The First Book Reading Other Than to My Little Sister or the Cat by Angela Ferraris

The school year was halfway over, not that I would have known. Time was abstract in first grade.  We now could read, well, sort of. Phonics were taught back then, so I was able to sound out words without knowing their meanings.  Reminds me of the first week in high school Spanish class when  I learned how to say the consonants and vowels. No idea what I was saying.  Anyway, once a week, we would gather in front of the black chalkboard and listen to a classmate read a book to us.  It was very exciting and at times silly.  The kind of silly when the reader could not stop nervous- laughing and we couldn’t stop laughing because he couldn’t stop.  Anyway. It was my turn now.

I chose The Best Nest by P.D. Eastman. I remember reading it aloud in my room.  I read plenty of times to my little sister.  This was different.  I wasn’t nervous. It seemed like a lot of fun up there by the board. Everyone had a good time.  I just wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to express emotion and say the words clearly and loudly.

The day came. The afternoon arrived.  I stood in front of my friends and joyously read about the birds.  I was so happy when I got home and excitedly told my mom all about it. She didn’t get it. He didn’t get it. No one got it.  I did though.  I wanted to do this again, and I did.  But. Not for several decades.

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