“That story book is mine”, I scream tagging the book towards me.
“No its mine”, my sister screams tagging the book back.
We have always had these screaming marches my sister and I.
Previously we had argued about whose bicycle it was. Before that we had fought. Really fought like we were auditioning for WWF.
I sometimes think wrestling fried my brain. RAW is WAR! I would scream as I lunged for my sister or vice versa.( Ok maybe I have stretched the truth a little bit). Then I found out my initials spelt RAW. I was ecstatic.
Sean Michaels ( honestly can’t remember his face lol), Hulk Horgan who was a hero until I heard his raciall slurrs, now he is just an old man with long white hair bahh! 123 kid and the UNDERTAKER.
The Undertaker was the stuff horror movies are made of. Let me paint a picture here. Before he could come on stage the lights would dim, the stage would go dark, real dark like a grave yard. Then it would become foggy. Smoke would just fill the air as his theme song came on usually a funeral song or bells. Then he would appear with his hat and weird eyes. As if that wasn’t scary enough he would have a body bag used to carry his opponents with and a manager carrying an urn that had powers to revive him.
He could also perform sacrifices as the dark lord. Scary no?!
I always wonder why someone who wanted to take your underwear had to be so scary.
But I watched him anyway mostly because this was the only program under sixteens were allowed to watch in our house past six. A program will come on and there would be that parental advice. “The following program is age restricted”….. It wasn’t just written across the screen for you to ignore it as we do nowadays. No. A woman’s voice could be heard actually saying the words. Ruined my childhood lol.
And my father would look at you and back at the TV. That was a signal to get lost.Worst thing was this over sixteen programs came on at seven. Who sleeps at seven? There are some shit I see kids watching nowadays that were rated 16 and above in my day. The world has gone to the dogs.
So back to the book.
My father was/ is a sly old man. He would have this conversation with me and my sister, ” whoever does well in school will get a present”.
And I did. I worked my bloody ass off to get the present. Problem is my sister was one of those bright kids. The kid who would effortlessly just wiz through school and pass. So now we have a problem. We both passed.
My father comes with this book. The little red hen. And doesn’t hand it to any one off us. He just leaves it as he goes to work in the morning. There! He has fulfilled his promise. There is only one problem. There is one book and the two of us. That math is not adding up. That is what started the fight.
I don’t think we could actually read properlly at that time. I just remember when I could read that book we had lots more.
Children relate what they hear to what they read. Take me for example I learnt Raw and War from wrestling and associated it to my initials when I could write.
According to researchers reading helps in sentence constructions, increased imagination and critical thinking.
That book, the little Red hen cemented my love for reading.
Its disturbing that one out of four children in standard 2 cannot read a complete sentence. We boast of 90% of our children being in school but don’t notice they are learning to read and not reading to learn. We are facing a Literacy crisis.
To avoid this we need to show our children that reading is cool. That we just don’t read for exams.
Of course the sharing of things never stopped between my sister and I. After all we were the middle children and that meant sharing or hand me downs.
We shared agreat many things before and after that. But I am glad we shared the Little red hen.