Can you do self-insemination at home ?
By: Emily Carter
My sister was reading by the age of four, and my parents couldn’t stop talking about it, often sharing the tale of how she “just picked up a book and began reading.” I was so tired of hearing that story that I’d leave the room every time it came up.
In contrast, I faced my own challenges. It wasn’t until later that I realized I had dyslexia. Reading aloud was a nightmare for me; sounding out long words was nearly impossible, and I often found myself writing and reading things backwards. Even now, when I see a complicated word, I tend to zone out after just a couple of syllables.
While my friends breezed through their reading assignments, I struggled. Learning new skills, like knitting, often felt backwards for me. That was just how my mind worked.
Everything changed when I discovered Beverly Cleary’s “Ramona Quimby, Age 8.” This happened well into my second-grade year. For the first time, I wasn’t staring at a graphic novel. I remember skimming over some of the words, but it felt manageable.
My sister had an impressive collection of Beverly Cleary’s books neatly arranged on her shelf, the only tidy part of our shared bedroom. I wasn’t allowed to touch them, as she had been curating this collection for years.
After sneaking a read of that first book, I began to view my sister’s bookshelf differently. I craved to delve into more of Cleary’s work, so I started checking out my own copies from the local library. The selection was far more extensive than my sister’s collection, making our weekly trips thrilling for me.
Reading became far more enjoyable without the fear of my sibling snatching a book from my hands while I was hiding under the sheets with a flashlight. There was something about those vibrant covers and playful titles that made me feel at ease. The stories of Ramona and her everyday adventures resonated with me deeply, and I felt an emotional connection I had never experienced before.
Sure, there were moments when Ramona would annoy me, but I realized that these books were evoking emotions I hadn’t felt while reading before. They provided an escape, and that was the moment I was hooked.
For months, I hesitated to read anything else, worried that other authors wouldn’t compare to Cleary. I was too enamored with the feelings I got from reading in our backyard hammock while my younger sisters begged me to help them turn fallen apples into applesauce. Leaving those books was the last thing I wanted to do.
I often wonder: If I hadn’t picked up a Beverly Cleary book, would I have ever embraced reading? Teachers can only tell you how poor your reading skills are so many times before you start to believe them. What if I had missed out on her beloved stories? What if that day I had not dared to take “Ramona Quimby, Age 8” off the shelf while my sister entertained a friend? Would another author have sparked my love for reading as Beverly Cleary did?
Her books ignited something within me: they were fun, reliable, relatable, and straightforward. These elements made me realize that perhaps I could also write. After all, I loved sharing stories, so why not pen them down?
When I heard of Beverly Cleary’s passing, it felt like a dagger to my heart. It prompted a flood of memories and reflections on what my life might have lacked without her influence.
Though she may be gone, the gifts she left behind through her writing will forever resonate with us. There’s no price that can be placed on that. Even if I didn’t realize it back then, Beverly Cleary transformed my life, and I know I’m far from the only one.
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Summary
Beverly Cleary’s books played a pivotal role in my journey as a late reader. Her engaging stories, especially “Ramona Quimby, Age 8,” helped me find joy in reading despite my struggles with dyslexia. Cleary’s relatable characters and simple narratives provided an escape, igniting my passion for books and writing. Her passing was a profound loss, reminding me of the significant impact her work had on my life.