My grandmother’s house was huge, large enough to house three aunties and two uncles, along with my mother, my brother and myself. I remember running down the stairs from our shared third floor bedroom so fast it was more like sliding since my feet never hit all the stairs. From the extra sharp pleats in my skirt and my crispy white shirt and the shininess of my face from all the Vaseline my mom had rubbed on, it was clear, I had to make it outside in time for the school bus. I had to get to school, I loved it so much. I still remember my third grade teacher, Mrs. Balogna. Sitting in the middle of the floor with all the other students and listening to her read books to us was amazing. You could be anywhere she wanted you to be as long as you had a vivid imagination and the ability to sit still long enough to pay attention, a hard task in the third grade. It was there, sitting in the middle of the floor on that dark brown woven rug with all the weird colors in it that I grew a fondness for reading. Always raising my hand to read out loud in class or eager to recite a speech or book report, wanting to show that I could be a strong reader using the different tones and pitches of my voice to bring my audience to a pause with every comma or excitement with every exclamation point or see the look of question upon their faces My mother was very young when she had me, but was blessed to have the immediate help of her sisters and brothers since we all lived in the same house. My two older aunts Dorothy and Sharlette insisted that I would be the smartest niece ever. Strangely enough I can still recall them having me recite the spelling of words in front of company or when we were downtown at Wool-Worth’s. (A department store I’m sure anybody reading this may not even know ever existed.) They were proud to parade the fact that their niece could spell a variety of words at just two and three years old. Even as a child it feels good to be considered smart or intelligent. It’s also the same as an adult, it’s a great feeling when your peers consider you smart, intelligent, competent.

I also had my first two daughters at an early age and I regret to say that I dropped the ball when it came to passing on the love of reading to them. Becoming a young single mother was a challenge. It seemed the most important thing for me to do then was to work so they could live a decent life. Of course that’s not to say that there was no quality time spent on education but it’s easy to identify where they could have been stronger or not