Reading
I learnt to read at a very early age sat on the knee of my dad as he read his newspaper of an evening. He would read different sections out loud to me and I would mimic him, till, at one point, it was me who was reading the words back to him. I skipped the Janet & John books of my era, and went straight into books for older kids thanks to my father's patience.
It was my dad who took me on my first outing to the library. A Saturday morning ritual not only to give my mother a moment's peace and quiet to go shopping by herself. But to keep us kids all out of trouble reading books. We would spend at least two or more hours in the library, which was fine by me, as I got to either sit in a corner and read a whole stack of picture books, or was read to by my dad.
Being the youngest at this point was an advantage. And so, by the time I got to school, I was reading well above my weight, as they say. And more. Thanks to my mother's diligent prep, also well versed in my letters. I remember fondly sitting at the kitchen table slowly writing out her shopping list for her in pencil, as she dictated what we were going out to buy that day. I felt triumphant at not only being asked to do this responsibility, but at learning to write legibly and clearly. And even today, in a world were we hardly write anything anymore, I'm still proud of my handwriting.
I can't look at a newspaper without thinking of my dad, or smile when I write out a shopping list, thinking of those times sitting with my mother. It's warming to have those memories and know I have a lot to be thankful for.