My mother was born in Ireland, but moved to England when she was three years old. She was an English teacher before becoming a housewife. Many of her books were from European authors. Enid Blyton was the first children's author I became interested in as a result. I loved her writing.
I was set on the path to reading at a very early age — three years old or so. My mother would read to me in her big bed and I would gaze avidly over her arm at the book; usually Enid Blyton's Amelia Jane Series or The Magic Faraway Tree by Blyton as well.
As I got older, I would correct my mother's reading: "It says 'the apple' mommy, not 'an apple'". By the time I was five and a half, my parents and I lived in America, and I started first grade here. My teacher was none too happy that I could read by the time I got to school! My mother and I still had our little ritual as I grew up until I was about eight or so.
The seeds of a love of reading were planted though; I was reading chapter books at recess, much to the other children's shock. I was the class bookworm, I had stock in the Scholastic Reading Club. I raised the most money for diseases when my school had reading drives.
My father never really read for pleasure, but he shelled out more money than he ever knew for my "habit"! Not that he ever begrudged me, but he was a math teacher and couldn't understand why I struggled a little with math and breezed through in English.
When I was a teenager, I broadened my reading tastes: Carrie by Stephen King, Witches by Kathryn Meyer Griffith and any adult horror book I could get my hands on. Yes, horror books were my favorite. Again, my parents didn't curb my reading tastes. I never read young adult books per se; I pretty much chose my books and could censor myself if need be.