I was quite the avid reader at a very young age.
I can remember taking piles of books with me on long family road trips with my parents. During the many five hour drives to visit my mother’s folks in Walton in upstate New York and during the 2 day drive down I-95 to A1A in Daytona Beach Florida where my father’s parents had a condo right across the street from the ocean.
I read mostly biographies, stories of the lives of famous people like Thomas Edison, FDR, Joan of Arc and Amelia Earhart. Most notably I read any and all age appropriate, or not, books on the subject of the witch trials in the early 1800’s. I read them not because I respected these poor martyrs and wanted to hear their stories but because they had some really cool pictures and descriptions of various torture devices, methods and implements.
My intent interest in all this did not worry my mother at all for some reason.
My intent interest in all this did not worry my mother at all for some reason.
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