I'm a first born.
In the main, I follow rules and find more than a little angst prickles my nerves when others do not. So I guess while I've made my generous share of mistakes in this life, most of them have come from bad judgement, rather than rule bending.But I'm here to confess the rebelliousness of my childhood, sprouted from the deep pull to read when I was not supposed to. And to confess it still occurs.
1. I confess... As a little girl, I repeatedly read in church, even when my Dad stood at the pulpit delivering a well crafted sermon. I smuggled books in and let my mind wander far from Sunday morning services in the late 1970s... to the early 1800s when Mary Jones remarkably sought her own copy of the Bible. I confess escaping with Mary to the 1800s more than once, when I should have been firmly seated in the psychedelic era. But who can blame a little girl with a good book in her grip?2. I confess... I repeatedly read in the back seat of the car. At night. Even when my parents told me I'd ruin my vision. (I now wear contacts AND use reading glasses at the same time, so yeah.... they were right). I'd wait for the rhythmic flash of a street light, hold my book just so, and sneak in a line every few beats of the journey home. And who can blame a transfixed little girl with a good book in her grip?3. I confess... I repeatedly read in bed. Hours after I promised my mother the just to the end of the chapter lie. I figured a fabulous page turner erased all my good intentions. How could I not honour the writer and their wordsmith mastery? And who can blame a wide-awake little girl with a good book in her grip?4. And finally, I confess... I repeatedly read in school, with a fresh book hidden under the desk. When my favourite English teacher asked me about the themes of Schindler's Ark, I was too busy with Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant to offer a coherent answer. I fumbled my way through the wrong one, and she later pulled me aside to apologise for putting me on the spot. She knew how easily I faded into a story... and sent me back there with her blessing. (Good soul/best teacher ever - understood the passion of a reader better than anyone!)
And so on ... and so on... Until adulthood. Where I've been known to read in places and times when a grownup should know better. But who can blame an English teacher and fiction writer, with a good book in her hand, and plenty more simmering in her heart? Certainly not those who share the same affliction.
***Dorothy Adamek lives at Crabapple House with her Beloved, their three teenagers and five pampered backyard chickens. She writes historical romance, Aussie style. Follow her love of all thing yesteryear at Ink Dots.