Oh, bookstores. We've had some good times together, you and I, haven't we? Half Price Books in Houston, I remember so many long afternoons spent hidden in your stacks reading and rereading your strangely complete
Dykes To Watch Out For collection. I apologize for never buying a one of them, but I was still living at home; books about lesbians were
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Mom brought a few books that she thought I'd grow into over the next couple of years and a couple to entertain me on the airplane journey--I was reading at 3 and reading Little House in the Big Woods by myself at 4, so she had to guess--and we bought a few books here and there as we drove into Arusha or Nairobi for supplies, and we traded books back and forth with other families on the research station.
And I ended up ravenously reading, without being constantly surrounded by books. I read and re-read the ones I owned, borrowed ones I liked over and over, and even made attempts at reading books way out of my reading age and comprehensibility level. (We'd been given a weird possibly drug-trip-inspired novel called ( ... )
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This worked when I was growing up, and is working on my young family. Parental examples are incredibly powerful. I also had experiences such as yours in the Serengeti, although for a month rather than years. I read some random Anne McCaffreys a dozen times each because that was what was available, and even tried James Joyce out of desperation.
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Also: I don't know how to cultivate a love of reading in a kid, separate from a love of BOOKS.
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