Childhood Reading (re-purposed post)

I recently comment in a friend's journal about "not having had the patience needed for fiction" when I was a child. I read mostly true stories, and little fiction. My friend asked for an explanation of what patience was needed for fiction, and if my parents had limited my reading.

My reply, which may say a lot about my childhood (pasting here, so I'll be able to remember what I wrote):

Fiction only requires the patience of time -- time that I seemed to want to spend on true stories, or kids novels books like Prairie Princess or Treasures of the Snow that showed the triumph of the believer over adversity.

My parents bought us Dr. Seuss books; I memorized Green Eggs and Ham before my 2nd birthday (Mom was convinced I could read, since I even knew when to turn the pages), Little Golden Books, & I had my own Subscription to Young Pilot.

I read art books, an old algebra book, the Lincoln Library of Essential Information, the New Book of Life, an annotated biography of Pontius Pilate, etc. I also read Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle and Goldie the Doll Maker, bios of Edgar Cayce, and commentaries by Herbert W. Armstrong. (My Dad had wide-ranging interests, and full book cases, and I read what he collected, even though most 4th graders might not be interested in the foundational beliefs of the Worldwide Church of God.) I was always reading, and never imagined that I missed anything.

I recently blogged about my first exposure to dark fiction:

Vonnegut first gave me the gift of dark fiction with insight, quite a change from the missionary stories I read at home. In high school, I grew to appreciate the value of subversiveness in fiction as a means to incite questions about the status quo.

I read that sort of book for a while, until I got hooked into (1) true crime stories, and then (2) royalty history. I'm sure I'll hit other phases later on.

One other revelatory bit of my history: I first heard about Santa Claus ( as best can be ascertained) while in Kindergarten. Santa just never came up in the Bible College setting, or if it did, I never tuned in since I figured out early on that gifts came from my parents. (There are no Santas in the old slides of our Christmases...)

Anyhow, to get to the point, my parents told me about Santa and how some families liked to pretend that there was someone who came down the chimney and brought gifts. There were a few things left out of this explanation: Pretending is a fun game people play; some kids really believe what families pretend; you shouldn't contradict other people's families, etc.

The deficits came to light just a few days later when my parents were called by the kindergarten teacher. Apparently, kids went home upset after I told them all that their parents had lied to them about Santa Claus. Lied, pretended, I apparently had
no distinction...

Long enough reply. Izzy loves fiction, I like history, and it works out well for us to be puzzle pieces, rather than a matched set of bookends.