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vanillafluffyBeing the baby of the family and the youngest person in the house, I was nicely spoiled by everyone. Maybe not to the extent children are spoiled today (wretched excess of the youngest generation!), if only because there were fewer Things to be spoiled with.
I remember very clearly playing in the cellar while Mom and Aunt Mary sat at a little table, had coffee and chatted. I wasn't surrounded by a slew of brightly colored toys, no, I had pulled pots and pans out of the cabinet next to the stove and was particularly enamored of her aluminum colander with its star-pattern of perforations and little indentations.
Another reason that memory stands out is, the cellar's kitchen changed not long after that. Right in the middle of the space was a steel pole. Heating? Electric? Support? IDK. At that time, there was a low partition around it, which was removed and the ingeneous and handy guys of the house built a round table to encircle it. It seated six comfortably.
The top was white formica over plywood, and there was a paneled, 4-sided box underneath it that slanted inward to offer maximum foot room. To dress up the pole, it was wrapped with half-inch tile. As this was the 60s, the tile was white, metallic gold, and mottled half-gold half-white.
Aunt Mary was an awesome cook. She was Italian, and when she started cooking, the whole house was a riot of garlic and tomatoes. As I grew up, I ate a good many meals at that table, bowls of pasta and meatballs with homemade spaghetti sauce topped with cheese that was bought by the block and grated into an old jar that was passed around the table.
While most of my toys were simple---a few stuffed animals, a Raggedy Ann, building blocks---my imagination wasn't limited. My mother read to me, things like the Little Golden Books...I remember "The Poky Little Puppy" and "The Little Engine That Could" in particular, but I'm also sure those weren't all; there were always books.
By a very young age, I had assimilated the fact that those little black squiggles on a page meanth STORIES. I didn't have the alphabet integrated yet beyond the song, maybe, but I have a very vivid memory of trying to write a story for myself.
My dad played golf, and there were always stubby little green pencils kicking around the house. I was sitting in the big green chair, one of those golf pencils clutched in my childish fist, scribbling on one of the 3x5" scratch pads that lived on the living room table by the phone. I remember being somewhat frustrated, because I'd look at my scribbles and try to tell myself the story, but they didn't translate the same way every time the way my printed storybooks did.
I don't remember anyone trying to teach me to read; I think after enough repetitions, I got to where I could figure out which group of symbols on the page meant which word, and I took it from there. I *do* know that I could already read and print when I began kindergarten.
And I've been writing ever since.
.
I remember very clearly playing in the cellar while Mom and Aunt Mary sat at a little table, had coffee and chatted. I wasn't surrounded by a slew of brightly colored toys, no, I had pulled pots and pans out of the cabinet next to the stove and was particularly enamored of her aluminum colander with its star-pattern of perforations and little indentations.
Another reason that memory stands out is, the cellar's kitchen changed not long after that. Right in the middle of the space was a steel pole. Heating? Electric? Support? IDK. At that time, there was a low partition around it, which was removed and the ingeneous and handy guys of the house built a round table to encircle it. It seated six comfortably.
The top was white formica over plywood, and there was a paneled, 4-sided box underneath it that slanted inward to offer maximum foot room. To dress up the pole, it was wrapped with half-inch tile. As this was the 60s, the tile was white, metallic gold, and mottled half-gold half-white.
Aunt Mary was an awesome cook. She was Italian, and when she started cooking, the whole house was a riot of garlic and tomatoes. As I grew up, I ate a good many meals at that table, bowls of pasta and meatballs with homemade spaghetti sauce topped with cheese that was bought by the block and grated into an old jar that was passed around the table.
While most of my toys were simple---a few stuffed animals, a Raggedy Ann, building blocks---my imagination wasn't limited. My mother read to me, things like the Little Golden Books...I remember "The Poky Little Puppy" and "The Little Engine That Could" in particular, but I'm also sure those weren't all; there were always books.
By a very young age, I had assimilated the fact that those little black squiggles on a page meanth STORIES. I didn't have the alphabet integrated yet beyond the song, maybe, but I have a very vivid memory of trying to write a story for myself.
My dad played golf, and there were always stubby little green pencils kicking around the house. I was sitting in the big green chair, one of those golf pencils clutched in my childish fist, scribbling on one of the 3x5" scratch pads that lived on the living room table by the phone. I remember being somewhat frustrated, because I'd look at my scribbles and try to tell myself the story, but they didn't translate the same way every time the way my printed storybooks did.
I don't remember anyone trying to teach me to read; I think after enough repetitions, I got to where I could figure out which group of symbols on the page meant which word, and I took it from there. I *do* know that I could already read and print when I began kindergarten.
And I've been writing ever since.
.
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(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 03:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 03:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 03:30 pm (UTC)I did that same thing with trying to teach myself to write. My dad read us Dr. Seuss books, and my brother and I could both read before we started to school.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 03:57 pm (UTC)Being read to is so essential, I can't imagine NOT reading to a child, but I know that it's getting more and more rare. It's all TV and eBooks and techno toys---god only knows how ignorant youth is going to be in another 50 years!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 04:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 05:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 05:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 05:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 06:04 pm (UTC)XO
Donna
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 11:36 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're not bored! ;)
Maree
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 10:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 10:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-23 10:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-04 05:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-04 06:30 am (UTC)