Reader Extraordinaire

Every superhero has an ‘origin’ story of how they came into being. If applied to myself, How did I begin to be a reader, and eventually a writer?

I have to say, I have loved this challenge, (last week’s Weekly Challenge from WordPress) as it’s one of the most interesting I have attempted. Some of the challenges, especially the daily ones, have become repetitive, thinking about how I began to devour books, and my faltering beginnings as a writer has brought back lots of memories, though not always good ones. Part of the challenge was not simply to answer the eight questions suggested by the writer of the prompt but to put together a tale. Predictably, my notes grew exponentially as I answered each question, never being one to be succinct. My mum said recently ‘why write in 2 what you can write in 22, eh?’

When I told this to a friend who works in fundraising, she laughed and said when they present a pitch to organisations and the like for funding they are told the complete opposite. I am so relieved I am a writer and not a fundraiser, I’d never manage it! Proving this to be true, I’ve had to split this post into two, with the second part scheduled for Wednesday.

Reading was my very favourite hobby

The image shows two young, pretty, blonde-haired little girls sitting close together, with a book on their knees which they are reading together.
The image shows two young, pretty, blonde-haired little girls sitting close together, with a book on their knees which they are reading together. image credit: Horton Web Design (view the website at: http://www.HortonGroup.com

Growing up, I do not remember which books were read to me as a small child. I have lots of early, disability, special nursery and school related memories, but not of books read at bedtime, or other times. Wondering if that reflects differences of experience rather than being a reflection on my upbringing. My mum especially must have read to us lots as she was the one at home with my brother and I.

I remember very clearly being assessed by the Educational Psychologist on reading and maths ability because of my disability, and even at age 7, I remember my reading age being ahead of my actual age. I loved that, I was so pleased… as were my family. It was something that was good progress that was not related to my disability, but showed I had some intellectual ability, especially as I was thought have such a level of learning difficulties when I was born that they questioned whether I could finish primary school, but this proved to be the start of dispelling those fears. (My parents say I was always a couple of years behind my peers in maths though.)

Writing for children wasn’t yet ‘cool’!

Enid Blyton – Classic or Controversial?

The first books I remember reading by myself at home were written by Enid Blyton. Someone gave me ‘The Enchanted Wood’ trilogy for Christmas or a birthday. Now her books are controversial, as some consider them racist. I remember names like ‘Fanny’, ‘Dick’, and ‘Moonface’. I remember the biscuits full of honey which exploded in your mouth, (perhaps an early warning of my sweet tooth!) The tales of faraway lands fuelled my young imagination, though. I was never interested in the Famous Five, oddly, even though I was interested in adventure in other stories. I read the ‘Malory Towers’ books, by Enid Blyton, I think there were several in the series, the main characters a girl called Darrell who goes off to boarding school called (handily!) Malory towers. I read also some of the later books which featured Darrell’s younger sister Felicity. Again, these books were a reflection of the time in which they were written, though for me this was part of the charm.

Roald Dahl – Prolific engaging and inspiring writer or dark and dangerous?

I remember some of the books I read at school too, around the same times as I read lots of Enid Blyton’s books. We read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in primary four, on which we were to write a story using our imaginations to dream up an amazing factory. Unfortunately I got side-tracked, writing ten A4 jotter pages of rubbish. I think we possibly read George’s Marvellous Medicine too, both books by Roald Dahl. I remember too the following year reading Danny the Champion of the World, (Roald Dahl again!!) and Stig of the Dump (Clive King). I must have loved them to remember them over 20 years later.

I went on to read other Roald Dahl books including The B.F.G and Matilda. I remember feeling sorry for both Sophie, the orphan whose life changes when she meets the BFG, and Matilda, who learns to read long complex books from age of four, while sitting in the library, the only place she feels safe. She is also famous for being able to move objects with her eyes, which she uses to her advantage, both with her dysfunctional family and draconian head teacher Miss Trunchbull. I think it was one of the first books I borrowed from a library. I remember numerous trips to the local library, though I do not remember the titles of what I read, just snippets of books.

