I am not a professional reader, nor am I a professional writer. As a matter of fact, I don’t like writing at all, but then writing is a part of life. I was only 6 years old when I started to take an interest in reading and also started to learn how to read. My grandmother was a greater reader. She would read to me all the time and encourage me to read anything I could get my hands on. I would always see her with a book during her spare time.
I remember when I was young and my grandmother decided to take me to the library with her. She put me into “The Little Readers Club” while she went off to look for books to read. In the club we were told to look for a book and read it and then share what the book was about. I remember getting up and look at all the shelves filled with thousands and thousands of books. I remember thinking, “how could a person write so much and not run out of words?” putting aside my curiousity, I searched for a book and found a book called “Spaghetti in a hot dog bun.” After I picked the book I came and sat down and saw all the other kids smiling and reading their books like they were professionals as I sat there not knowing how to read at all. I felt dumb at the moment and unfit, so all I did was look at the pictures and try to come up with what I thought the story was about. When it came to sharing time; I was too embarrassed to tell the club leader that I didn’t read my story because I couldn’t read. So when it came to my turn to share my story I stood up and said, “My book is about a girl that likes….uh…” I just stood there and froze; I realized that I never knew what the characters in the book liked or what. I stood there as everybody stared at me as I slowly felt myself tearing up. When I finally couldn’t handle the embarrassment, I ran and hid myself behind two big shelves and didn’t come out until I heard my grandmother calling me....