Reading All Summer

Tonight, a little boy told me that he read all summer, instead of playing games. Now, he says, he is a very good reader. I believe him.

When I was ten years old, I became vividly interested in reading. Even though I always loved books, this was the time when my love of reading really started to blossom. I read, of course, from my mother's collection of novels and magazines. My selection included authors like Stephen King, George Orwell, Farley Mowat and the Omni magazines. From the school's library, I brought home books almost every week--books like R.L Stine's Goosebumps and Fear Street.

I once spent a whole summer reading Stephen King. I finished "It," "Christine," "The Tommyknockers" and "Four Past Midnight" before I turned eleven.  Once I started reading, I could not bare to stop the story until I finished it. My mouth sometimes tumbled over difficult words; my mind, equally frazzled, sometimes tumbled over the  images that King's words procured in my mind. But my mind had to have it.

At that young age, it seems, I discovered the seductive power of language, of stories and of imagination. I hope, that I can also bring to life the imagination of a child with stories, with words, with language. Maybe not with horror stories, though?