tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8340684.post112455150605380261..comments2024-03-24T09:36:51.494-04:00Comments on delagar: Goodman Speaksdelagarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18197857250240640822noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8340684.post-1124590771875968222005-08-20T21:19:00.000-05:002005-08-20T21:19:00.000-05:00Diana -- Where in Louisiana? I was in Jefferson P...Diana -- Where in Louisiana? I was in Jefferson Parish. Public schools. Not good. Librarians were vicious out there too. Not all of them -- enough, though.delagarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18197857250240640822noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8340684.post-1124579947200605072005-08-20T18:19:00.000-05:002005-08-20T18:19:00.000-05:00Well, I was learning to read in Louisiana, too. Th...Well, I was learning to read in Louisiana, too. The older boys used to let me read the books they had checked out of the school library, and when my mother found out it was because I wasn't allowed to check out books beyond my grade level, she went to the school and gave them hell. They changed the policy. It's one of the few positive memories I have of my mother.<BR/><BR/>A few years later, she would drop me off at the big library downtown while she went shopping, and that was a totally magic place for me. All the librarians kept an eye on me, and I read for hours. I can still remember the way the rooms smelled.<BR/><BR/>I used to check out Shakespeare's plays on LP and listen to them for hours. Chaucer, too. By the time I started junior high school, I understood enough Shakespeare to enjoy it. <BR/><BR/>I had really great teachers at all my schools. Perhaps I was lucky.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8340684.post-1124552258698305102005-08-20T10:37:00.000-05:002005-08-20T10:37:00.000-05:00I remember the first word that I read and it wasn'...I remember the first word that I read and it wasn't in a classroom but was written on the dirt by my next-door-neighbor. It was Mississippi and she made me sound it out. I think I was around four or five. AFter that, I sounded out every group of letters that I saw. I drove everyone crazy and I read everything including newspapers and their commentaries. When I was around eight, I learned about physcial abuse of children by reading the newspaper and how some men and women were over beating their children, like over beating the eggs and it was not good, mixed the recipe up and out came a bad cake or a ruined custard, so I think overbeating a child makes them, ugh what, over something. I later began to research abuse and realized that hitting wasn't about teaching the child something but was about the parent relieving frustration, getting rid of all the crap out of their system at the expense of the child's bottom. No matter how soft you hit, you still hit and how can you teach a child not to hit if you hit them. My daughter swatted my grandson on his diapered butt and I told her if she ever did that I again, I would take her to court and take him away. It was a tiny swat no mark no nothing but the look on my grandson's face killed me. No spankings. She was right. And by the way, I would have loved the internet too. I was born about thirty years too soon. But hey, can't fix that.zelda1https://www.blogger.com/profile/04212809913449846878noreply@blogger.com