Bedtime On My Household Brought

First, in kindergarten, I began to learn the alphabet. Once I understood how to pronounce each letter of the alphabet, a first grader would come to my classroom and read to me. They would help me pronounce a word and explain what each word meant in the book we were reading that day. This was very helpful because it allowed me to learn faster than if I was reading on my own. The day I started first grade, I went to the library and picked out two books. The books I mostly read were Clifford or Dr. Seuss. My teacher would have me read them over and over again until I understood each word. Once I accomplished reading each book, I was sent to the kindergarten classrooms to read to them like it was once done for me in the past. I was a little nervous to read in front of them, but I was also excited

When learning to read i’d received a Dr. Seuss book How the Grinch Stole Christmas for a week in my rooms closet read just, read. Later in life learning my numbers in both English along with Shoshone and Spanish.

As a child, my ability to read developed around the house. I was a sickly child, so an early experience I recall is being able to read different medications. Of course the first book I remember reading is the classic Cat in the Hat. I find it amazing how quickly I became obsessed with reading. In preschool, I was always in the "library", a little corner of the room. I loved playing and interacting with others, but at a certain point in the day, I just wanted to be left alone to read. I even remember trying to learn how to read Spanish (my teacher and a majority of my classmates were Hispanic and spoke Spanish in class). I felt out of place, as any kid would be when everyone else seemed to be speaking a different language. However, preschool is where I gained a certain

It is seven forty-five. There are still a few precious minutes until bedtime. My younger sister and I have already dressed for bed, but our plot is to drag out every second we have left before eight o’clock. Only one thing remains for us to do to accomplish our mission: read. We beg our parents to read to us, and they, as predicted, agree. The two of us sprint to our shared bedroom in order to stare at the bookshelf. Two toddlers find it difficult to the correct book. We must choose a book that both of us will enjoy, we must choose a book on a shelf that one of us can actually reach, but most importantly, we must choose a lengthy book. So we, of course, choose the longest two books we can reach. I snatch a treasury of children’s stories, and my sister selects a treasury of Dora the Explorer stories. Never had we read either one of these in one sitting, but we regularly tried to push the boundaries just a bit farther.

My earliest memories of reading was when my mom sent me to bible school and the teacher would read out a hand book

As I reflect on my childhood, the first memory of literacy I recall is when I was in kindergarten. I was approaching the end of the school year when my mother revealed to me my teacher was considering keeping me in kindergarten for another year. I was extremely upset and felt as if I had failed my first year of school. I felt that I was fresh out of the gate and already defective. My perception as a child was that the adults were already giving up on me. The teacher stated if I could learn the alphabet by the end of the school year I could continue ahead to the 1st grade. The conclusion of Kindergarten was vastly approaching. My mother constructed flash cards to help with my letter recognition. In doing so, she realized I could not see the letters. My mother promptly made an appointment for me to visit an Optometrist to evaluate me. Before I knew it, I was fitted with a big plastic pair of glasses. My world became much clearer after that. My mother was upset that my teacher did not recognize the problem, and that I never spoke up. Fortunately, I passed kindergarten with a lot of hard work from my parents, teacher, and I.

First grade, after a long day of school and learning what the deal was with shapes, I come home and get to watch TV, no homework or worries (first graders with homework? Yeah right) then I eat dinner, and get ready for bed. My parents tuck me in and begin to read me a story from my favorite author at the time. Dr. Seuss. The rhyming and the pictures and the one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. How does he come up with this stuff? Pure genius. Even after my parents turn off my room light, I sneak some light from my game boy and read more because I just can’t wait for the next night to read again. These were my first memories of reading and ever since then I try and recapture the feeling of pure bliss I had when I first heard my parents read to me just before bedtime.

Mrs.Delkamp would send home one beginner book each night. A few weeks went by and I started getting two books a night and my friends still had one. At parent-teacher conferences my parents were told that I needed more practice reading. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I was five and I loved to read the books to my parents.

When my parents first started to read to me, I was not but a year old. They read to me every night, Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. Goodnight Moon was my favorite bedtime story, and I probably could have recited the whole book word for word back then. It was a book made to lull small kids to sleep with the content of the book. Then, when I grew up a bit, they started reading the Magic Tree House books by Mary Pope Osborne to me. I loved those books because they were interesting and informational. I finally got to the point where I could read the Magic Tree House books by myself, so I read one every night before bed.

I was never one of those kids who loathed bed time. I always looked forward to it. Every night my mom would let me pick a book off of the bookshelf for her to read to me. I remember books such as Goodnight Moon and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie completely fascinating me. From the brightly colored pictures to the different voices my mom would speak to portray the characters, I remember these nights and stories very fondly. The first person to introduce the joys of reading to me was my mother.

In my life while growing up, I never had the parents that read a book to me before bed. Was it my choice? No. If I got to choose if I wanted a book read to me before bed, I would have said yes. Getting that bonding experience with a parent does grow into an incredible relationship with a parent. There are many things you can do with your child to have a strong relationship with but getting read to before bed is important. Why do I bring this topic up? I bring it up because I feel like if I had the parents there to read me books before bed or simply look at books with me, I would be an enhanced reader and have a better connection with my parents. For people who might think that their relationship with their parents isn’t that great, take a step back and open your

The article, “Memories of a Bedtime Book Club” by Dwight Garner, addresses many ideas that I relate to. For example, Garner states that “[t]hey occupy places in [his] family’s shared consciousness,” meaning that the books of his childhood stick with him everywhere and are memories just as important as any other. This is comparable to my many experiences of reminiscing about my mother reading to me when I was younger. Not to mentions, Garner also claims that “[t]hey're evocative of some of life’s best things”, describing that those simple short stories can remind us of the little things that suggest comfort and pleasure. I agree with this assertion because I can recall my younger self practically glowing with excitement as my mother selected a book

My earliest memory of learning how to read was when I was about four or five years old. My siblings were mainly the ones who taught me to read before I even entered elementary school. By the time I did start attending school I was reasonably literate. One vivid memory I have that always comes to mind when I think of how I started reading was of my sister teaching me. We had these square little red Dora the Explorer books that were only 4 pages. My sister would have me read them out loud and waited patiently as I tried to figure the words out and get the pronunciation right. She made sure I was fluent in my reading abilities for that day before I could go play.

The hand me down recliner in our seemingly empty living room had become my favorite place to be in the world. I became extremely comfortable with the idea of being read to. Although my brother tried his hand at reading, I was firm on being the one to listen. The idea of hearing the story read aloud and creating something in my head to go along with the reader’s words was appealing to me. At this point, my mother was no longer the one pushing for story-time, I had taken on that role. I remember the house being filled with children’s books and more were constantly coming in. Friends and family would come by simply to drop off overstuffed cardboard boxes full of books

Every night before bed, I ran to my bookshelf picking two or more books not knowing which to choose from Dr. Seuss or The Rainbow Fish. Dr Seuss books usually took the win because who didn't love Dr. Seuss growing up. I would skiry back to my bed