Oh, how sad! neither of my parents are readers, but thank heaven when they realized I was (I remember it, although couldn't tell you when it was, probably when my 2nd grade teacher told them I was woefully deficient in math, but very advanced in reading), the library was the next stop, then the BX for a set of flash cards! I'm exaggerating of course, but definitely close together. Probably the flash cards first. During the school year I had to concentrate on school, but in the summers I got a biweekly trip to the library. Heaven!!! My mother's cry was, "Claire, get your G-D nose out of that book and go outside and play! NOW!" She loved that I read, but she'd been an athletic kid (I had two left feet and a bad sense of balance and bad depth perception. To this day, throw me a ball and my instinct is to put my hands over my face and duck to make sure it doesn't hit my glasses and give me two black eyes!).
There are times that I wonder what Mom thought when she realized I was so different from her? She did "go with the flow" (we're talking early 60s here, not in a hippie atmosphere, certainly not in the military) and make sure, although they couldn't afford to buy them, that I had all the books I wanted to read ... as long as my homework was done!
I was so lucky that my military Dad was just as book hungry as I was.