How I learned to read

When I was very little, one of my favorite forms of entertainment was listening to records. I had my own bulky record player and my own set of Disney records in my childhood bedroom. But I was even more intrigued by the record cabinet in the dining room, full of classical music on 78 and original cast recordings of Broadway musicals on 33.  My favorite was Fiddler on the Roof.  This was long before home video, even before the movie version of the musical came out on the big screen.  I had no context on which to base my love of the record – it all came down to the music.  I could sing all of the songs – I can vividly remember singing and dancing along to Matchmaker, Matchmaker.

One day a paperback copy of the libretto to Fiddler on the Roof appeared. I don’t remember receiving it as a gift. I don’t remember learning how to find where the songs began. But according to my father, I learned to read by matching the lyrics to the recording.

Later, of course, when cable television arrived and VCRs were all the rage, I got to see the film version of Fiddler on the Roof. I could finally visualize the characters and I had a context into which to put all those songs I had learned by heart. I understood how Tevye’s five daughters were both a blessing and a curse, and how his complicated relationship with them was explored through song. In my memory, I watched the film with my father. In my memory, mine were not the only eyes filled with tears. It’s a movie I can’t watch very often, because of the flood of memories and emotions it brings.

Over the years, I have collected three or four of these bright yellow paperbacks decorated by Tom Morrow with figures reminiscent of Chagall. Most of the copies of Fiddler on the Roof are gifts from my father, a reminder not only of how I learned to read, but of the special connection fathers have with their daughters.