Sharon Fiffer

When I turned 7, my dad took me to the Kankakee Book Store and told me to pick out any book that I wanted for my birthday present.  We didn't have a lot of books in our house, but my dad revered education, his own cut short by the Depression.  Dad was so proud that I was such an advanced reader.

I picked out the fattest book I could find--more pages meant more stories.  Good Housekeeping's Best Book of Bedtime Stories.

My dad handed it to the woman behind the cash register, who adjusted her glasses and asked, "Will you be reading this to her?"

My dad told her it was a book for me to read to myself.

"This is too difficult for her."

It's important to know that my dad and mom owned a tavern, The E Z Way Inn.  My mom was there, tending bar, while my dad had slipped away with me to buy me my present. I could tell my dad was annoyed with this woman who was now delaying us.

"Sharon, can you read this book?"

While I looked up at my dad and nodded, the woman shook her head.  "She says she can, but it's too difficult for her."

My dad took the book from the woman, opened it and handed it to me. "Read it for her, Sharon."

I read the page aloud.  No mistakes.

The woman blushed and apologized and rang up the sale.

Back at the E Z Way Inn, Dad bragged to my mother and all the regulars at the bar about how I'd read for the saleswoman.  He chuckled over this story for years--and I treasure the book to this day.