The Gift of Reading
Reading is, for me, the most wonderful pastime imaginable.
When I read, I become completely absorbed in my book. I am Rémi, alone in the world. I am Elizabeth Bennet, unable to resist the charms of Mr Darcy. I am Anne of Green Gables, getting myself into the most ridiculous situations because of my fiery temperament.
Yet reading was not always my thing.
Apparently, at the age of six, I absolutely hated it. So much so that I simply couldn't read and was at risk of having to repeat first grade because of it. My mother thought this was utterly ridiculous, especially since my results in every other subject were quite decent. She pleaded for two months' time—the entire summer holiday—to teach me how to read properly.
And so it came to pass.
She bought me a copy of Little House in the Big Woods, and every evening before bedtime I had to sit in the kitchen and read one page aloud.
I can still picture myself there: a little girl with tears rolling down her cheeks and splashing onto the pages of my brand-new book. I suspect I spent that entire first week of summer holidays crying my way through those pages.
But then something magical happened—the kind of magic only books can create.
The story caught hold of me.
I needed to know what would happen to Laura when she lay awake listening to the wolves howling in the night. Secretly, I started taking the book to bed so I could keep reading under the covers. Looking back, I suspect my mother knew perfectly well what I was doing, but chose to remain silent, simply relieved that I had finally discovered reading.
Over the years that followed, she often had to confiscate a reading lamp while grumbling because I was still reading long after bedtime.
But her mission was accomplished.
I was allowed to move on to second grade.
I still treasure that book today. Not because it is filled with profound wisdom, nor because it belongs among the greatest works of children's literature. I treasure it because it gave me the most beautiful gift imaginable: a love of the written word and the ability, when necessary, to escape the grey realities of life and lose myself in magical worlds.
Years later, after my reading skills had grown by leaps and bounds and my parents had just gone through a divorce, Christmas arrived. An aunt wanted to give my sister and me something useful.
Naturally, I immediately chose what else—a book.
That was not quite what my aunt had in mind. So she gently persuaded my sister to choose a beautiful red umbrella with a matching handbag instead.
I remained stubbornly loyal to my book and received a lovely edition of Nobody's Boy, along with the memorable remark that if it ever rained hard enough, I could simply put the book on my head.
Years later, while clearing out my bookcase, I came across that very same book again.
I immediately called my aunt and told her that I still had the book she had given me all those years ago.
I wasn't nearly as certain that my sister still had the umbrella.
We both laughed heartily about it.
The conclusion of this blog is therefore rather obvious.
Why not give your child a book instead of the latest video game?
A book gives so much more.
It opens worlds that would otherwise remain just beyond reach. Your child can, like Bibi, conjure up entire worlds, or become a champion like Daan. They can escape when the world around them becomes a little too difficult and become anyone they wish to be.
Reading teaches language, imagination, empathy, and so much more.
But you can just as easily give yourself such a magical gift.
That is why, in celebration of the fifth anniversary of Tuin der Wonderen, I have carefully and lovingly selected my favourite quotes for you—so that you may gift yourself, or someone you love, a doorway into a little magical world.
With love,
Tuin der Wonderen