The True Love Of My Life At The Time

My parents would occasionally read to me when I was young, but my mother said that I couldn’t stand still long enough to have her read to me. She mentioned that I would instead lay where I could find a spot and block everyone out to read my book. I still enjoy reading, but

Ever since I was younger I have always tried staying away from reading. The only person in my family that likes to read is my mom; however, she does not read often. Once she picks up a book, she cannot put it down. My dad on the other hand, never picks up a book. He and I are one in the same; we do not like reading because we have a hard time comprehending what we read. My brother also does not like to read. He does not like reading because he has a learning disability. My mom always had an extremely tough time getting him to read. Overall, my literacy experiences at home are few and far between.

My love of reading blossomed when I was a child, because my parents showed me how wonderful reading is. There were countless nights when I remember myself as a little girl refusing to go to sleep before ‘tucking dad into bed’ by reading him a picture book. Not only did I uphold that tradition though, but my mother is a preschool teacher, so she gets really into reading out loud, and she would help me read books such as The Boxcar Children set, The Secret of NIMH and The Chronicles of Narnia weekly until I didn’t need help anymore.

My mother taught me how to read at a young age. She read to me before I could read which helped me learn new words and develop a basic understanding of literature at an early age. When it came time for me to attend elementary school, I remember heading to the library quite often. Books were organized based on what was thought to be the appropriate reading material for that grade level. I often found myself wandering down the isles with the older kids. I’m so grateful my mother encouraged reading as much as she did. If she hadn’t, it’s very possible I could have struggled with reading. If this were true, I wouldn’t have learned as much as I did, or had the desire to read, which is very important in order to become as advanced in literature as possible.

I can somewhat relate to that because I rarely saw my father pick up a book and just start reading. He would sometimes read the paper to stay caught up on the news, but hardly ever did I see a book in his hand. I do however remember my mother reading quiet often. She would just sit on the couch with her cup of coffee and read for hours. Shoemaker stats that “when I was younger, both my father and mother were never home to neither entertain nor read to my brother and I” (348). That was completely opposite with my mother and I. She would read all types of books to me like The Hungry Caterpillar, Giving Tree, or Dr Seuss. I don’t have a lot of memory of when I first learned to read, but according to her I didn’t read well until the end if Kindergarten. On the other hand, I do remember her taking my brother and I to the public library where she let us check out a maximum of four books each. We would mostly check out nonfiction sports books like biographies of athletes such as: LeBron James, Vince Carter, Allen Iverson, Mark McGwire and many

Some of my earliest memories of reading and writing took place in preschool. My former teacher, Mrs. Williams always made reading a fun and new experience which helped encourage us to read. I remember always being excited to read a new book as if I were embarking on a new adventure. My mother also encouraged me to read by reading to my brother and I at bedtime. She also gave us plenty of genres to choose from. Even though my dad did not reach much, my mom was very much interested in books about British crime mysteries. My brother, on the other hand, read anime’ comics and video game instruction pamphlets. Although reading has not been my strongest subject, the subject has always been part of my life.

Growing up, I was not a child who had interest in sitting down to read a book, like my mom. I am very grateful for my mom because she has pushed me to my limits with reading and writing. As a four year old child, the last thing on my mind was learning how to read. Every night, my mom would sit down with me and read for 15 minutes. She bought me a zebra finger pointer that I put on my index finger that guided me to follow along so, I would not lose my spot. Having my zebra helped my get through those dreadful 15 minutes.

I’ve always been an avid reader. When I was in elementary school, my mother would take my brother and I to the library every week to pick out books. I would take the books to school and read them all in one day. I loved reading so much that my teachers would call home and tell my parents that I was reading my library books during class instead of my textbooks. Reading has always been a major part of my life. I used to aspire to become an author. I even wanted to become an editor at one point. I used to make daily household newspapers and magazines for my entire family to read and enjoy. My strong love for reading certainly came in handy during my freshman year of high school.

