Betsy McGee Forester Day--Secret Reading and Learning to Write

Secret Reading

Some time ago Betsey McGee Forester Day started sitting in Daddy’s lap in the big nursery chair when he read to her.  She particularly liked the funny book with pictures about a little boy who has a tiger who is his best friend. It had quickly become clear that the words they were saying were in the bubbles above their heads. Betsy asked Daddy to follow the words with his fingers.  She couldn’t remember when she had figured out that bunches of letters together were words, written down words that could be read by anyone who knew what the bunches stood for. 

For several weeks she had paid more attention to the words in all the books that Daddy read more than the pictures. She would give a quick look at the picture and then follow Daddy’s finger. One day a word seemed to pop up from the page. Bed. It started with B just like Betsy. And she knew that D (for Dog and Day started with “duh.” There it was. B D. The little e (it was on the Menagerie Calendar too) must be the “eh”. Buh eh Duh. Bed. The first word she was able to read all by herself. The next one that jumped up was “fox”  F was for Forester and for . . . FOX! Fuh ah ksss!  And that was the sound of the funny cross letter—X—ksss!

Pretty soon she could read more and more words. When there was a hard bunch of letters she couldn’t understand she asked Daddy to reread that bit. Sometimes more than once. And then, suddenly, the words popped up from the page. Betsy was very careful not to let her parents know she could read. She was pretty sure that when she could read  books she would have to start reading them for herself and she would miss being read to terribly. She didn’t think Mother would be upset as she might if she knew she could get out of her crib whenever she wanted (foot over the top, slide down to the reading chair and there you were—do it backwards to get back in.)

Learning to Print

Now that she could read she thought it was time to figure out how to write. She was certain this would be much harder than reading.  She could see very well. That’s what you needed for reading.  But when she drew pictures she couldn’t make the lines do what she wanted the way that mother did. She knew her mother was an “Il lust rate or.”  That was someone who made pictures for books.  Her mother had a big desk with so many different drawers and shelves with different colors. Some were oily (very hard to wash off), some were water color (easier but they still stained), colored pencils and markers. And so many different kinds of brushes and pens and paper. 

After the day Mother had found that she had been studying her colors (especially the oily and the water ones) her mother had bought paper and colors just for her. She had to promise that she would only use her own (crayons and pencils) and NEVER touch Mother’s without permission. Betsy was disappointed but she decided this was fair. Today she had a plan that would help her learn how to write the most important words in the world—Betsy McGee Forester Day.

And then, as if by a magic thought, Mother was there! “Hello, there my little strawberry cuppercake! Did you have a good nap?”

“A really good nap, Mama.” She meant one short enough that it had allowed for lots and lots of thinking about things and making plans for a new project. 

“Do you need to potty?”

“No, just tinkle. I can do it myself  but wait for me in the hall in case I have ‘problem.’” Just recently Betsy had been allowed to go to the bathroom by herself. Her potty chair was gone and in its place a little stair and a little seat of her own on the big people’s potty. At first Mama had stayed inside with her in case she had “problems”—that meant having a hard time wiping. But now she could do “tinkle” by herself. AND flush the toilet. So she had convinced Mama to let her have “privacy” and do it herself. As long as she didn’t need to “potty.”  Wiping after potty was still a little hard.  Butterbutt was in the room with her, asleep in the bathroom rug in a streak of sunshine. She pulled up her pants and tiptoed down quietly and flushed the toilet as hard as she could.  Butterbutt opened her eyes but stayed where she was. Well, maybe next time. She stood on the little step in front of the sink to wash her hands. She didn’t do it as long as she was supposed to but she let the water run so Mama would think she had.

Mama opened the door (water running was the signal) and didn’t say anything but her face seemed to say “Problem?” 

“No problems.  Mama, I want to do a project.”

“Really? Did you want to help me bake cookies again?” (That had been their last project.) Betsy blinked three times and could see disappointment on Mama’s inside face. She thought she knew why. Mother used Betsy’s naptime to do her il lust rating.  Sometimes Betsy let her have a little time “on purpose.” But if she had her own project  . . .  “No, I would like my own project.  I’d like to draw something. But I need your help.”

“Of course. What do you want, crayons or pencils?” 

“Oh, I can get them out by myself. I need you to draw something so I can copy it.” Mother looked puzzled but pleased. When Betsy drew mother could go on with her own project for a while. 

“What would you like to draw? You like puppies. Do you want to draw a puppy?”

“No, I want to draw my name. Betsy McGee Forester Day.”

“Well, that’s not called drawing—it’s called printing.”

“Not writing?” asked Betsy, disappointed.

“Well it’s the kind writing that people start with. Later you learn cursive—that’s what people usually mean by writing.”

“Kur-siv?”

“That’s right, honey. I’ll be happy to print your name for you so you can write it.  And I’ll do something else. When I was little and learning to write we had tablets with lines on them to help us write straight. I’ll draw some lines on a piece of paper for you and then you can start.”

That began the longest quiet time that Mother and Betsy ever had.  Mother had said that she should start with the big letters (kap it all) because that’s the way everyone started. And she had written four bunches at the top of a page and filled the rest of the page with lines. Three lines together, three lines together, three lines together and asked Betsy if she would like to show her the first letter.  Betsy smiled and said:  “No, I want to do it all myself.  And she did it and did it and did it.