Mine was mostly my mother, though to my dad's credit he's the one who exposed me to the hefty material. He coached at colleges from my 3rd grade year until I was in high school. He spent summers at the school running the camps and living in the dorms with the players, which is where I stayed when I visited for the summer. There would be boxes full of college text books for me to read.

You really can't dream up a paradise better than reading dusty old classics in darkened corridors of a dorm hall or out on the lawn of Ole Miss.

We always had books around the house, but what I wanted to get my hands on was the huge Encyclopaedia Britannica that lurked in the mahogany case in the living room. My folks bought it for my oldest sister, along with the yearly updates, in the first flush of mid-'50s ideal parenthood. Unfortunately, I was always told not to touch them. I don't think anyone ever used them for anything. The last time I was home, probably twenty years ago now, I looked at them and realized that, as a grown-up, I could probably be trusted with them. I pulled one out, and, swear to God, my mother twitched in automatic protest before she caught herself. I think it was a case of "those are important/valuable/the good set, mustn't use them and mess them up" gone berserk.

I remember the year I wanted headphones for my record player for Christmas. My mother: "You'll just put those on, put on the Star Wars sound track and never come out." I don't think my family quite understood where my brain was. I was honestly told, "Put down that book and watch TV with the rest of us." And this in a family that valued education. Perhaps they didn't like the way I dove into a book and ignored everyone else.

I assume we all got the old "No reading at the dinner table" thing? Yeah, that's what I thought.

But dinner in front of the TV was perfectly fine. Folding trays and everything. I'd be over on the couch behind my tray with a book open on the couch beside me.

I frequently got "stop reading and go outside and play," because my mother was pretty insistant on us getting some exercise every day. I'd usually just go read on a swing, or climb a tree and sit in the branches reading.

I was never told not to read. I was even allowed to stay up and read in my room until I fell asleep. I think mom figured I was unlikely to just drop off, and better to have me reading than tossing and turning. Reading at the table was no problem since I was an only latchkey kid, so no parent for dinner. Otherwise we were at the tennis courts where no one really cared what I did.

Funnily enough, I found book-a-thons counterproductive for my reading habits. I was fine when it was for my own pleasure, but I have a peculiar stubborn streak at times when someone else is trying to tell me what to do.

I was allowed to read at the table if I was eating by myself, but not at family meals.

I picked up love of books at home. Both my parents read a lot, and some of my earliest memories are of my mother taking me to the library, and the vaguely musty book-smell, and having to stand on tiptoe to place my books on the check-out counter.

My parents still don't like when we read at the table. Though I suspect newpapers might get a pass. Table's for either eating or talking. Growing up in Jamaica, eating in front of the TV wasn't really an issue. We did have one house in England with a TV in the kitchen, and that was tolerated.

We were never allowed to read at the table. It wasn't even an issue, or something I'd try to sneak by -- it was something that was just Not Done.