I know my parents read to me from those things you're supposed to read out to children (twenty page versions of Disney's Cinderella, that sort of thing), but apparently when we went to stores (Tesco's? No idea where) when they put me down (I must have two to three, because this was pre-birth-of-sibling) I would run away to the book section. After a while they stopped running after me because they knew I'd be there, minded by a store employee. I would be looking at the books, all agog.

Obviously, they let me, and they bought books for me, and they read to me, and made sure I learned to read so tat by the time I was six I could read and left them in peace to do it by myself. But according to them, I loved books enough that I loved reading in its turn.