Confession
time: my first love was not reading.
Gasp,
I know.
For
the longest time, I would pretend to read books as a way to get to recess
quicker or impress my teachers—even as a young child, I knew how to manipulate
my way in to rewards for all my “hard work.” Actually, I didn’t care to read
anything for a good deal of my kindergarten through second grade education.
Rather,
I spent a great deal of time dodging books as a way to get back at my mother
and father. I thought that by avoiding books, I was actually doing them a disservice, and they would feel
terribly guilty for grounding me for this or chastising me for that. Once, at
six years of age, I even wrote in a private journal that I would never read
again as a way to show my mom how angry I was.
I guess when your family runs a bookstore you have a warped sense of how
to show another person you have the upper-hand.
I’ll teach my
mom to ground me! I’m never reading again! Can you imagine?
No,
reading was not my fist favorite activity. Instead, I spent a great deal of
time with a controller in my hand and my eyes glued to the television. Yes,
dear readers, I’m afraid that I was a video games kid.
And
here’s another shocker: I still am.
