Renowned author, J.K. Rowling said, “I do believe something very magical can happen when you read a good book.” This is a statement that resonates with me and has from a young age. I cannot recall a time in my life where I have not had a book in my bag, on my nightstand, or in the car. Reading has always been a part of who I am and has taken me on unexpected and exciting journeys.
Being the first born and an educator’s daughter, it was somewhat expected, but also something innate that drew me to books. Early in my childhood I remember sitting on the lap of my mother and grandmothers being introduced to characters such as the very hungry caterpillar that became a butterfly, the Boxcar siblings who solved mysteries, creatures from the Black Lagoon, a magical nanny who flew on her umbrella, Ramona Quimby, and so many others. Because I was connected to these characters and their stories at a young age, I was eager to not just hear the stories but read the words to them too. When I entered kindergarten, already showing mastery of phonetic rules and reading, I was in for the best surprise with the vast world of literature that was about to be opened up to me.
Attending school further developed my desire to read and learn from books. I was blessed to have teachers who shared their love of literature with me. Not only was I encouraged to read upon completion of an assignment, but I wanted to. It was my favorite way to pass the time. It was not unusual for me to be reading multiple books at one time: one in class, one in my mom’s classroom after school, one at home, one in the car. I would keep a book tucked behind my stuffed animals in my bed so that I could sneak in a few pages before falling asleep and to read if I woke up in the middle of the night and could not go back to sleep. I was an avid member of summer library programs and can distinctly remember being curled up on the couch with my new library finds during the heat of the day during summer vacation. My days were defined by what I was reading at the time. I fell in love with characters, dressed up like them for Halloween, took on their mannerisms, and longed to live in their worlds.
The more I read, the more I wanted to share that joy with others. While my teachers were explaining the writing process in class for standardized test purposes, I was soaking up every component to write my own short stories. I would fill notebooks on long car rides with creative stories, poems, and plays. I quickly learned that readers were writers and that writers were readers. Every new genre I read led me to new possibilities of what I could write. To this day, my family still tells me I have a “way with words,” and as I reflect on my literacy path for this essay, I can see where it all began.
There is no doubt that I was superiorly supported at home and school in my reading endeavors as a child. Although, as high school required particular novels to be read and we had to spend weeks seeking out the symbolism and deep themes, reading lost some of its magic for me. It became clear that I wanted to be in charge of what I read. In my junior year of high school, I participated in an AP English III author project. This project was famous on my campus. We “dated” one author for months, reading multiple books by him/her, diving into his/her lives, his/her writings, and became well versed with his/her writing style. Because of that project, my ears perk up every time I hear the name F. Scott Fitzgerald (the author I researched), and I have read The Great Gatsby three or four times.
At about the same time that I was getting well acquainted with F. Scott Fitzgerald, my younger brother was on the opposite end of the reading spectrum. He was not finding the joy in reading like I had and was struggling with it. He was in the fifth grade when he was diagnosed with Dyslexia. All of a sudden, it made exact sense why school was difficult for him and why reading and writing brought him to tears. I vividly remember watching his struggles and learning how he saw and processed the written word differently than me. I saw him learn how to overcome those obstacles and become a fluent reader. His experience inspired me. I had wanted to be a teacher since I was in elementary school, but his circumstances flipped a switch in me, and I discovered how much I wanted to help struggling readers one day too.
As a third grade teacher, I strive to pass on my passion for literacy to my students now. I take time to introduce them to my classroom library and offer book suggestions that I think they would enjoy. When I use read alouds or novel studies in class and tell them that it is one of my favorite titles, they point out to me, “You always say that, Mrs. Libick!” I respond with a smile and tell them that it is true, and I have a lot of favorites. I still get giddy when we study Patricia MacLachlan’s Sarah, Plain and Tall each fall. I tell my students that classic literature is classic for a reason, since I read that same novel when I was a third grader. To see their minds learn about new places, new ideas, and meet new people through literature brings me great joy. I owe it to my parents, teachers, and a little caterpillar who was extremely hungry one day for this rich life of literacy I live.
