When I was very young, my mom couldn’t read very well. She read on probably a third grade level. She would read with me in the afternoons. And just the proximity of being with her and sharing a time with her was such a pleasant thing for me. I just loved that.
She also talked with me all the time. I could talk with her forever. And she would listen and ask me questions. That gave me the idea of imagining scenes. She would say to me, ‘What should we go see today?’ And I would want to go see the milk bottling plant on 125th Street. We’d go see that or we’d go over to the markets. Books were just an extension of that or an extension of the conversations with someone who’s very efficient in their conversation and telling me the stories. And it was just something that I loved.
I was also handicapped to an extent that I spent eleven years in speech therapy. I couldn’t speak very well for most of my childhood life. People couldn’t understand me so I just went through years and years of speech therapy. So when I wasn’t playing ball or fighting someone, which I loved to do: playing ball and fighting. Ah, I would be home with my books. And my books were my friends.
