My older sibling picked up reading at just four years old. My parents would boast about this accomplishment, sharing the story of how she effortlessly dove into books. I grew tired of hearing it, often leaving the room in frustration.
In contrast, I faced significant challenges with reading. Unbeknownst to me, I was likely dealing with dyslexia. Reading aloud was a nightmare for me, and I struggled to break down longer words. Even now, when faced with lengthy terms, my mind tends to drift. I would stutter while my classmates breezed through their reading assignments, making the process seem insurmountable.
It wasn’t until I stumbled upon Beverly Cleary’s book, Ramona Quimby, Age 8, during the latter half of my second-grade year that I began to truly understand reading. For the first time, I was reading a chapter book, and the experience wasn’t as daunting.
My sister had an impressive collection of Cleary’s books neatly arranged on her shelf, the only tidy spot in our shared room. Those books felt off-limits to me, as they had been cherished by her for years.
After reading that first book (which I had to sneak), I viewed that bookshelf differently. I wanted to explore all of Cleary’s works, so I started borrowing my own copies from our town library. The selection there surpassed anything my sister had, making our weekly visits a source of excitement for me.
Reading became more enjoyable without the anxiety of hiding under my sheets, worried my sister might snatch her books back. The colorful covers and playful titles of Cleary’s books felt inviting. I connected deeply with Ramona and her experiences, from her relationships with her family to the challenges she faced, and I lost myself in the narrative.
Despite being occasionally annoyed by Ramona, I realized these stories invoked feelings I had never experienced before; they provided a much-needed escape. This realization sparked my interest in reading other authors, though I hesitated, fearing they wouldn’t live up to Cleary’s magic.
I often ponder: if I hadn’t discovered Beverly Cleary, would I have embraced reading at all? Teachers can only emphasize your reading struggles so many times before you start to internalize it. What if I had bypassed her classics? Would another author have inspired me the way Cleary did?
Reading her works ignited a passion in me; Cleary’s storytelling was not just engaging but also relatable and uncomplicated. It encouraged me to consider writing myself, a passion that had been lurking beneath my love for storytelling.
When I heard of Cleary’s passing, it felt like a personal loss. It made me reflect on how my life would have unfolded without her books. Though she is no longer with us, the impact of her work continues to resonate. Her legacy is an invaluable gift that transcends time.
In a way, I realize now that Beverly Cleary transformed my life, and I am just one of countless individuals she has touched through her writing.
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Summary:
Beverly Cleary’s works were transformative for me as a late reader, igniting my passion for books and ultimately inspiring me to explore writing. Her relatable storytelling provided an escape and emotional connection that changed my life, making me grateful for the impact she had on countless readers like myself.