The first step to recovery

I've just ventured into our attic for a few things, and it's time for me to face the facts. I have an addiction. It's something I keep fairly well hidden, and my wonderful husband humors it, but it's still an addiction nonetheless. So, here's my dirty little confession: I am addicted to buying books for Elizabeth. Her bookshelf in her room attests to the fact. And, almost all of those many books I have given to her were specifically purchased because I remembered loving each story myself.

But, my addiction is so strong that keeping her currently stocked with books is not enough. I have boxes of brand new books up in our attic, just waiting for her to get old enough to read them. I mean, seriously. Why on earth did I feel the need to go ahead and buy Charlotte's Web, A Wrinkle in Time, Ramona Quimby, Age 8, Encyclopedia Brown, Little House on the Prairie, Anne of Green Gables, and oh so many other books for much older children when my daughter is still so young? I know exactly why. Because each of those books was a treasure that I can still remember opening for the first time. Each holds an old friend that I'm looking forward to introducing her to. And the excitement I feel at just the thought of the future introduction makes me go ahead and purchase yet another book for my attic library each time I run across an old favorite.

I was addicted to reading when I was a child. It started when I was 4 years old. I still remember the afternoon I learned to read very clearly. My older sister came home from 1st grade and taunted me because she had learned to read and I couldn't. That afternoon, I pulled out The Cat in the Hat and slowly and methodically taught myself to read. My mother will attest to the fact, as she was the one who spent the afternoon answering questions like, "Mommy, what does C-A-T spell?" From that point on, there was no turning back. I read everything I could get my hands on.

My mother continued to support my addiction throughout my childhood, by taking me on countless trips to the library and bookstores (both used and new). She even sent me new books in my care packages at camp, because she knew I would have already finished the stack of books I took with me. But, I'm not sure even she ever understood the extent of my addiction. I don't think she knew how many sleepless nights I spent reading books under my covers with a flashlight, or how when I wasn't reading, I spent a lot of the time just daydreaming about the story that had been interrupted by the other more mundane things in life. I can even remember feigning illness at summer camp so I could spend a few hours in the infirmary poring over a book that was too good to wait until the next rest hour. I was always a very fast student, so I quickly learned to bring books to school to me to read during class when I had finished my schoolwork. That was back in the days when we still had the old-style desks with openings in them, and the teachers still let us face the openings toward us, so I could easily hide a book in there and read most of the day. And, my summer reading lists were always finished in the first week after school was out. In fact, I remember in the summer before my 11th grade year, our teacher sent us a list of almost 20 books (wonderful old classics!) and asked us each to pick 2 to read that summer. I read them all before we started class in August. (Of course, I never told anyone, because that was just a little too nerdy, don't you think?)

Why do I think I loved reading so much? As I was growing up, I might have told you that it was because a good book could transport me to a different time and place. It put me right into the mind and story of someone else - often in a time when I desperately wanted to be anywhere else than where I was. Let's face it, I spent most of my childhood as an awkward, nerdy girl who didn't have many friends and who lived with an older sister who hated me and a household that was too often full of fighting. Reading was a excellent distraction from my real life.

But, now I'll tell you that wasn't all of it. Because I'm now a confident, mature (most of the time) adult, who truly loves the life God has blessed me with. And, I still love to read a good book - even if I don't have nearly as much time to do it now as I would like. But, part of the answer is still the same - a good book can transport you. It can make you experience feelings you've never had and immerse yourself in the fascinating stories of places, people, and things you'll never have the chance to know in real life. Reading truly opens all sorts of new worlds to you.

So, that is why on every gift-giving occasion, I scour through the large stash of books waiting in my attic to find all the ones I think Elizabeth is ready for. And, I love watching her eyes as I read them to her for the first time. Because it reminds me of how I felt the first time I "met" the character and heard their story for the first time.

And, now, Elizabeth is starting to ask us to teach her how to read. Before we know it, she'll be able to experience all those new worlds on her own. I have to admit I'm a little sad that I won't be able to continue on the journey with her, as I have up to this point.

So, now you know my dirty little secret. They say the first step to recovery is admitting that you have no power over your addiction. So, I'm at the first step. And, that's probably where I'll stay. I have no desire to recover from this addiction. I want to expose Elizabeth to every character I fell in love with. I guess I secretly hope she'll love the same ones I do (and I'm already excited every time she does!). But, more than that, I hope she'll learn to love reading. To experience the exhiliration that comes from reading a good book, getting lost in the story and becoming unable to put it down. And, based on her reaction so far, I may have to start stocking up on batteries for her flashlight soon.