My love for reading began before I started kindergarten. At that time, as a one-car family, my mom packed up us three girls, bumped a stroller down five flights of stairs for a time, and stood us by the bus stop. Destination? The Pine Hills Library in Albany, New York for story time and checking out books.
From leaning all my young weight against the big wood and glass door to enter, the smell of wood and dust and the creaking floors, it was a different world. It seemed huge. Not sure if it's still there, but it would be fun to go back and see how big (or not) it seems now.
Make Way for Ducklings and Blueberries for Sal were filmstrips (Google "filmstrips" if needed) after the librarian read the book to us kids. Yep, sitting on the floor in front of her, necks stretched back to see all the illustrations, falling into the story, being on the Maine shores with Sal, worrying about the ducklings and grateful for that helpful policeman.
We girls learned to whisper in the library, fear and respect the librarian. After we moved to a small town in the Adirondack mountains, we leaped into each summer's reading program. [That preceding sentence required a leap into Google to see whether "leaped" or "leapt" was correct. Turns out either is.]
My mom read piles of books to us over the early years; then it was helping us sound out the words as emerging readers ("See Spot run. Run, Spot, run."), and finally turning us loose in the children's section.
I moved on to Harriet the Spy, Caddie Woodlawn, A Wrinkle in Time. Sweet Harlequin romance in junior high and high school, Georgette Heyer. Ah, reading.
My husband, on the other side of the bookshelf, so to speak, did not like to read, did not read well growing up. It wasn't until I got him a Kindle that he finally connected to reading...nonfiction. Although, as he likes to say, "I've read a romance once and liked it." (Yes, it was my Waiting for Sparks.)
So when and where did you fall in love with reading?