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May 18, 2026

I grew up watching the show Reading Rainbow in the 80's. Before I ever knew what genre I liked or what kind of stories pulled me in, that show cracked the door open and said, "Hey, there's a whole world in here if you want it." And I did. Badly.

There was something about the way the show treated reading. Not as homework or something adults forced on you, but as an adventure you get to choose. Every episode felt like someone handing you a key to a new place. LeVar Burton would introduce a book, talk about it with this calm excitement that never felt fake, and suddenly I'd want to read everything. Not just the book of the week, but everything I could get my hands on.

The show didn't talk down to kids, but it also didn't sugarcoat things. It trusted you to understand big feelings and big ideas, and that mattered more than I realized at the time. When you're young and the world feels confusing, stories become a place you can go where things make sense. Or at least where you're allowed to feel whatever you're feeling.

Looking back, Reading Rainbow didn't just ignite my love of reading; it made reading feel like a companion. A safe place. A doorway. It taught me that books weren't just objects; they were experiences. They were escapes. They were answers to questions I didn't know how to ask yet.

And honestly, that spark never went away. It's the same spark that pushes me to write. The same spark that makes me want to create stories someone else might escape into, even for a little while. The same spark that has me exploring ideas about starting a series aimed toward tweens, hoping to ignite a love of reading in a screen-based world.

This post is a thank you to a show that helped shape the way I see stories. A reminder that sometimes the things we loved as kids end up being the foundation for the things we build as adults.

And as LeVar Burton always said at the end of each show, "I'll see you next time."