My sister, may she rest in peace. Because of her, I could read before I entered first grade, and she instilled a love of reading that has lasted my whole life. My first books were her ‘girl’ books about dogs and horses; Black Beauty and Ladd, A Dog come to mind.
Miss Bullard in first grade.
My oldest sister, ten years up on me (I am the youngest of five), Green Eggs and Ham I specifically remember, got a star every time I read through without a mistake. She became an elementary school teacher and I take full credit!
Reading well my brother, three years up on me, gets credit for. He got me his friends used comic books when he was done with them, and dang there was advanced vocabulary in that early Marvel world.
Mom? Youngest of five my early memories of her were most those of a few grocery bags with legs and then a retreating backside going back out to the car … and eating over the stove as she cooked and then not sitting down when others ate. May she rest in peace, cause I don’t recall her sitting much in one place when I was growing up!
Mrs Allswang in first grade was the one who convinced my parents I was not quite the dullard they had apparently thought I was.
My mother, with my father providing wonderful reinforcement.
Very early on my dad bought the Encyclopaedia Britannica, the Encyclopaedia Britannica Jr., and the Great Books of the Western World - not an easy thing given our finances. When I came to him with a question, his first response would be “Did you look it up?” Once I did so, he would gladly spend whatever time was needed to discuss the question.
My sister was two and a half years older. She wold read books back to our mother with me listening, but I’d memorize them just by listening so if she’d stumble on a word, I’d tell her what it was – not because I was reading, but because I just knew. That was a very fun game for me, though my sister told me later that it upset her. She didn’t realize I wasn’t reading better than her and was embarrassed.
She’d use her finger to follow along the words as she read, so I began to learn to recognize words.
Then there was Superman. Mom didn’t really like us to read comics, but I knew Superman from TV and my cousin had comics which I loved and I taught myself to read bigger words from those. I still recall learning the words “in-VUN-er-able” and “So-LI-too-day” (as in the Fortress of Solitude) which was how I pronounced them to myself.
I used to collect and read comic books. Over and over. I remember looking at the picture and sounding out words based on the pictures.
I learned to read around the age of four. My mother taught me. I apparently had difficulty grasping the concept but once I’d grasped it, there was no stopping me. I don’t recall who taught me to write, though.
My parents taught me to read. Different teachers affected my writing at various times, but the nuns at St. Henry’s gave me a leg up on the competition; I went from Catholic schools to public schools in 5th grade. After that, my editors at a college newspaper gave me the most useful tips for structure and such.
Mostly my mother, I think. I was reading before kindergarten. I think writing was more something I learned in school: penmanship, of a kind.
My older sister. The practice stood her in good stead, as she went on to get a Master’s Degree in Teaching Reading.
Sesame Street, The Electric Company and Ohio Public schools.
My mother. She had been a teacher, and as an at-home mom tutored kids going from public school to the more rigorous Catholic school. Being the kid at home (youngest of 5) I sat in on the lessons and was reading well before kindergarten. I always loved to read and by first grade was reading aloud in class with different voices for different characters. By 2nd grade I was doing the readings at Mass when our class would go to church weekly.
StG
Sesame Street, my mom and myself. I learned somewhere between the ages of 2 and 3. I was actually writing little books (construction paper and crayons) with full sentences and simple plots and pictures when I was 4. My dad still likes to tell my aunt the story about how my cousin (at 5) would bring me (at 3) books to read to her.
I honestly peaked early. It was all *utterly *downhill from there as far as my brain goes.
Elementary school. Sure, I recall being able to sound out some letters, thus “reading” words like “come” as “co-mee,” but that was fooling around. It was not until the structured environment of first grade that reading really kicked off.
I taught myself using the books I found in the treehouse.
I cannot tell you how creepy that sounds …
According to a bumper sticker I once saw, someone claimed “Maria Montessori teached me to reed and rite”.
English? PBS.
At least, I think it did. I could already read when I started first grade, and I don’t remember anyone else teaching me, which means it was probably Sesame Street and the Electric Company, circa 1978-1980.
I learned how to read Hebrew in school, when I moved back here in the middle of first grade. They had a special after-school class for new immigrants. I don’t actually remember any of the classes - I have virtually no memories of my first year in Israeli school at all - but I remember catching up with my regular class by the middle of second grade.
I taught myself to read before I was school age, only tangentially assisted by my Mother. But I was taught to write by my teachers.
Was that your first attempt at sculpture not involving plasticine or mud? 