On the simple joys of reading and writing

ON THE SIMPLE JOYS OF READING AND WRITING By: Gunn Iren Kleppe I had other plans, but this story wanted to be told first. I want to say something about the joys of reading and writing. As a small child I remember looking at pages in my mother’s books, frustrated by not being able to decipher the meaning. And I really wanted to, so my mother gave me her old, first grade ABC to study.

She must have explained what the letters sounded like, because I remember one day looking at a page when all the words and meanings suddenly became de-scrambled in front of my eyes. I was hooked! Naturally, first grade proved pretty boring, having to sit through re-learning the alphabet and practicing the sounds of the letters, over and over again…. Seemed like a waste of time.

Of course, I became a bookworm. I found my mom’s old Nancy Drew books in a closet and became bitten— with a passion. I think the first one was actually read in the closet. Growing up, much of my sleep was sacrificed to late nights lost in alternate universes discovered in books. Each book was a world onto its own.

This is probably how I became a night owl. I am still struggling with that.

Once I was past Nancy Drew (having collected absolutely all of the books in the series), I found a lot of interesting books on my mom’s bookshelves. This is how I came to read “Lord of the Flies” at a way too early an age. I do think she recommended waiting a few years, but it incited me even more. The book left a deep and permanent impression. Our small school house’s library filled with children’s books proved no match for my mother’s collection of books (for grown-up), so I rarely bothered to borrow any books at school. I was so way past that kind of literature…

On my great-grandmother’s shelves were actually several old books printed in Gothic writing. I tried many times, but these letters were very difficult to decipher. But there was one book on my great-grandmother’s shelves that she insisted I not read till I was older, even though it had the “right” kind of writing. This one also had a lot of interesting illustrations. Well, you know what that meant. I absolutely had to read that book, so I snuck it off the shelf one time when my great-grandmother wasn’t looking. And, boy, did I get return on my investment!

Turns out, this book described in excruciating detail all the possible torments that would befall the poor humans who would happen to commit any kind of sin. All of this was, of course, illustrated in great detail. As one could imagine, the Devil himself was portrayed as ugly and scary as can be, as was his domain of Hell.

Needless to say, that book left quite an impression. In fact, I was scared of Hell and the Devil for years after. I should have listened to my great-grandmother.

The year before starting school, I remember writing letters to a relative a year younger than me. And, mind you, we were not using all caps but carefully writing as best we could. In grade school (once we were past the first couple years or so) we actually got to practice writing with fountain pens. I am glad we had the opportunity, as I see schools are now starting to cut out handwriting all together. Sad, as there can be great joy in putting ink to paper and creating beautiful letters and words—especially if allowed enough time. For me, this joy may be connected to a knack for drawing, which may have been the reason I later enjoyed learning and writing Chinese characters. But to this day, I still find myself enjoying just the practice of handwriting—when I have the time. When in a hurry, even I have trouble deciphering my own handwriting.

PS: As a comfort to those not talented when it comes to reading, writing or the like—I am absolutely no good at any kind of sports. Have never been, will never be.