Caring for Grandmother
When I was a very young child, I looked after and cared for my grandmother. Oh, I didn't wash and bathe her. My mother and my aunties did that. But when she wanted someone to read to her she always called on me. At the beginning, I didn't know why she called for me, because I couldn't read all that well. I had only learned to read the big-worded books that my parents bought for my baby sister.
Now that I am the same age as my grandmother was then - the ripe old age of 72 ~ I understand what she was doing. Infirm of body, her mind was not. She was good and kind, and helped me learn how to read. She patiently taught me that reading was not only a skill to be learned but a place to play. A place, sometimes in a train or car, that would take me as far away and as quickly as Aladdin's magic carpet. Our reading sessions gave me ideas and awakened my curiosity.
When grandmother seemed unable to answer my many questions, she would send me off to anywhere there were books not found in the ‘libraries’ of my childhood home ~ the big book shelves in the living room. So off to the town library I would go where there were all manner of books. This treasure hunt took me sometimes even to neighbour's homes. There were always books at the church and definitely at the school.
Now, libraries are still grand, and sometimes humble buildings. Now we also have the world wide web, a new place to add to the treasure hunt for story and literature, history and biography. Oh, my grandparents would be in such awe about all the books literally at their finger tips.
When I remember those days of caring for my grandmother, feeling sorry for her that her bed was her only place, I know that as long as she had books and story she was not trapped in her bed. And I also know that she was my first and greatest teacher.
“My lifelong love affair with books and reading
continues unaffected by automation, computers and
all other forms of the twentieth-century gadgetry.”
~ Robert Downs, Books in My Life
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