I stared up at the bedroom ceiling, the white paint acting as a blank canvas for the movie playing out in my mind’s eye. My dad may have been half asleep, struggling to tell a coherent story, but to me it didn’t matter. Every time there was a lull, a moment where he gave into the warm embrace of sleep, I would probe further, asking “And then what?”, hanging on to every last word. In that moment my dad was the world’s best storyteller, and every word added more detail to the illustrations I painted in my mind. I remember thinking about what each character might look like, what they would say, and what they might do next. Some nights my need to sleep would overpower me, while other nights my dad would succumb first, leaving me to be director and screenwriter for the blockbuster developing in my imagination.
When I began reading on my own, I didn’t let my imagination die down. I read all sorts of fantasy, science fiction, and historical fiction, envisioning each and every world, assigning attributes to the characters, and even thinking about where I might fit into the fictional universe I was experiencing. I begged my mom to take me to the library where I loaded up on books, lugging a tote bag around filled with my week’s entertainment. My relationship with literature at that age extended beyond reading from the page. I remember being so deeply invested in the stories that even after I put a book down, I would continue to play out events in my head, sometimes using the characters and setting given to me by the author and often adding my own twists. Whether I was using my toys to reenact scenes I had read about or using my own two hands to mimic characters running from an evil monster, my love for stories kept me thinking about books long after I had returned them to their rightful place on the library shelves.
School provided me with more opportunities to get lost in worlds of fiction, whether it was writing a story that took place in the world of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, or creating our own narratives to accompany the context-less pictures in The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. I reveled in the opportunities to continue my young storytelling career, however reading soon began to take on a new meaning in school. The process of researching further into books, writing up book reports, and studying patterns across literature pulled the curtains back on the more magical side of reading that I had grown fond of. Getting lost in the world of the book was no longer an option; that experience had been replaced by a set of rules and research that framed the correct interpretation of the book above all else and left little room for exploration. Towards the end of middle school I grew disinterested in fiction, preferring the often equally gripping stories of nonfiction books, where I didn’t have to worry about finding every symbol, motif, and any other literary device the author may have squeezed into the text. I continued to read, however at a continually decreasing rate, until reading a book for enjoyment became a rare occurrence.
By the time I started high school, reading was no longer a priority of mine. While I used to justify it as a lack of time, in hindsight I had simply lost interest, devoting the time I had once given to books to other interests. However, some of the books I have read through high school have caught my interest in different ways, keeping my interest in reading alive and signaling a growth in my relationship with literature. I no longer find myself completely lost in the world the author creates, envisioning my own stories. For better or worse I have become a more analytical reader, able to sympathize with characters but also thinking about where I have seen characters like this before and what the author might be suggesting with certain choices. While I enjoy reflecting on my experiences with reading as a kid, I understand that I can’t return to those days, nor do I want to, although I wouldn’t mind making mental movies on occasion again. I hope to continue to grow as a reader and find new ways to appreciate books, which starts with making reading a high priority in my life again.
I felt a very deep connection with your statements Adi. I think that when I first started reading, I also would ask to go to the library often with my family and pick out books to read for my enjoyment. I loved fiction because it allowed me to imagine myself as the character and live alongside him/her. However, similar to you, it changed a lot when teachers would try to force us to recognize a “correct way” in reading and to pick apart every tiny detail. That’s when I started to lose interest because I didn’t want to analyze 24/7. My excuses were identical to yours, I claimed that I didnt have time but I really just wasnt as interested in books as I once was. I really liked your essay because of the connections I had with it and the similarities the impact of reading had in our lives (to a certain extent).
Hi Adi, I thought your literacy narrative turned out to be a great piece of writing. I thought your writing flowed very well with the chronological structure, and you did not spend too much or too little time on each section of your progression as a reader. I especially enjoyed your first paragraph. The imagery you used was very vivid and allowed me to really take a look of what it felt like to be in your shoes with your dad reading to you. The phrase of when your dad fell asleep “leaving me to be the director and screenwriter for the blockbuster developing my imagination” really encapsulates this sentiment.
I also relate to you in the part about losing interest in reading as I grew older. Like you, in elementary school, I used to read lots of books, although I started off reading non-fiction books. I also continued to read in middle school as well, getting into much more fiction, specifically historical, science, and dystopian fiction. The part I most shared with you in terms of reading was in relation to high school, where I have barely read for enjoyment outside of class assigned books. However, I still found it very admirable of you to take an analytical approach to reading books, which personally I still find difficult.
Adi,
When I read through your experience of being a reader, I actually relate myself a lot to your story. I also started as a curious reader when I was young and read books with all the passion in the world, wishing I could explore all kinds of worlds in fiction stories. I have the same experience of feeling the interest for books has faded as I grow older and reading becomes a “burden” from school, I have gradually lost my passion and time for books outside of class. I think it’s a common thing that happens to most people as a process of growing up and receiving more responsibilities along the way, which consumes our time away and forces us to neglect some passion that we held in childhood years.
All in all, I love how you expressed your story so straightforwardly and acknowledging the changes during your life, it allows me to directly relate to your story. Still, even though we are now too busy to read, reading is always a world that we can escape to and enjoy ourselves in. The pleasure and indication in books is worth so much more than the work we temporarily set aside and the time we trade in for. I’m trying to pick up reading as a hobby, again, and hopefully I can stick with it this time and last for the rest of my life.
Adi,
I laughed at your first reading memory. I remember those nights of waking my parents up when they’d tell me a story and fall asleep at the foot of my bed. My parents would often tell childhood stories, but would hold back certain inappropriate details. I also found lots of imagination while reading action and adventure books as you found with historical fiction, science fiction, and fantasy. I especially found this in Magic Tree House books and Alex Rider books. Magic Tree House even dipped into the fantasy realm you found lots of imagination in. I also would act out books from when I was younger if I was deeply invested, as you did. I especially did this with Alex Rider, pretending I was taking down a new evil person or organization. My distaste for fiction developed as well, except that began at the beginning of high school for me. I found many of the rules you mentioned to be mundane. I also stopped getting lost in the story because of these rules. I, too, have found I needed to replace my time I spent on reading outside of class to other areas, like training for baseball and the other activities I am involved in. I really enjoyed how relatable your narrative was!