At two or three years old, I remember learning about books. They were the Little Golden Books, with hard cardboard covers. I could see just enough to get an idea of the pictures, and of course I couldn’t read the titles. My favorite was The Little Engine That Could by Watty Pieper. Mom wore out that book, reading it over and over, and the little engine always made it up the mountain with its “I think I can! I think I can!”
Children like stories, and they enjoy them, even though they don’t really understand the words. I had no idea what an engine looked like. Trains I heard go by, but they were just noise and shadows. When I rode one, it was like a bus, only noisier. But it was the sound and the rhythm of the book I first enjoyed.