My earliest memories of language arts experiences take me back a long way, to a different time and place. To a time of innocence, excitement, imagination and wonder. To a place called the Netherlands.
I am nine years younger than my sister, Odile. It was just the two of us, and our parents. My dad was born in the southern part of Netherlands, a region that used its own dialect. It was my first 'language', and I did not learn Dutch until I went to Kindergarten. To this day my family still only speaks Maastrichts to each other; it is our language of 'home'. My mom was Belgian and, although she was from the Flemish speaking part of Belgium, she had an affinity for the French language, and she peppered her conversations with French, much to the delight of our Dutch speaking friends. She had a flair for drama and she drew people to her with her joie de vivre. She did not read to me, like the mothers of my friends did. She recited poetry, and she did it with so much passion, that she left me in tears more often than not. My sister still remembers many of these poems by heart, and recites them sometimes. It brings me back to the times I would sit on my knees in front of my mother, asking her to please tell me the story again. "No", she would say, "because you will cry again." "I promise you I won't cry, mama! Please tell it to me again!" She would start the story and had me in tears in no time!
My exposure to reading came from my sister. To this day, I can still remember her sitting in the big red chair we had. She would be all curled up in it, have a bag of licorice next to her, a cup of tea on the little table next to her and she would be happy as a clam, reading. To me it seemed like you could shoot a canon off in front of her, and she wouldn't even notice. It seemed like she was in a whole other world, detached from us, totally engrossed. It fascinated me. Watching her enjoy herself with books is what drove me to learn how to read. I wanted to do that too!
Many children in 2014 are familiar with letters in Kindergarten. A few will even know how to read. For me, formal reading instruction did not start until first grade. Reading was taught by using a 'letterdoos' (box with letters). The letters were printed on small rectangles of plastic and organized in their own little spaces. The sounds that consisted of multiple vowels had their own space as well. The teacher would write the word we were learning on the black board with chalk and we had to replicate it. We did so by putting the letters of the word in order on a 'leesplankje' (reading shelf). The teacher would then walk around the room, check if we spelled them right and then write down another word. When we were done with spelling the teacher would caution us to make sure we put each letter back in its appropriate little space, so the letterdoos would be ready for the next time.
Once we learned how to spell words we were told that writing would be next. I remember that I was so excited to learn how to write! The first few times we used lined paper and a pencil, but we soon moved on to fountain pens. Yes, I learned how to write print in first grade using a fountain pen! I even used blotting paper after I wrote. Every child had a piece of blotting paper, which has the consistency of tissue paper. After we wrote a word we had to use the blotting paper and gently pat the word dry. The ink from the fountain pen was wet, and if you rubbed your hand over the just written word it would smudge and ruin your work. Neatness counted as much as penmanship, which I loved! Every letter had its own symmetry and I wanted to make them all perfect. It gave me pleasure to look at a page full of letters, proudly standing straight. After we mastered the printing we moved on to script in second grade. This was a whole new way of writing the letters of the alphabet: graceful and elegant. At one point the teacher told us that we could not pick up the fountain pen until we finished writing the word. This took all the concentration I could muster and by the time I finished the word my tongue was sticking out between my lips and my hand was cramped from holding the pen too tight. I loved it!
My elementary school years were the best years. They were full of excitement of newly learned skills which I was proud to use. Not only did I love to write, but I loved to read as well. My favorite books were series. I think that was because I always felt bad when a book ended and if I read a series then the story would continue and I would not have to say goodbye to the characters. My love of reading stopped for a while when I was in high school because we had to read fifteen books in Dutch, twelve in English, and ten in French and German. I started to dread reading. Not until I finished high school did I start to love reading again. Now I can't wait to start a new book, sit in my big, red chair with a bag of licorice and be in my own little world for a while.
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