child which resulted in me turning 10-20 pages at a
time just to finish the book and get it over with. All that didn’t pan out so well for me in my
younger years, but I am very thankful that I was introduced to Shakespeare in
the 9th grade, and that teacher too!
