I taught myself how to read and write again during those last two weeks of summer with my new mother, Ruth Day. She was determio keep me inside or within earshot or in her line of vision, and I happily obliged her. Reading, of course, is merely associating symbols with sounds, memorizing the binations, rules and effects, and, most important, the spaces between words. Writing proved more difficult, primarily because one had to have something to say before fronting the blank page. The actual drawing of the alphabet turned out to be a tiresome chore. Most afternoons, I practiced with chalk and an eraser on a slate, filling it over and over with my new name. My mrew ed about my pulsive behavior, so I finally quit, but not before printing, as ly as possible, "I love my mother." She was tickled to find that later, and the gesture earned me aire peach pie, not a slice for the others, not even my father.
The y of going to sed grade quickly eroded to a dull ache……（内容加载失败！）
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