"You sure like books," he said. We were standing in my little library, and I was showing my visitor around the house. Ron was the original owner and builder of my river house. Super-nice guy and I felt like I already knew him from stories my friend Fisherman Willie has told. I was so happy to meet the person who created such a beautiful place here and to be able to express my gratitude. Thank you for the pantry in the kitchen and all the wonderful workspaces. Thank you for the huge back porch and for the front porch, too. Thanks for the wood shed with 2 years worth of wood! There is so much I am thankful for, being here.
"I hate to read," he confided to me. This is so sad to me. As a book-lover and teacher and parent, books open up worlds of new learning and possibilities. In my family when I've not talked to my sibs in a while, one of the first questions is: What are you reading?
This is what I would surmise about a book-hater, based on my experience in the education field: he has a learning disability OR he had crappy teachers. Or both. Strong feelings, positive or negative are created through conditioning. My nephew announced that he hated art last year. Who could hate art? Someone with a v. mean teacher. Yes, mean. Not even well-meaning. My nephew who is brilliant and smart and funny and whose favourite book when he was 6 months old was Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?
Hating books is not the same as hating raw green pepper. Perhaps we hate what we're not good at. Perhaps we avoid those things where we feel less than. Perhaps we are stuck in a pattern from a previous experience, and whenever we think about it we are transported back to all those sensations we initially felt. Perhaps it's helpful to think of resources we have now that could help us work through and create different associations now to those things we hate. And perhaps, we will then update ourselves into a new appreciation. For books or art or whatever. Perhaps.
