…when I first learned how to read. I was sitting on a bench by the door in my kindergarten classroom. It was warm outside—fall or spring, I’m not sure which. The door to the playground was open because it may or may not have been recess time, and the sunlight streamed in. My feet couldn’t reach the floor, so they were swinging—no doubt with a little help from me, the constant fidgeter.
I had a Dick and Jane book open on my lap. It was the green book, and Dick, Jane, and Spot were running across the cover, but I could be making up the color and picture from books I’ve seen since that day.
But that moment, I remember it like it was yesterday. There was a bit of chaos in the classroom as children came and went through the open door. The teacher was standing there coordinating the chaos. But I was focused on the book. It was as if suddenly, the work I had been doing to learn the letters and decipher written language suddenly all came together and there they were—words on the page! Meaning in the squiggles. I could read! Spot and Dick and Jane, they were playing and having fun right here inside my book. The puzzle had been solved. Suddenly, the rest of my life opened up before me like the book on my lap.
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