I write things
I write them so you can read them
If you so choose
No one is forcing you
I can barely be bothered myself some days
Reading is such a gift
That I’m grateful my mom gave me everyday
I was a late reader
Too active to be interested in sitting and starring at the page
There was so much world to explore
What fun was learning by book?
By the time I started to pursue reading more actively
I was already old enough to understand how complex the English language was
It daunted me
How could we expect anyone to remember all these rules and exceptions and definitions
Layers upon layers of symbols
That I wasn’t apart of
So I bolstered my ego with it
It became part of my personality
That I just “don’t like reading”
As if it were a matter of preference
I would put the bare minimum effort in to learn
When it didn’t click I would shrug and confirm
“It’s just not for me”
Meanwhile I still spent most of my time outside playing
I started to learn about story, and fantasy, and history, and drama
Our games unfolding their own complex narrative
I started a writing group with my friend although neither of us could spell and we both struggled reading the back of the cereal box
But we knew we could write
We would sit opposite one another on the floor in the basement
Pencil and paper in hand
Each taking turns reciting a line from the story
As one of us would spin the tale the other would jump in with revisions and edits in real time
We carefully crafted plot, character, dialogue, subtext
As we each wrote the story out in our own secret language
We called it our magic language
Because if you didn’t know how to spell a word you would just make it up
Like magic
Little did we realize how important innovations like ours were to the strength of the English language
From Shakespeare to Twain to Snoop Dawg
English is a shapeshifter
Constantly evolving
To welcome the uninitiated
To expand the new frontier
To reflect the many tongues that have enfolded it
To reveal the unknown minds that have shaped it
Once I learned to live with language without the constraints of written literacy
I fell in love
I wanted to know more
To read for myself the stories of the classic authors that had come before me
To seek other worldly knowledge myself beyond my backyard escapades
I wanted to be able to record my thought, ideas, and stories
As scraps of information for future explorers to discover
Once I sat down full of intent to read and write it did not take me long
Granted I already had nine years of experience
Telling stories
Discovering mysteries
Exploring complex ideas
Understanding nature
Questioning everything
Years of listening to my mother read to me
Of being immersed in theatre and oral storytelling
Of seeing the world uninhibited by language’s explanations for things
These were the hidden gifts my mother left for me
The most important of them all was time and trust
Only once I came back to it with my head emptied of ego
Full of wide eyed wonder
Did I learn how to read and write by heart
No sooner, no later
