Love for Reading (earliest memories)

 

Over my lifetime so far I have read many books-  most covered topics in philosophy, political theory and science (e.g. genetics, evolutionary biology, psychology, etc.).  I would estimate that 95%+  of the total books I have read over my entire life were non-fiction.  But it wasn't always this way.  And in this post I share some reflections on the first memory I have of when I discovered my love for reading.  

It was my initial engagement with works of fiction during the formative years of  childhood that I discovered my passion for reading, which helped lay the foundation for what would become a multi-decade engagement in works of non-fiction during my adulthood.  And eventually a passion for writing my own works of non-fiction. 

In 1980, as a 10 year old in grade 4, and I remember reading the book above:  The Secret of Phantom Lake, a book in the series the Three Investigators.  At that time I ended up reading every book in the series I could get my hands on.  I still have a complete collection of the book series, all these years later.  

As I noted in a previous post from over a decade ago, I read the whole collection (40+ books) to my older sons which rekindled my appreciation for how formative these books were on my intellectual development.  I can still recall the feeling I experienced when I started reading this book at age 10-- it was something I never experienced before.  I was engrossed in the book, reading it made me experience flow.  

My first memory of the deep enjoyment I experienced reading the book was that I could relate to the main characters.  Jupiter, Pete and Bob were three teenagers, amateur sleuths that enjoyed solving mysteries and crimes and ventured around California on their bikes,  Each of them had their own distinctive strengths and weaknesses:  Jupiter was brilliant (but could also be arrogant at times, leading to mistakes); Peter was the most athletic, but not always the most attentive; Bob was methodical in research but at times his lack of physical strength could be a liability.  

The first book I read, like all of them, detailed their "home base"- an old trailer hidden in a junk yard that had secret entrances only they could access.  The boys could retreat to this hidden sanctuary to plan their next adventures, hidden away from the gaze of adult/parental control.  This presented a very compelling story to me.  Like the characters in the book, I enjoyed the companionship my friends provided, riding my bike and, I would discover- engaging with this book series-  my love for trying to solve mysteries.  Entering into the headspace of different characters in each story- friends and foes alike, also helped me expand my understanding of the social landscape.  Transcending my own personal point of view, so I could empathetically understand/ try to anticipate the beliefs, actions and motives of other people, was engrossing and enjoyable.  You learn that some people are full of surprises- being more brave than you previously thought- or others are not trustworthy (you never really know what motivates others until more information is gathered about their history, character, etc.).  Trough reading fiction one acquires a lifetime of different experiences and insights, much faster and more nuanced tha one could from only interacting with people in real life.    

My fondest memories are sitting in my father's reclining lazy boy-chair, with a bowl of chips, reading this book.  I recall me asking my mother if it was OK that I sat and read for hours on end.  Until that point in my childhood I never sat still for long.  I was extremely active, involved in multiple sports and seldom sat still, let alone experienced being engrossed in reading before.  The engagement with this book was the beginning of a transformation in my life- both intellectually and emotionally.  A life of "the inner mind" began to take hold, one where my imagination could be celebrated, providing enjoyment and meaning in ways I had never experienced before. Inhabiting different times, places and minds (even if fictional) captured my imagination and was enjoyable.  And I learned that such joy enabled me to concentrate for hours on end, in a state of flow.   

Five years later, in grade 9, I volunteered to write some short mystery stories for my high school newspaper.  For a shy and awkward 14 year old this was a real risk.  I still aspired to become a fiction writer through grade 10, until my father put an end to those dreams, bluntly telling me that such career aspiration would lead me to starve.   

So while my "inner writer" remained dormant for many years after than time, it was always there, percolating away just below the surface.  By age 20 I began to study history and philosophy at university, and as I began to read non-fiction and acquired the intellectual skills to comprehend and assess arguments my passionate for research and writing was quickly engulphed.  And I haven't look back since then.  

By university my father also became my strongest champion, having read everything I ever published in his lifetime, and he was an avid reader of this blog up until he passed away.  He was glad to see that I was able to eek out a living through my research and teaching.    

Engaging with books from a young age, in a time before digital distractions could re-wire my brain, was, I believe, critical to my intellectual development.  And I try to remain vigilant about maintaining an existence that permits me times of undistracted solitude for deep reflection and writing.  This is not always an easy thing to do in the fervor of today's digital-centric / muti-tasking environment. 

Cheers, 

Colin