I love reading. Have ever since I was little. I got lucky in the sense that reading came easily to me, even when I was just learning in kindergarten. I did well, which prompted praise from my teacher, which prompted my ego, which in turn made me want to do even better, which only fueled my practice and eventual love of reading. Math, on the other hand, was difficult and irritating. We had a mutual hate-hate relationship, and it still is that way to this day. Don’t come at me with numbers or I will be forced to retaliate with words.
Reading for fun, oddly enough, started as a way to escape numbers. Math class was dull, but staring out the window to escape into a fantasy was easily caught by the teacher. However, in the massive, snarled hairball that made up my desk in elementary school, a book could easily be hidden from discovery. One had only to look up every other page and pretend to take notes on the side, and the teacher would assume you were following along in the math book.
The teachers soon caught on however, and I began developing several other ways to hide my preciousss from their all-seeing gaze.
Hiding the book inside a text-book jacket was the oldest trick in *cough* well, in the book (ha ha), but worked far better in cartoons than in real life unless the novel you were perusing just happened to be the exact same size as Robertson’s Complete Guide to Fractions and Foiling, (which never, ever happened). Other techniques included hiding books under desks, in one’s lap, inside the desk, inside binders, behind Pee Chee folders, underneath jackets and other books, and of course the ever-popular strategically hidden on the floor behind the backpack of the kid in front of you while flipping the pages with your toes deal. Of course, it’s always a good idea to have one hand free and pretending to take notes so you at least look studious.
Using these skills, I managed to avoid some of my less-exciting classes, and instead focus on my new exciting conquest of a book, whichever I had just picked up from the library.
Thus, my math skills suffered, and my reading, (and soon to come writing), took off.
I’ll let you guess whether or not I regret my choices.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a book to read.