If you know me very well, you know that I love words. I love them on fabric, I love them on notes, I love them on the wall, and I love them in books. They have more power than most things in life.
I had a nice gift this week found in the book, out of my mind by Sharon Draper. Enjoy...
Words.
I'm surrounded by thousands of worlds. Maybe millions.
Cathedral. Mayonnaise. Pomegranate.
Mississippi. Neapolitan. Hippopotamus.
Silky. Terrifying. Iridescent.
Tickle. Sneeze. Wish. Worry.
Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes-
each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched
in my hands.
Deep within me, words pile up in huge drifts. Mountains of
phrases and sentences and connected ideas. Clever expressions.
Jokes. Love songs.
From the time I was really little-maybe just a few months
old-words were like sweet, liquid gifts, and I drank them like
lemonade. I could almost taste them. They made my jumbled
thoughts and feelings have substance. My parents have always
blanketed me with conversation. They chattered and babbled.
They verbalized and vocalized. My father sang to me. My
mother whispered her strength into my ear.
Every word my parents spoke to me or about me I absorbed
and kept and remembered. All of them.
I have no idea how I untangled the complicated process
of words and thought, but it happened quickly and naturally.
By the time I was two, all my memories had words and all my
words had meanings.
But only in my head.
I have never spoken one single word. I am almost eleven
years old...
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