Classics versus Contemporary

When I was about 11 or 12 I think, Mum wanted me to start reading classics. It would have been good preparation for high school, and University too. However, what I read, and Mum wanted me to read differed widely. I wanted to read what she considered rubbish, namely The Baby Sitters Club and Sweet Valley High.

Children’s literature has grown exponentially since I was young, thanks to the rise and rise of authors like Jacqueline Wilson, JK Rowling, Stephanie Myers and the likes. It would be fun to know what your memories are of reading as a

child especially, too, or maybe there was some other hobby you excelled in?

(P.S. Stay tuned for part 2 on Wednesday this week which will be live at 6am if I remember to schedule it….)


This post was written in response to last week’s Weekly Challenge from WordPress:

Every superhero has an ‘origin’ story of how they came into being. If applied to myself, How did I begin to be a reader, and eventually a writer.

To have a go yourself, click on the blue link directly above this.(or shift + tab and press space if using screen reader)I’d love to read your story! I do read others posts for hours at a time.

 


 

Five-minute Friday : Small

I wrote the following for ‘Five Minute Friday’.

Right at this point in time, I feel small. Not small as in small child, but small as in not-very-tall, not very strong, and not very clear of mind. It is linked in with the previous entry I posted this morning. With missing someone buckets with whom there are memories… lots of fun, and laughter, private jokes and common interests. An adventure which had only got going and came to an abrupt end. For a long while only numbness, now, only pain.

Small people actually help me find my smile… little ones in the local supermarket who are gurning, until they see my chair, and watch, fascinated, trying to work out what is going on, or the little one in the chair in the street, leg stretched in front of her, her bright pink cast protecting her poorly leg, and a big smile on her face. These precious ones make me feel better, and wish I was small again, when I didn’t know grown up pain.

One of life’s dreamers…

Today’s daily prompt:

The Tooth Fairy (or Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus . . .): a fun and harmless fiction, or a pointless justification for lying to children?

The tooth fairy is well remembered from my childhood, as is Santa Claus! I was eight when I asked whether he was real or not!! I still remember the conversation . As for the Easter Bunny, who needs it when Jesus is bigger than all of that?! Most of these things are a harmless part of childhood I guess, providing they’re not taken too seriously. I may no longer believe in these things but I am definitely one of life’s dreamers. It’s one of the reasons I love reading. I think if I ever had children I wouldn’t want to start these myths with them though. For me there are too many better stories, Over to you, what do you think?

 

“Nobody’s child”

Image

“I don’t remember a lot about my childhood: my very earliest memories are of living in a children’s home when I was about 4 or 5 years old.”

I didn’t remember what my favourite book was till I remembered a box of books in a cupboard. Then I had to go raking. I didn’t remember the title; however, soon as I saw it, I remembered the roller-coaster of emotions I felt reading it. Sadness, tears, loss, love, joy, laughter, they were all there. Not like most of the stories out there about abuse, it’s different from those in a way. The abuse is still there, oh my goodness you can’t forget it, but it’s somehow told in a different way. Perhaps I feel this way because I had the privilege of meeting Jon Robinson, the guy who was the little boy at the beginning of the book.

It’s years since I’ve read this book, and yet, I remember details of the story, which I am going to repeat to you now and not regurgitate the summary on the back of the book. I remember meeting him, remember liking him on first sight, I got the best hug, and we had a brilliant chat. He’s so humble, so unassuming, and yet there’s something compelling about him. When I heard he was speaking I jumped at the chance to go, and have never forgotten it. I’m not sure what he’s doing now. I’d like to find out.

Okay… so this is his story as I remember it. He’s in and out of foster-care and children’s homes most of his childhood. His is not a happy one, there is no story of redemption, at least not yet. I remember reading at the start of the book that other children had visitors on birthdays and holiday times, and he did not. He was the one left distraught. This home was okay. There’s another home I remember reading about where he and the other children were only allowed into their bedrooms when the social workers visited, and that was also the only time they could play with the toys. The rest of the time, they were locked in the cellar. At this particular home there was a wee boy, I think his name was Michael? Anyways, he finds out later that this little lad was his brother, so much later that by the time he knows the poor little lad has died.

