I was always the logical child.
But also the emotional one.
And reading and writing, they were very hard for me to unlock, and something I very much wanted to.
I knew before the teachers did that I was behind. I wondered why they didn’t.
My father would read to me every night.
He was a social studies teacher.
We used to go to “the soda fountain” and then Ruby’s diner. My dad would pick my brother and I up on a bike that held the three of us. We’d get chicken fingers and fries and milkshakes. My sister was older and then in college – my brother and I were little. Those were some of the good times. I loved having her there when she was – senior year then college breaks. I did an LSAT practice problem for fun when she was studying. I was a weird kid. I saw her star in the school play. And choose the worst shade of blue for a suit and work as a camp counselor and always steal my freaking socks like really??? But I loved having Sis-sis home.
So I asked him while he read to me, to trace his finger under where he was reading so I could follow along. And sometimes he would start nodding off and I’d jab him in the side and yell “Dad!” So we could keep going.
In second grade I was put in the special reading group at school to help me learn. But my dad kept reading with me every night. He taught me.
I learned to read by the end of second grade.
I made it into the honors reading group by 3rd grade.
I got a 740 on the SAT writing section – my highest section.
Around this time, or maybe in a month or so, 30 years ago, marks the anniversary of when I learned to read.
My father gave me that.
Laughs and Lobotomies 