Reading Glasses

y love of reading began long before I could actually read words. My reading began with picture books and I relied on sight and my imagination to tell the story. My vision was great for I saw the beautiful pictures with the aid of my rose colored glasses.

I took my rose colored glasses with me along all my picture reading journeys. I didn't need words to depict a story. For, the dark clouds that emerged from the pearly white page was merely a promise of a gentle spring shower that would beckon brilliant flowers to bloom from beneath the muddy soil. There were no sad faces, nor tears on the children that romped about the page. Their happiness, though hidden well was there, for a raindrop had kissed their cheek and the mud caressed their feet into silent laughter.

Elementary school took me to a higher reading level. I learned words that required more than an imagination and a much clearer vision. Eagerly, I'd gather words, understand their definitions and apply them to the pictures. Many stories that once beckoned me by their bright and cheerful covers, now sustained me and I drowned within their depths.

The stories took on new meaning as the words described what my imagination could not. For I was now reading well beyond the pictures. The dark clouds that gathered were a sign of a torrential downpour that threatened to flood the valley. The children were not happy that the rain was cascading down their faces. They were frightened as they scurried about looking for shelter. I slowly learned that my imagination, though a useful tool, did not always read the truth. Over time my rose colored glasses faded as the lens prescription became sharper. I traded in their rubber flexible frame for unbendable aluminum. I continued on my reading journey with a thirst for new knowledge and an insatiable appetite for descriptive words.

Upon reaching High School, the picture books all but faded. Now and then among the chapters of text and reading books a picture emerged. It showed only a mere glimpse into the true story. My vision fought to focus with the aid of my imagination, but alas I had no choice but to trade my prescription for a more astute lens with hardened steel frames to support them. My vast store of descriptive words forced my vision to see clearly the story in all it's detail. My imagination no longer runs wild as I read. It works hand in hand with words and produces a movie in my mind. I can visualize the environment, the landscape and the structures. I can feel, the love, pain, joy, happiness and many other emotions of a story's character. Words have come to life upon a page and I read well with the aid of my astute lenses held securely to my mind with the hardened steel frames.

Every so often, I close my minds knowledge of words and I put on a pair of rose colored glasses. My children, whom still exercise an unrestrained imagination, climb onto my lap with a picture book and happiness consumes me. They read with their heart and imagination, for their rose colored glasses have not yet faded. The dark clouds that emerged from the pearly white page are a promise of a gentle spring shower that beckons the brilliant flowers to bloom beneath the muddy soil. The children are happy that a raindrop has kissed their cheek and that the mud caressed their feet into laughter.

Aaahh!
The beauty to see when we read through rose colored glasses.