I remember Mama reading a lot when I was a child, Reader’s Digest Condensed Books, “women’s” magazines. Daddy read the Sunday newspaper cover to cover (back when it weighed at least 2-3 pounds), Reader’s Digest, and True-The Man’s Magazine (seriously, that was the name of it). My sister, Nancy’s, nose was always in a book, especially if it was time to wash dishes. And my brother, Buddy, read Daddy’s Army manuals instead of comic books.

To tell you the truth, Dear Reader, I don’t remember books around our house. I don’t recall a bedtime story book ritual. Daddy was an on the road salesman, on church committees, and in the Army Reserve. Consequently, Daddy was gone a lot. But there was one rainy, spring afternoon when Daddy and I sat in an orange swivel chair by the open front door . . . and Daddy read Green Eggs and Ham to me. I don’t think it mattered as much what the book was as much as it being the only time I recall Daddy ever reading to me. It was the day I began falling in love with words and books.

Coming Thursday, June 25: Tales of the hood through the eyes of the wood