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According to family lore, before I learned to read on my own, I made my parents read books to me over and over until I had them memorized and could pretend I was reading. I don’t remember that, but I do remember the first word I read.
My step-father, mom and I were in the car. This was long before child car seats, and I don’t even think we had seat belts. I was in the back seat plopped over the front seat as we approached a stop sign. My step-father had a nickname for me, Pots, and while we were stopped at the stop sign, he pointed to it and said, “hey Angie, it’s your name spelled backwards.”
I looked at the sign and in a moment that I still clearly remember, got it, that letters made up words and that words stood for things. The world opened to me and it was then that I knew what I wanted to be. A writer.