Reading opened up a whole new world for me. I’m sure there was a time when I could not read, but I truly cannot remember it. There must have been children’s books in my home growing up, but the only one I can recall is the volume of “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” And I can’t say that it was read from very often.

What I do remember is the weekly class trips to the school library at around grade four or five. I discovered the Trixie Belden Mysteries, which naturally led to the Nancy Drew Mysteries series, and I was hooked on reading for life! Being such an avid reader, I received permission to access the library in between regularly scheduled, weekly class trips. That meant I didn’t have to wait to get my hands on the next mystery.

The glitch came at home. As unintentional as I know it was, my father didn’t understand the value of encouraging a young reader. He saw a capable, young girl sitting around reading when she could and, in his mind, should be helping her mother around the house. He couldn’t reconcile the stark contrast of me just sitting and reading with my mother never having a moment to sit. “Isn’t there something better you could be doing with your time…like doing chores for your mother? Go check with her to see what you can help her with…”

After hearing this more than once, I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t safe to be “caught” reading. This is when my campaign of Sneak-Reading started. I would bring a book to the bathroom with me or I would read under the covers at night with a flashlight. I would pretend I was doing homework when, in actuality, I merely held the large math book I had just finished to conceal the book I was reading. I knew my father approved of my diligence in doing homework but not my recreational reading, so by combining the two, I kept us both happy. At least that’s how I rationalized it.

The simple fact was that my mother did not enjoy reading and given that she had the time, would not sit and read anyway. She liked to keep moving and preferred to be physically busy all the time. She never sat except to eat meals.

Fast forward to adulthood… is it any wonder why I cannot bring myself to sit down to read a book unless all my “other” work is done!?! As an adult, living in my own house, I have caught myself more than once jumping up, slamming the book shut, and pretending I was doing something more useful when anyone walked in the room. It seems I can read in a relaxed manner only when I am completely alone. Otherwise, I feel like I’m reading with one antenna up waiting to be discovered and dispatched to a more useful task.

The moment someone walks in, even though I know better, I revert to being my nine year old little self who frets being labeled ‘lazy’ or a ‘slacker’ if I’m discovered reading. It never ceases to amaze me how the emotions that accompanied events from my formative years follow me like a shadow throughout life and can evoke the same conditioned responses. Only with dogged determination and willingness to examine my strange behaviors when I trip over them, am I able to work at preventing these debilitating patterns from repeating themselves…

~Zanne

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