Jon also ends up in prison, at least once, though I don’t remember what for. A long time down the story, with the support of his future wife, he asks to read, and reads his social work record. This is one of those stories in which, if like me you had a happy childhood, your eyes will open. If like Jon you were in care most of your childhood, you may well identify with it. Whatever your story, I urge you to read this book. I’m off now to re-read this gem of a book. I promise you, if you read it, it will stay with you forever, like only the best told stories do.

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Today’s daily prompt if you’d also ike to write about your favourite book.

The link to Nobody’s child on Amazon if you’d like to buy it:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nobodys-Child-Stirring-Story-Unwanted/dp/1854246232/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1357410871&sr=1-3

A profession for the future?

I don’t always make time to read a newspaper, but since I bought a kindle, I’ve got used to reading the kindle version of The Independent. A couple of  opinions on how best to shore up social work for the future have really got me thinking. I’m sure some people have will have heard of Teach first? Now the idea is being applied to social work. I have mixed feelings about the sustainability of such a program, however surely things cannot get much worse, so it has to be worth a go! Josh MacAlister rightly says, social work “does not have to be one of Britain’s least appealing careers”. Neither however, do careers in the care profession! I just wonder if this concept were applied to ‘caring roles’ if it would revolutionize the profession, or whether even that may not be enough. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. How do we take ailing professions and turn things around for the better? The Independent’s editorial is favour of MacAlister’s approach. I would encourage you to read it, and vote! 

 

Back to Social work. I hardly need explain why change is necessary as mistakes make within the profession have been well documented. The most vulnerable youngsters have been let down time and again, just like the young man MacAlister writes about. It’s a great idea… the best candidates, the best training. and straight into leadership/management. Heaven knows the most difficult professions are where the best manages are needed, and starting with children, where the most impact can be made seems like common sense. I really do hope this program achieves all it sets out to do and can be sustained for the future. It can’t come a moment too soon.

People mostly… (and horses)

I started writing first couple of paragraphs earlier this morning, but the router has been falling over even more than me this week, and it was more important to have bible time than to faff with t’internet!

What haven’t I blogged about this week?!

Normally I have been known to write an average of one “this was the week that…” post in my week. Normally on a Saturday, or a Sunday if I’m being naughty. I did wonder if there was any need for me to write one of those post this week seeing as I’ve already blogged more than usual. I’ve talked about the paralympics, though I’ll have to stop that now this is the final day (sob!) I’ve written a couple of commenting-on-the-news posts, mostly about Rimsha, the 14-yr old girl with learning difficulties being persecuted in Pakistan. There was also, selfishly, the soul-baring post I wrote earlier this week on “The (5) days that dared to change my life”. I have been overwhelmed with responses… mostly in people’s kind comments or tweets, or just that people have read it at all… have been overwhelmed by how many people have read that particular post, cheered when I’ve realised how many people have been interested in reading about the paralympics, and heartened when I realised how many took the time to read about, and hopefully pray for, Rimsha. Please do continue to pray for her and for her family, or to start doing so if you haven’t already. Other topics I blogged on this week are things I am likely to write about in the future, like falling, for which I could compete for a medal! As far as Christians being tested for their faith, I have written about cases recently appearing in the European court of Human Rights. We in Britain know nothing of what it is like to be singled out for our faith though. Please pray for those who are. For prayer pointers, please look at the eebiste of Open Doors UK

 “Nowt so queer as folk”

The main thing I have yet to blog about are the other three main activities this week. Encounters with people, learning about the magnificence of horses, and the supporters day for a local Christian Social Enterprise.  First thinks first. I spend a lot of my week managing people. This could mean all manner of things. For example phoning people to arrange appointments, pay bills or phoning nurses, friends or carers for help! I have already talked twice in this blog about care, but I spend much of my week managing carers. Worrying, before I get the rota that week, exactly who will be turning up and if they will be trained to meet my needs or if they will wing it. This week, I went swimming for the first time this year, which you can read about here. The only thing I neglected to mention, is that I’d happened to say to the receptionist I would be exhausted when I came out of the pool. So Emma said and why’s that. I thought oops I’m going to accidently embarras her here. I quetly said it was because I didn’t have my manual wheelchair. ‘Of course you don’t she said. “So where is it? I forgot because you loooked so natural weith the zimmer!” How are you supposed to look with a zimmer exactly?

