Please Don't Ask Me When I Last Read a Book

“What’s the last book you read?” I was asked during a recent interview.

I was certain they were looking for something profound.  My Own Words by Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  Think Like a Monk by Jay Shetty.  Born a Crime by Trever Noah.  The Warm of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson.  The Truths We Hold by Kamala Harris.

“Harry Potter and the Sourcer’s Stone,” I blurted out.  “You know, the first book in the series where Harry goes to Hogwarts,” I went on to explain.

I stunned them into silence.  I stared blankly into the camera.  They stared blankly back at me.

I knew it.  I should have lied.  I should have said Born a Crime.  It was too late to recover from this question.

“I am also reading a lot of BOB books, Peppa Pig, and Dr. Seuss,” I continued as they burst out laughing.  Now I was just joking.  Or at least they thought I was.  

What’s the last book you read?

My response:   Who has time to read an entire book in a pandemic?  

Perhaps the answer to that question lies in what your journey has been like during these last 32 weeks.

When I have two little people who constantly demand my attention in this pandemic, I don’t get to pee in peace never mind read in peace.  I have tried to read while they watch a movie, and they shout “Mommy, Mommy, please watch with us!”  I have tried to read while it was mandatory alone time, and I dozed off on the couch for ten minutes.  I have tried to read first thing in the morning, and instead am running around begging the kids to brush their teeth, change out of their PJs, and stuff some toast and milk in their face.  I have two books sitting on my dresser, and as I get ready for bed, I instead find myself flipping between CNN and reruns of Keeping Up with the Kardashians as I fall asleep.  I have tried make a cup of tea on a Sunday afternoon, and sit quietly at the kitchen table with a book after setting up arts and crafts for the kids.  I usually get two pages in before my fingers are blue and red, with pieces of construction paper stuck to my ripped jeans,  and glitter sprinkled in my hair.

Where did my love of reading go?

Oh, how I used to love reading.  When I was in the fifth grade, I won an award from Woodland Elementary School for reading the most books in an entire summer.  Every week I was at the library checking out all kinds of books.  I enjoyed reading so much.  From morning until night, I read every single book I could get my hands on.  I would wake up reading with books piled at the edge of my bed, and I would fall asleep reading with a book by my pillow.  

And yes, that love of reading, that was before I had kids.

I think the last book I actually finished reading was Michelle Obama’s Becoming.  And I think that took me about 9 months to complete.  With stops and starts and restarts.  Reading chapters I didn’t remember reading.  Maybe I should put Becoming back on the list to read in 2022.

All of this un-reading led me to ponder the following question.  Can you unlearn how to read?  The other day I saw the word “amorphous” and did a double-take.  Does that mean to show love?  Does that mean to pay off your debt?  Does it mean to lack morals?  Does it mean that something is full of holes?

I finally had to shout: Hey Alexa, what does amorphous mean?  Alex explained that it meant to have no shape or no form.  Hmm.  Amorphous.  That just about summarized how I was feeling during this pandemic.

Well, the good news is my selection of reading materials has expanded beyond Green Eggs and Ham.  It now includes Curious George.  Captain Underpants.  Dog Man.  Magic Tree House.  And we are about to start Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets.

So please don’t ask me when I last read a book.  And please don’t ask me when I last listened to a book either.  In case you have forgotten, it’s still a pandemic, and my children are still howling and asking for more grapes and Cheez-it’s as I ponder what book I should lie and pretend to have read next time someone asks me that question.