The first time I picked up a Shakespearean work I was in the third grade and I was at the public library with my mother. I was roaming the aisles looking for something with more meat than Ramona Quimby, not only because I had read all of the ones that were out, but also because my teacher told me that I had a high school reading level and so I had an inflated ego.
I remember pulling Romeo and Juliet off the shelf, and
Twelfth Night making this really loud, quite obnoxious thud as it came down
with it and fell on the ground. I remember the way it smelled, because to me,
books, especially older ones, have this very distinct scent that me and many
other bibliophiles have come to fall in love with. I remember opening it up and
reading the iconic line “Romeo, Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo?” and then
underneath “*Why are you called Romeo”. That moment was huge for me.
In that moment not only did I realize that I could read this
book and have bragging rights that not many third graders had (I remember my
teacher, Mrs. Pruitt laughing when I showed her what I had got) but I realized
that in the crazy world of literature, words meant something different than
what the reader initially thought. I realized that there was a whole world of
books written by really, really old people that said things that meant
something entirely different! And with that epiphany I decided to check it out.
I put twelfth night back, and have yet to read it.
But ever since that day in third grade I have spent my days
happily devouring whatever classic novels (and sometimes not so classic novels)
that I can get my hands on, always choosing Shakespeare over anything
else.
That one moment in the library shaped a large part of who I
am today. And my mom allowing me to check it out (even though the librarian
advised against it) opened the gates that led me down the path of English
teacher-ism.
Wherefore art thou English Teacher?
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