Family Ties

As I lie on the top bunk of the bed in the room my Sister and I share, I take in my surroundings, everything is pitch black, as my mom had just sent me and my Sister to go to bed and my eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness. It is dead silent, except for the occasional shifting in my Sister’s bunk below me. We’ve only been there for a few minutes but it feels like hours, we’re both eagerly waiting for the same thing, but we don’t know for certain if it’s going to happen or not. As I slowly begin to lose hope, I hear a new sound, the front door opening, and a faint glow from the porch light pouring into the gap under our bedroom door, I sit up in my bed, knowing what’s coming next. I wait eagerly and hear footsteps approaching from down the hallway, and the door cracks open, my Dad on the other side, finally back from work. He pulls a chair from the desk and sits, opening the Harry Potter book he brought with him. 

“Chapter three,” he says softly, not bothering to ask if my Sister and I are awake, as he already knows the answer. Moments like this are what I looked forward to at the end of the day, as my dad worked long hours for the military as a mathematician, leaving for work before my Sister and I woke up for school, only getting back just before we went to bed, just enough time to read us one chapter of a book, maybe two if we were lucky. His schedule at that time made moments with him all the more special, and reading to us before bed made up the majority of my early memories of my Dad, which contributed to me developing a strong interest in books. 

But my Dad was not the only literary influence that drew me to reading, as my older Sister was just as, if not more important to my literary growth. Growing up homeschooled in a neighborhood where the only other children our age were there to visit their grandparents and the fact that we only were two years apart made my Sister my defacto best friend, and also my role model. Everything she did I wanted to do, after she started playing on a soccer team, I begged my parents to let me join one, even though I had no interest in playing. When she had friends over I wanted to hang out with them too. I even started learning to play piano by mimicking the pieces I heard her practice. Most importantly, I wanted to read what she was reading, but the problem was that the books she read were far ahead of my abilities at the time, despite us only being two years apart. This was because my Sister was an incredible reader. In the words of my Mom and Dad, my Sister had been reading just as long as she had been talking. Although that idea can definitely be attributed to the hyperbole of proud parents, there is some truth to it, as my Sister started reading at a very young age and developed reading skills at an almost alarming rate, enough so that by the time I was three or four, my Sister was finishing full novels like Harry Potter before my parents had a chance to check if they were age appropriate. Because of this, I improvised and did the next best thing. I had my Dad start reading books to us at night, starting with the Harry Potter series that my sister loved so much, and during the day I would practice reading, not wanting to get left behind by my Sister. 

Even though I’ve never managed to get quite to her level, the drive for improvement that my Sister instilled in me, and the connection to my Father that I found through reading has put me ahead of my peers and instilled a love of reading that lasted throughout my childhood. Without the influence of my family, I probably would not be anywhere near as literate as I am, nor would I have had the desire to continue my education in college.