My Passion of Reading: From Birth to Death

Essay by thegr8t1College, UndergraduateA, November 2002

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It was a bright Chicago morning, the powerful rays of the sun were shining on my face, indicating that it was time to get up. As my mother called for me, I remember, I had this sinking sensation in my stomach and I knew then that this day would change my life forever, for today I was going to embark on a special journey into the world of education.

It was my first day of school ever, I was so scared. My parents dropped me off at Sunrise Preschool extremely early in the morning because they had to get to work. I entered the unfamiliar territory with much fear. I was eventually led by a stranger down through the halls that smelled of oil soaked wood floors and into a room with wooden desks bolted to the floors in perfectly symmetrical rows. The seat I was assigned, I soon learned, was to be my personal prison.

We could only leave for ten minutes a day for recess, lunch was taken at our desks, and the rest of the time was devoted to the labor of learning.

Around the perimeter of the room at about the height of an adult were large white cards, each with a letter of the alphabet in black cursive. It had little objects underneath each letter such as an apple under the letter A, a banana under the letter B and so on. These were to be our models during times when we would practice on paper and out loud. Then I saw it, the most absolute scariest site these eyes had ever seen, my teacher, Mss. Morris. The very first thing I had noticed about her was her wicked smile. It was one of those smiles that stretch from ear to ear showing every single...