I think I was the last person in my grade to learn to read. I don’t remember picking up a book and understanding what was in it until the second grade—well past when the other kids in my well-to-do town had figured it out. As my godfather still brags, his three kids could all read by the time they were five. It’s not like I wasn’t read to at home. I was! My mom always read to me. The classic Berenstain Bears books were my favorite for a long time. Has anyone looked at those recently? Super problematic … Like bizarrely sexist, fatphobic, traditional family pushing problematic. But I loved them, and I guess I turned out okay. 

My mom even started reading Harry Potter to me before the movies came out (props Mom <3). And I loved those books—I loved books in general—but I still resisted reading. What can I say? I was a stubborn kid. In the second grade, I finally relented, and no—it wasn’t because of the as-seen-on-TV Hooked on Phonics my mom pushed on me (any nineties kids remember that?). I don’t know what triggered me to finally read, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. 

I missed quite a few days of middle school to stay home and read in my very cool, fuzzy purple chair. I distinctly remember staying home to read Twilight. I remember because when I asked my mom if I could stay home, she pretended to hem and haw about it for a minute before declaring that if I was going to stay home, I had to go with her to the mall to pick out candied nipple tassels. Yes, you read that correctly. I don’t remember why, exactly, my mom wanted candied nipple tassels, but I think it was for some sort of gag gift party. Suffice to say, she and my thirteen-year-old self had a very memorable trip to Spencers. 

I was the most prolific reader in my middle school. I know because we logged our reading hours, and it was a definite source of pride for me. I was completely enamored by fantasy books. In addition to Twilight, Deltora Quest, Inkheart, and the Redwall books were among my favorites. Side note: despite how much I read, I always struggled with spelling. In the last week of sixth grade, I got a 20/100 on a spelling test. My efforts were so bad, my teacher thought I was trying to be funny—like I was performing an end-of-year prank. I wasn’t … She called me out in front of everyone, and I just laughed and shrugged and told her I couldn’t spell. “Ee” versus “ea” is still my kryptonite. 

Anyway, I read a lot less in high school for sheer lack of time. My highly esteemed public high school gave us hours and hours of homework to complete each night—mostly busy work—that I honestly wish I’d neglected in favor of reading. But I was not immune to the pressures of school even if my parents never checked to make sure I did my homework, so I very sadly wasted many hours of my life.