The first book I remember reading was Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. It was a slim little volume with a hardboard cover and a gold colored spine from the series called Golden Book, probably purchased in a grocery store.              I remember writing my name in crayon on Santa’s list and I remember crying when the other reindeer wouldn’t let Rudolph play in any reindeer games. And I remember feeling vindicated, I didn’t know the word, but I knew the feeling, by that foggy Christmas Eve in which Rudolph was allowed to shine literally and figuratively.