The other day I started thinking about what started my love for the written word, and I came to the conclusion that it was those bedtime stories that my dad used to read to me. Though I cannot remember the names of most of the stories, one that I do remember and still love was The Hobbit. Though I loved some of the kids books that were read to me, it was these more serious books that my sparked my passion for reading and even writing.
If it were not for having parents that read, being read to as a child, and being surrounded by books for my childhood, I don’t know if I would have ever picked it up. If I remove from my life all the memories/influences of books that I read because of those three things, the only books left would be the ones that I was forced to read in school. I hated most of those books, and having to study them didn’t really improve the feelings I had towards them. I think I only really liked one book I was asked to read, and I didn’t read that book until my final year of schooling.
But then again, perhaps if you are meant to love books they will find you no matter what. Perhaps one day I would have been bored and someone had left behind a book with a cover that caught my eye, and lacking anything better I pick it up and fall inlove.
How did everyone else get the seed planted for their love of reading? Do you think it is harder for those who aren’t introduced to it by their family to discover books? Are they less likely to ever enjoy reading? All I know is that I’m grateful for my parents to get the ball rolling for me!