Horses (I love then to bit at all times, except when they tear lumps out of my chair!

The other exercise of the week was my horse-riding lesson which I spent re-learning some basic dressage ateps. I thought I did pretty well. The worst bit was, I tried to make like a papralympian, in this case, the beautiful Sophie. I have no idea hoe she manages with her feet out of the irons; it looks so painful. I spent a couple of days getting over the shock! That, and I had my first ‘horse related incident. Given this one, You think I’d have learned from it!! I had some mints with me so I shared them among the horses equally, until Paulas asked me to give my last polo to Gwen. This I did, and returned to stroke the nose of the middle horse, mistakenly with the wrapper still in my hand. Not finding any more polos, the horse decided he liked the look of the golf ball I use to steer my chair and stole it. At the point, there were not staff around. Perhaps I could/should have waited till the reappreared. As it was, the horse was not letting me has the golf ball back, so I went knee first into the stable door till he relenyted which sounds bad enough. Wait till you hear the Saturday incident from which I have yet tcover.

Supporters Day… People, horses, and children … young ‘Barry’ anyway!

The final part of week is the other major highlight. The open day for the supporters of the local Christian Social Enterprise charity. To protect the safety of the young in’s I would not care to mention the name of the place. The day started well enough, with a service, thanking the Lord Jesus for all he has provided for us this past year, all that he is providing and praying and trusting that he will continue to provide. I chose my own role for the day after that, talking to the parents of friends, many of whom I know by sight, others I had met on random occasions such as the couple who’d helped me cross London two years ago. I decided then to seek out those in wheelchairs or whatever, the ‘crip brigade’. I made friends with a young lad who gives all the pocket money to us, talking to another wheelchair user who explained the joys of hand gliding (paragliding?) with a chair. I then came across a couple who had been to the farm that frist year. Was lovely to swap geography, and stories with them. Before lunch I had met a young lady called Eleanor and her mum Janet, who explained Eleanor could not see me but could hear me, so talked to her of the horses, and took Janet too them. However, when we got to the same horse who caused me chair related mischief on Tuesday. I should have stayed out of the way! I clearly have not learned my lesson! My chair is now minus the button which ‘reclines’/ tips the chair backwards. I did rescue it from the hourse but it fell of my chair at one point before I lost it. I shall have to phone the wheelchair servicing co,many firs thing tomorrow to figure out how to repair it as quickly as possible.

I had better get myself off to bed. Before I go though, one final word about paralympics 2012 The speakers did not half talk a lot of nonsense. Lord Seb Coes gems of wisdom included the lines: “we will never think of sport the same way, and we will never think of disability the same way..” How is he so convinced that years of discrimination and so on has been turned around in te course of a mere 11 days. He’d have to start by changing governments attitudes to both disability and to disabled people. Another man with high expectations of disabled people is Sir Philip Craven who talked about a small boy who had been reading Treasure Island with his mother, who asked him about the main character, expecting her son to say the man was a “pirate, instead he said “athlete” The implications of this, is to assume that all disabled in some way are ‘athletes’, or can become athletes which is far from the case.

He also committed a further gaffe , which to me was worse than the first, as he claimed the magic of the Paralympic  Games would last  for an eternity, what a lot of RUBBISH!! Sorry to sound particularly Bible bashing, but he really has not thought this one through.My thoughts seemed to be echoed by my friends, including Partakers_Dave  and, and Pam who said she was “worried that such amazing feats will be expected of all disabled [people]in a way that will be even more disabling”. I often feel that disabled people are made to feel the truth of this already as ” superhuman feats’ like being able to work, find and maintain a job is expected of all of us who are out of a job, whatever the reason may be.The last word goes to Clare Balding who says””this will all only matter if it changes the way you think, the way you feel” — Clare Balding. I hope she was talking about attitudes to disability then, because it would have been one of the few sensible things said all night.

Over to you!

I’d love to know:

  • what did you think of the closing ceremony? The good the bad and the ugly?

  • what now for the future of sport

  • Or any other comment you would like to make on any aspect of this blog?!