My Life I Hate Reading

806 Words4 Pages
First things first, I’m not like most kids. In my seventeen years of life, I have never once fallen prey to the typical student mindset of “man, I hate reading.” The story of my life as a reader has nothing to do with learning to appreciate what literature has to offer. It’s a story of me learning how to accept myself, as well as being inspired to better myself, with the help of books. It all started when I was about six years old. Every single night, without fail, one of my parents would read to me a few pages from A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle. I knew every nook and cranny of that story. By Christmas of that year, I had finally gotten to the point where I could read well, so as a gift, my grandfather bought me a copy to read all on my own. A Wrinkle in Time opened my eyes to the world of literature, and for that I’m very grateful. The next book that truly stuck with me was The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. I absolutely fell in love with the porcelain bunny from Egypt Street, because he reminded me of myself - spoiled, and selfish, and not very friendly. Finally being able to see myself reflected in a protagonist helped create a sense of self-esteem in me from an early age. If Edward Tulane could have a happy ending, so could I. By late elementary school, my life a reader, as well as my life as writer, began to blossom. Those two worlds actually collided when I began to read the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series by Rick Riordan. I

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