I don't remember it, but my mom has told me about when she discovered that I could read. She came home from work, saw me sitting on the floor reading a book out loud, and thought, "Oh, how cute--she's pretending to read that book, when she has obviously memorized it from us reading it to her." That's when she saw it was a new book, and she hadn't read it to me yet. She asked Dad if he'd read it to me, and he hadn't. She pulled out the flash cards, which I zoomed through, turned to Dad, and told him that I'd apparently taught myself to read.

I don't have any distinct memories of having reading be an unusual activity for me. My earliest book-related memory was Christmas 1972 at Grandma's house, when my godmother (Aunt Evelyn) brought me my present. I was stunned when I ripped off the paper, because she gave me the entire boxed set of Little House books. I'd never gotten that many books at once before!! My mom had to stop me from immediately pulling out the first book to read.

I read this thread and then I went to the library and then I couldn't remember any of the stuff I'd decided I was going to get. So I came home with a bunch of kayaking stuff. Inefficient.

My first book. Which I still have (in two pieces; the book and the binding have completely separated) and have read to Matilda more than a few times. I still love it so, so much.

I have no idea what my first book was.

Dylan reading Sammy The Seal.

(Ok, it's not really reading - he's got the book memorized. But still pretty damn cute, I think.)

My first book was "The Amiable Giant". I liked it because it had my name in the title.

The earliest book of mine that I still have is my copy of The Reluctant Dragon, but that only dates to 2nd grade or so.

ETA: Oh, I do remember sitting with my sister over our family copy of Ferdinand the Bull (the red cover with the Munro Leaf illustration on it) and reading it together. I was probably in kindergarten then. We nicknamed our dog Ferdinand (even though the dog was a she) just because she was such a lazy dog, which English bulldogs tend to be.

Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators

Okay, help me out here - wasn't there a story in one of those books where the kids were kidnapped and part of the coded message they sent home was "Peggy's as good a name as any" - referring to some non-existent pet or something - which was supposed to translate into "Pegasus" and give some clue to where they were? I HATED that, it has always stuck with me as just so illogical. I think that's the first time I got kicked right out of a story and went, "Huh?"

Generally I liked those books, but I think I read them when I was a little older and a little more aware as a reader. I'm sure there were plenty of "huh?" moments in the Cherry Ames books, too, but I zoomed right over them.

Black Stallion went alien!?! I definitely didn't read far enough in that series.

I don't have my first book but I do have my first "chapter book": Key to the Treasure by Peggy Parish. I loooooved that book. So much so that my dad got sick of seeing me read it and put it on top of the fridge so I'd have to tea something else. Years later I found out there was a sequel--had he only known!

Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators.

I went through a bunch of those when I was a kid. My biggest disappointment (as with Scooby Doo) was that the supernatural stuff was always faked.

A childhood (early teen era) book that made a big impression: anybody else ever read House of Stairs?