(Written on February 8th, 2013. This is baby Liv learning how to write stuff. She's not terrible.)
I think I shall forever love holding a book in my hands. The smell, the feel, and even the
sound of the paper adds to the pleasure. Yet, I believe books are much more than simply handling the pages between your fingers. When I read, I feel, know, and breathe the story! The words fill my mind and heart, and the emotions summoned up are almost magical. Books are my silent adventures; I am definitely what one would call an avid reader.
At age four, I discovered my passion for words. Even before I entered into kindergarten, I itched to know the secrets books held. I was an independent, spunky, and somewhat defiant toddler. I still possess those (somewhat unfortunate) traits to a degree today, and they have contributed to my interest in reading. At that young age, I read simply because I wanted to, and I learned to read quickly and easily. Quite often my dad and mom would find me fast asleep in the closet, surrounded by mounds of picture books. Soon the time came for me to start school. “School is so fun, Olivia! You’ll love it,” my mom would say with a smile. She’d then go on to tell me about how exciting homework was, how I could sit at a little desk in a class of friends, and how we could all read books together. I was utterly ecstatic when kindergarten finally arrived!
Starting public elementary school in the small, seaside town of El Segundo, California was a dream. I skipped to class with a smile on my five-year-old face every day. I loved my teacher, I loved bringing snacks in my lunchbox, and I loved learning! However, the school administration soon realized that I was academically advanced, and I was immediately sent to the older grades’ Reading and English classes. I didn’t find it difficult at all however; in fact, I thought it to be amusing. As the years progressed, I was continuously moved to higher levels. I have a memory of sitting in a fourth grade class during English when I was just seven years old. We were picking out the verb phrases in sentences the teacher read aloud to us. Let’s just say I was particularly good at it, and I made sure everyone else knew it. I was being as obnoxiously sweet as I could. By the end of class, all the fourth-graders moaned when I raised my hand, and glared when I got the answers right. I glared right back at them! It must have been a sign of my retaliatory nature, I suppose. I still adored those beautiful books, however. I could still be found with a fantasy and a flashlight, hiding under my sheets past ten o’clock at night!
I think I shall forever love holding a book in my hands. The smell, the feel, and even the
sound of the paper adds to the pleasure. Yet, I believe books are much more than simply handling the pages between your fingers. When I read, I feel, know, and breathe the story! The words fill my mind and heart, and the emotions summoned up are almost magical. Books are my silent adventures; I am definitely what one would call an avid reader.
At age four, I discovered my passion for words. Even before I entered into kindergarten, I itched to know the secrets books held. I was an independent, spunky, and somewhat defiant toddler. I still possess those (somewhat unfortunate) traits to a degree today, and they have contributed to my interest in reading. At that young age, I read simply because I wanted to, and I learned to read quickly and easily. Quite often my dad and mom would find me fast asleep in the closet, surrounded by mounds of picture books. Soon the time came for me to start school. “School is so fun, Olivia! You’ll love it,” my mom would say with a smile. She’d then go on to tell me about how exciting homework was, how I could sit at a little desk in a class of friends, and how we could all read books together. I was utterly ecstatic when kindergarten finally arrived!
Starting public elementary school in the small, seaside town of El Segundo, California was a dream. I skipped to class with a smile on my five-year-old face every day. I loved my teacher, I loved bringing snacks in my lunchbox, and I loved learning! However, the school administration soon realized that I was academically advanced, and I was immediately sent to the older grades’ Reading and English classes. I didn’t find it difficult at all however; in fact, I thought it to be amusing. As the years progressed, I was continuously moved to higher levels. I have a memory of sitting in a fourth grade class during English when I was just seven years old. We were picking out the verb phrases in sentences the teacher read aloud to us. Let’s just say I was particularly good at it, and I made sure everyone else knew it. I was being as obnoxiously sweet as I could. By the end of class, all the fourth-graders moaned when I raised my hand, and glared when I got the answers right. I glared right back at them! It must have been a sign of my retaliatory nature, I suppose. I still adored those beautiful books, however. I could still be found with a fantasy and a flashlight, hiding under my sheets past ten o’clock at night!
Third grade, when my family moved to Queen Creek, Arizona, was the start of a new
chapter in my story. The charter school I enrolled in was unlike any school I could have
imagined! Everyone was smart, each student was driven, and all of them were good readers. I
struggled bitterly to keep up with the rigorous homework and tests. In consequence of my late-
night reading sessions in the dark, I had to get glasses that same year. However, with a little of
my spunk and determination, I was soon able to rise to the top of my class. I found it incredibly
invigorating to find out that I had earned the highest score on the spelling test, or that my poetry
recitation was the best given. I grew to be respected among my peers, and I became known as
“the smart girl.”
