Escape

When I was a little girl, I read differently than I do today. I would crawl into bed, lean on one side and read for hours and hours and hours. I brought a book with me wherever I went. In the car. To the beach. To my grandmother's house. If I was going somewhere, a book was coming with me.

I would choose to read over any other activity. Over going outside, over playing with the kids down the street. My mother MADE me go outside. "Go get some fresh air!" But it would always have been my choice to read instead.

Most people who know me in real life now would be shocked (!!) to learn I was painfully shy as a kid. I am so outgoing now, but then, reading was my solace, my place to hide, my escape. I was a shy child who hated conflict in a house with a father who was stern. Not a bad man, in fact a devoted father. But not a warm-fuzzy. Personality-wise, we were poorly matched, though now we're ridiculously affectionate and talk every day. Books were a place where no one yelled. Where I usually got a happy ending. They were quiet. Like me. All the action took place in my head.

I crawled around inside my books. I read an unabridged version of David Copperfield in third grade. I was suddenly in Dickens's world. When I would shut the book for the night, I would day dream about the world for a while before sleeping. I was right there, waiting to die in A Tale of Two Cities. I was living in the castle with King Arthur. I read all these classics at ages 9 and 10 . . . and they shaped my imagination for years.

I liked long books. The longer the better. My grandmother had a library of the Reader's Digest condensed books. I liked them, on the one hand, because there were four books in one. But I hated them because I could read a book in two or three hours, and there was no fun in that. Dickens was my guy because I knew I wouldn't have to say goodbye to the world inside that book for a while.

Best of all, I could read for hours and hours and all weekend long.

Now, reading is something I have to "make time for." Thanks to the sadists that make the school schedules around here, I rise about 4:30 a.m. each day, so by bedtime, I am lucky I can crawl between the sheets. I could read a paragraph and be asleep most nights. I also seem to read with a purpose. It's not aimless. I choose books on astronomy because I am interested in learning more. I choose this writer or that so I can study their mastery of craft. I choose books on philosophy or religion because I have unanswered questions.

I enjoy reading. Don't get me wrong. But it's somehow different. I don't crawl inside and escape anymore. There's usually too much going on in my life for that anyway. But . . . I still think back and remember escaping. Books were my companions. I loved them.

How about you?