Emphatically seconding Kristin's rec on the Fadiman. Wonderful book that rang all sorts of familiar bells.

My early educational reading was the first half of Fear of Flying by Erica Jong. When I was 11, I babysat for a couple who were involved in a Scottish dance/bagpipe troupe. Every Saturday I spent about 6 hours at their house taking care of their kids who were pretty self sufficient. I found the book one day, read half of it, then, when they arrived unexpectedly (because I was totally engrossed) I stuffed it under the edge of the couch. The next Saturday it had disappeared completely.

From school, from friends -- my moral code rested on the apparently unassailable fact that I needed them more.

This explains so much.

When I was a kid, I used to like to read out loud a lot. Sometimes alone...I still read and write by sound a lot...when I finish a page of my stuff I always read it out loud afterward. Good way to catch mistakes. Of course, that's probably why my descriptions are shit...I probably neglect the visuals. Ah, "Fear of Flying" one of my best dates in high school.

The only trouble I got into with books growing up was that I read them to the exclusion of doing other things that needed to be done. My mother would tell me to clean my room, and she'd come up half an hour later to find me deep in a book. I neglected homework in favor of reading. I'd be late for work because I was busy reading. Also, I would often start reading the same book she was reading and then she wouldn't be able to find it when she wanted to read it.

But there was never, as far as I can recall, anything that I wasn't allowed to read. I learned a lot about sex from Marion Zimmer Bradley, which my mother only found out about afterwards when we rented The Mists of Avalon on tape for a long family car trip (because it was my favorite book and my parents wanted to share it with me), and it turned out to be the abridged version, with lots of plotty stuff cut but all of the sex scenes intact. Picture twelve-year-old me trying to explain to my parents that the sex scenes weren't actually the reason why it was my favorite book...

The only trouble I got into with books growing up was that I read them to the exclusion of doing other things that needed to be done. My mother would tell me to clean my room, and she'd come up half an hour later to find me deep in a book. I neglected homework in favor of reading. I'd be late for work because I was busy reading.

This was me. Of course, now replace "reading" and a'book" with "the internet" and this IS me.

I finished my second Dana Stabenow mystery, A Cold Day For Murder, and enjoyed it as much as the first. I decided to stay with mysteries and picked up Laura Lippman's In Big Trouble. I am about half way through it and enjoying it also.

I remember getting into a little bit of trouble when I was young and was pushing myself to read well above my age level. My mother had no desire to have me more alienated from my classmates. She was a teacher and really opposed to grade jumping. I was probably a full grade ahead of my first grade in all subjects and 2-3 grades ahead in English. I actually think I would have been fine moving ahead, but my older brother had been accelerated in some subjects and did not adjust well at all.

Of course, now replace "reading" and a'book" with "the internet" and this IS me.

Yup, me too. And I spend a lot less time reading these days, now that I spend so much time online.

My parents never censored my reading. My sister tried, once. She's eight years older than me, and had a book that I, as a member in good standing of the annoying younger sisters association, borrowed without permission. It involved a woman being raped by ghosts. My sister was shocked that I was reading it and even more shocked that I seemed to understand what it was about (I was around 8 at the time).

My dad's one attempt to steer my tastes was time-mangement based as much as anything. My folks were too busy one weekend to take me to the library, and I was whining about having nothing to read. Dad took me to one of the cupboards that was officially "Dad territory", and opened it up to reveal Analog Science Fiction and Fantasy magazines going back to 1950. He told me that when I finished them I could then bug him about needing more reading material.

It took me a while.

I actually think I would have been fine moving ahead, but my older brother had been accelerated in some subjects and did not adjust well at all.

that happened to me, often. My parents made me take the AP exam, but wouldn't let me test out of any of the stuff in college, because my brother did that, and didn't adjust well.