Not many children, if you asked them, could tell you the exact color and size of Propranolol (a beta blocker) or how difficult it is to maneuver a wheelchair in a store, but I could. As a ten year-old who stayed in and out of the hospital, whirling from doctors’ offices to specialists and back again, I was prohibited from doing the very things which kids like to do and instead found my enjoyment in books. I can still recall the first time I cracked the spine of Lewis Carol’s “Alice in Wonderland” and the sense of calm that overtook my body as I lost myself in the delightful absurdity of his writing. I read his books and poems, along with many other works at a time when I was in constant pain from my chronic illness. Being an introverted child, …show more content…
Because his parents were uneducated, the more he learned, the farther he was distanced from his them and his old life. His parents were supportive, despite not knowing what he was experiencing, but to not hurt them, “[he] became more tactful, careful to keep separate the two very different worlds of [his] day” (Rodriguez 17). Luckily for me, my family was more than accommodating and sparked my initial interest in literature. My mother was also an avid reader with an expansive collection of books which she would offer to my siblings and I, so my love for reading began at an early age. But when I became ill, books became more than a fun pastime, they were my key to staying human. Rather than separating myself from my family, as Rodriguez noticed his education did, my books allowed me to discover the normality my family enjoyed daily, and help me connect to them. So, books gave me something to discuss at dinner. When my sisters gushed about their dance class or how Suzy and Jen had given them nail polish at recess, I could talk about a new adventure or idea I had read rather than how bad the pain had been that day or the fact that I has passed out again. I had all of my books and that was all I needed, they were my connection, my escape, my …show more content…
While I was never interested in comic books or sports magazines, this anecdote strikes close to home. My mother is continuously frustrated that I have reread the Harry Potter series as many times as I have. She is always telling me about books she thinks I will like, and sometimes she will even send one in the mail. I have them all arranged neatly at the bottom of my book pile. It is not that I think the books she suggests are not worth reading. They just are not my kind of books. I have read Shogun by James Clavell three or four times. So, my mom suggested King Rat by the same author. I got about two chapters in and decided it was not going to happen. All of the books I read grab my attention immediately. I realize it seems a little impatient on my part but I do not like to wait until halfway through the book to get to the good part. My mom does not harp on about my lack of literary variety as much since I have branched out a little. I thoroughly enjoy all of the Dan Brown books. Most readers do not know Dan Brown by name. Then I mention The DaVinci Code and the light bulb comes on. What I especially like about Brown’s books is that he presents his story in a way that pulls my attention immediately. I ask myself if any of the information in The DaVinci Code is