Although I didn’t know it at the time, my spontaneous love for reading was waning fast! It was now all about the thrill of being the best in the class, and looking at those beautiful straight A’s on my report card at the end of each term was like gazing into the mirror at a row of orthodontically straightened teeth at the end of a 2-year treatment. They appeared genuine and natural, but they were actually manufactured and manipulated by force in order to seem that way, the perfect line. I felt like I had to achieve greatness in the eyes of the school system, so, I dedicated myself to meeting and exceeding their expectations. I read classic literature only when compelled by assigned reports, and by the time I entered junior high, my voluntary choice of books consisted of only the Harry Potter series. Throughout seventh and eighth grade, I continued to attain stellar grades in every subject, and I lived up to my reputation as “the smart girl,” but I had no confidence at all! I had slipped unawares into the mudslide of popular thought: learning is drudgery, and school is all about having a good time. My eighth grade year concluded in conflict.
That following summer, I was just treading water. I remember struggling with the decision of where I would attend high school. I had always planned to simply “jump on the conveyor belt” through the public high school system just like everybody else, yet now that this crucial decision was at my door, I felt panicked and pressured! Countless options buzzed around my head, but I could catch none. Because my imagination was smothered by this time, I did not think to read at all, especially not to find the answers to my problems. After all, reading for self- improvement is preposterous, right?
Although I didn’t know it at the time, my spontaneous love for reading was waning fast! It was now all about the thrill of being the best in the class, and looking at those beautiful straight A’s on my report card at the end of each term was like gazing into the mirror at a row of orthodontically straightened teeth at the end of a 2-year treatment. They appeared genuine and natural, but they were actually manufactured and manipulated by force in order to seem that way, the perfect line. I felt like I had to achieve greatness in the eyes of the school system, so, I dedicated myself to meeting and exceeding their expectations. I read classic literature only when compelled by assigned reports, and by the time I entered junior high, my voluntary choice of books consisted of only the Harry Potter series. Throughout seventh and eighth grade, I continued to attain stellar grades in every subject, and I lived up to my reputation as “the smart girl,” but I had no confidence at all! I had slipped unawares into the mudslide of popular thought: learning is drudgery, and school is all about having a good time. My eighth grade year concluded in conflict.
That following summer, I was just treading water. I remember struggling with the decision of where I would attend high school. I had always planned to simply “jump on the conveyor belt” through the public high school system just like everybody else, yet now that this crucial decision was at my door, I felt panicked and pressured! Countless options buzzed around my head, but I could catch none. Because my imagination was smothered by this time, I did not think to read at all, especially not to find the answers to my problems. After all, reading for self- improvement is preposterous, right?
In an effort to help, my parents booked me for a seminar geared toward youth, where a
lineup of experts were to speak about preparing the upcoming generation for leadership. I was
happy to go, but I was sure it would not be anything special. For others who were present, it
probably was more of the same academic drudgery they were used to. Yet for me, it was quite the
opposite. I listened with a sincere interest, which I had been a stranger to for a long time. The
speakers’ passion for words rekindled my own fiery desires from my childhood. “After all, words
are my passion, too,” I remembered. They spoke of our world today, and how this generation of
youth is needed to stand out, and to rise to the challenge of true scholarship! They told us to take
control of our educations, and that we can learn through the beautiful, timeless, classic works in
all subjects. Although those renowned authors have long since passed on, they can still inspire us
with their words and lessons. That day, I vowed to take my education by the horns and get the
courage to ride it out. I chose to leave the public system and chart my own academic course, with
my trusty books at my side.
Now, my palette of literature has changed for the better. As I taste of the truths of human nature from Charles Dickens and of the passions of patriotism from Abraham Lincoln, I understand the world in a different way than before! The Count of Monte Cristo, Anne Shirley of Green Gables, and Sherlock Holmes have become newfound friends. With good books on my shelves and in my heart, I am learning from history’s great thinkers to think for myself. And what is more, my desire to discover the secrets of words is renewed! I reach new places each time I pick up a book, and the beautiful words take me there. Now I read to learn. I read to escape the troubles of today. I read to understand the world around me. Once more, books truly are my silent adventures.
Now, my palette of literature has changed for the better. As I taste of the truths of human nature from Charles Dickens and of the passions of patriotism from Abraham Lincoln, I understand the world in a different way than before! The Count of Monte Cristo, Anne Shirley of Green Gables, and Sherlock Holmes have become newfound friends. With good books on my shelves and in my heart, I am learning from history’s great thinkers to think for myself. And what is more, my desire to discover the secrets of words is renewed! I reach new places each time I pick up a book, and the beautiful words take me there. Now I read to learn. I read to escape the troubles of today. I read to understand the world around me. Once more, books truly are my silent adventures.