How I Became a Reader
How I Became a Reader As I grew up in a family of strict non-readers, becoming a reader in my house was hard to come by. My love of reading came slow, then all at once. When I started kindergarten at the young age of four, I picked up the skill quickly. Though the stories and short books I was given to read were dull and predictable, even at that age, I enjoyed reading them, if only because I found I was rather skilled at reading. When it came time for myself and each of my peers to demonstrate in a small test what level of reading we were able to comprehend, I was proud to be at the top of the class, reading books at the same level as students that appeared to be much older than I was. I liked reading only to show off; although, as reading goes, few of my peers were impressed. My teachers began to urge my parents to encourage my reading at home, and soon I was receiving Chapters gift cards from various aunts and uncles on each Birthday and gift-giving holiday. My first expedition into a Chapters store is likely what first hatched my obsession with books. It may have been the diverse range of colours and sizes of neatly shelved books, or the games and toys stacked in inviting displays, or the distinctive aroma of coffee and hot chocolate that drifted in from the neighbouring Starbucks. I was left to wander the store alone through the aisles of books that towered high over my head. I picked books off of the shelves based only on the colours and illustrations on the covers, then bought my first novels with my very own money. Soon after I devoured my first few well-written novels which have made me aware of the abilities of my imagination, the information novels have to share and the stress relief they can offer. One of the novels I picked out that day, Cornelia Funke’s Inkspell, was what I would argue first exposed me to the extent of my imagination. I chose this book because I was drawn by the intricate silver designs and fantastical pictures on the cover,