Once upon a time
Once upon a time, all she could do was drift her hands along each silent spine or turn hieroglyph pages like a visitor lost in the streets of a foreign land, her forehead a frown of lines – a message of bewilderment she hoped others could not read.
Then, like whispers, or baby footsteps, or leaves dropping like scraps of tissue kissed by an infitesimal breeze, shapes on pages birthed sounds on her lips - each day a new one, a tiny gift – and in her mind, dragons, heroines, castles, pirates, the sighs of reunited lovers.
Here's the dear lady's story, if you'd like to watch the news clip.
Can you remember anything about when you learned to read?
My father taught me to read when I was three years old. He wasn't the kind of father who'd lie on the floor and play with a train set o…