Neither do I remember reading much as a child, nor do I remember being read to. It was only when I was much older did it occur to me that parents actually read to their children when they are a young age to stimulate them and keep them busy. My first memory of reading, I was age seven and it was a book called Kathy and Mark. These were our set work books in Grade one. It was the first book I could read on my own. Although I didn’t have any older brothers and sisters to push me to do the things they were doing at a young age so I didn’t miss out, I still felt the need to push myself further and read more than just the recommended set work book.
Most of the time I found myself reading to the educator at school and then all she wanted to hear you read is the set work books as it was important for her to know you could read it. I was also enrolled in an “Aftercare programme” where people were employed solely to assist you with your homework that was given by the educator at school. I would be forced to read to the person on duty assisting with homework and this is where began to I lose interest in reading altogether.
Although I never felt compelled to read to anyone or to strive in reading, I did take interest in fictional stories, nursery rhymes and fairy tales. There was something about these genres that enchanted me and took me to a place that was different to this harsh world. I would find myself imagining for hours what it was like being a princess and being part of a magical world. I would play these mystical imaginative games and that would become the thing that occupied me. Being part of this fantasy world would be my escape from my “only child” life.
Growing up and maturing over the years my interests in book genres soon changed. During my teens I was still drawn to fiction but more of, real life people as characters and stories that related to the issues I was facing as a teenager. Stories of a school girl who fell in love with a