In the beginning...

In which I discuss my foundational reading influences

Photo by Kier in Sight Archives on Unsplash

Most of my early memories take place in Colorado. We moved there when I was four. Took a U-Haul from Missouri straight across Kansas. Dad driving, my younger brother Luke and I stuck in the middle, Mom holding a three-month-old Marcus next to the passenger door. Talk about a road trip. Still not sure what my parents were thinking.

Dad was a horse trainer. Mom was a teacher. There were just the five of us then. My sisters, Mandy and Celie, would come later.

Southeast Colorado is a high desert ecosystem with sage brush and tumbleweeds and not much else. The exterior of our house was a wacky green stucco material. The interior walls looked like plywood. It was a two-bedroom, one bath sort of place. Kitchen, living room, small office, and a closet sized room for the baby rounded it out. Our yard was about 80% dirt with a few patches of grass thrown in. But the grass was mostly these nasty sticker weeds that were sharp and hurt like hell. Big tree in the front yard. Crazy rock wall for a front fence. Plum tree in the backyard. Dad taught us to play baseball and basketball there. We rode bikes on the gravel street in front of our house.

We were poor as dirt but us kids never knew it. Mom and Dad made sure we always had food. We had clothes even if they were usually second hand. Mom and Dad were attentive and loving. They weren’t perfect but they gave a damn. Years later, when reflecting on my childhood, I realized that while they never had money, what they did have was infinitely more valuable. They loved us, taught us the value of hard work, taught us how to be independent, and gave us the skills needed to go into the world and succeed on our own.

In one keen memory I am sitting on Dad’s lap. The couch is straight out of the 70’s with these wild floral designs. There was a small, wooden, magazine rack end table that had a lamp on it. A big crystal ash tray sat on that end table even though no one in our home ever smoked. The tv is on in the background sitting square in the middle of this massive entertainment center that was obligatory in every 1980’s home. He read to me from Charlotte’s Web, his voice resonating in my ears, powerful yet soothing.

“These autumn days will shorten and grow cold. The leaves will shake loose from the trees and fall. Christmas will come, then the snows of winter. You will live to enjoy the beauty of the frozen world, for you mean a great deal to Zuckerman and he will not harm you, ever. Winter will pass, the days will lengthen, the ice will melt in the pasture pond. The song sparrow will return and sing, the frogs will awake, the warm wind will blow again. All these sights and sounds and smells will be yours to enjoy, Wilbur — this lovely world, these precious days…”

These compelling words opened a doorway in my mind to imagination and wonder. I could experience the sights and sounds and smells as if I were transported to that farmyard. This is a core memory for me.

My parents were always reading. Dad loved Louis L’Amour books and Western Horseman magazine. Mom would more than likely be reading kids books. She took us to the library all the time. Our home was filled with books and stories and love. Some years later when we converted the garage into a couple extra bedrooms to make space for my sisters, Dad built enormous bookshelves into the wall of one of the rooms. It was filled to the brim, including one of those old encyclopedia sets door-to-door salesmen used to sell.

One night Mom discovered me reading Roots by Alex Haley under my covers by the glow of my bed lamp. I was in the third grade. She told me it was late and time for bed but Mom and Dad never discouraged me or told me something was too hard for me to read. They understood and respected the power of words. I am forever grateful.

                                   My original copies of Charlotte’s Web and Roots

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Most often readers are created early in life when the foundational love for books is instilled by a parent, teacher, or by picking up a book and discovering the magic contained within. I don’t have an exact count of the number of books I have read throughout my life although it is probably close to 2,000. All those stories and adventures. Histories and biographies. Science, culture, poetry, plays. My mind and imagination have been stretched far beyond their own innate capabilities. Reading empowers people. It instills confidence and knowledge. Encouraging children to read is one of the greatest gifts of love that a parent can give. That we as a culture can give.

In the coming weeks and months, I will share my journey through the world of books. Books have informed my thoughts and ideas, created a place to escape in times of need, and shaped my life in ways beyond the simple act of reading. I want to share their impact on my life and the lives of people I love. I want to communicate to you in the best way I know how that words are powerful and when you allow words into your life you grow exponentially. In writing to you I hope my experience will inspire you to read more and encourage others to do the same.

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                                There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.
                                      There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.
                                                       You feel it, don’t you?
                                                               - Rumi

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In case you missed it…

The Intentionality Factor

The Tools of the Trade

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Interested in exploring the concept of memory a bit more…

Check out my friend Simon’s thoughts over at Footnotes and Tangents.

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Join the conversation!

I would love to know your thoughts on this topic along with what you are reading that is adding value to your life right now.

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