When my mother asked me to read a book a few months ago, I was hesitant to agree. A stressful school year was approaching, and seeing my friends on a Saturday night seemed much more appealing. When I was younger, curling up with a good book was a typical pastime. Then came high school, and reading was replaced with countless hours of studying, cheer practice, and trying to figure out when I could catch up on some much needed rest.

In addition to reading and writing in my books, I would sit with my sister after she had checked out her books from the library at the school she attended. I’d wait until she finished, and then get her books and read as much as I could. The books she had checked that I had been really fond of would have to be the Clifford the Big Red Dog and Junie B Jones series. She didn’t really like to read so she would get small books and let me read them. After I had read her books, I would read other things around the house,I also liked to read the Sunday comics. It was around that time I discovered how much I liked to read. I read so much that by the time I had reached second or third grade, I didn’t have a reading level. I would just go into the library and get any book I wanted.

During my adolescent years, I wasn’t a reluctant reader or writer. I was aware that I had to read and write in order to obtain a good grade in my classes. Additionally, during my adolescent years before I was introduced to work and responsibilities, I would read an abundance amount of young adult books for pleasure. My adolescent years I would stop by the library and pick up several young adult books ever week after school. I would come home complete my homework and then lie down and read the book. I would get so hooked on the books that my mom would tell me please put the book down and speak to me, tell me how was your day. I would rush our mother daughter conversations so I could go back to my book.

My dad was always interested in plays and poetry, as well as reading about history. My mom was a very good student in highschool and throughout college, so she read many books and appreciated the literature she was introduced to over the years. Naturally, when they had me, their firstborn, literature would soon become a part of my life. I had to ask my mother about how I first learned to read, or how I was first introduced to literature at all, because I don't remember something so long ago. She said "I read to you even when you were in my stomach, so maybe I was just reading to myself, but I know that I read to you every night. After you were born too, and probably even a few years or so after you'd learned to read on your own." So, the idea of literature has always been a part of my life, since I was in my mom's stomach. The older I grew, the more I loved to read. The reading of bedtime stories became a nightly routine. Although we had an extensive selection of children's books at my house, it seemed that we were always getting more. I was enthralled by the movie Beauty and The Beast, so one day my mom surprised me with the book version. I was only 2 or 3 at the time. I would make my mom read that book over and over to me every night. I made her read it to me so much, that I eventually memorized it. I was only 3, so my mom thought that I was some sort of toddler genius, until she

As a child, I loved books. I loved the stories and brightly colored pictures. Most of the books I read left me smiling every time I read them. Now, just seeing the cover of a book I had read when I was young brings back fond memories. Even though I struggled with reading a bit growing up, I don’t remember it hindering my appreciation for it. I remember being really excited when it was time for my mom to read to me every night before bed. I enjoyed Dr. Seuss, The Rainbow Fish, The Big Hungry Bear, Tikki Tikki Tembo, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and many more (the list goes on and on). There were also several teachers I had that read to my classes on a daily basis. As I got into third and fourth grade, my teachers would start reading chapter

When I think back to the earliest reading moments of my life, I go back to remembering when I was around six years old. Every time the sun would start going down my mother and I would crawl into her bed and pull out a book. I would always get to choose what we would read that night. Most of the time I would pick Dick and Jane, Junie B. Jones, or Dr. Seuss books. Growing up, my mother always read to me every single night. I have always had a hard time with reading because of my dyslexia. My mother would always encourage me to read, and would tell me “ Practice. Practice. That are is the only way to get better. Practice makes perfection.”.

When I think of books, I can’t help but smile in anticipation of the journey I will embark upon from cover to cover, the secrets that will be revealed within their pages, the additions to my vocabulary I will collect as souvenirs, and the new avenues that will be excavated in the realm of my mind. Beginning as early as I can remember, books were read to me by my mother, my father and my sisters. The thrill of an outing to the public library while growing up in rural Wisconsin was every bit as exciting as a trip to the carnival or the circus because, as my earliest discoveries conveyed, books could take me any place. I believe I must have been born with a