When I was younger, I used to read a lot of books. Tons of them. My mom was a teacher who participated in one of those book clubs. Every time her students ordered books, she would accumulate reward points for freebies.
Instead of using those points on a new TV or some nice kitchen appliance, she used them to buy me books. Any book that I wanted from that month’s book order, she bought. I spent hours and hours reading, discovering new worlds and creating my own.
Come to think of it, my mom was the one who instilled in me a love for reading and writing. I still remember how she read a book from the Berenstain Bears series every night before I fell asleep. Those were my favorite books as a kid, and I read and reread those books to my heart’s content.
For some odd reason, I had a weird obsession with keeping the books I got in brand-new condition. I would gingerly open them, not all the way of course, and I stowed them on the bookshelf when I was done. I even organized my books by height (yes, I’m pretty sure I had/have OCD).
As I grew older, I started to give away my books, to my younger brother, family friends, and charity. I know that if and when I ever have kids, I’ll be reading to them before bed, too. I love reading, and I hope I will be able to pass on this love to my family and friends.
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