The Reader Who Digested Everything

As a kid, my sisters and I used to go to the library every Friday afternoon. After maxing out our library cards, my parents would drive us to my grandma's house. I would cram in as many pages as possible on that drive, often reading by the spotty light of street lamps until the drop off at Grandma's iron gate. 

From then on, my sisters and I would paint pictures for my sick grandpa and also for our weekly Friday news show. One time we asked my Grandma to be a part of the show, so she painted a picture of guinea pig and told us the story of my Uncle Randy's guinea pig Nibbles and how he (Nibbles) ate everything but one day she came home to Uncle Randy sitting on the couch crying over Nibbles because Nibbles had eaten something he shouldn't have and died. I kinda feel bad about it now, but Grandma wasn't asked to be a part of the show anymore.

Where was I going with this?

Right. Reading. We loved reading. And by we, I actually mean I loved reading. Not to discredit my sisters, but I will selfishly take the spotlight for being the child who loved reading the most, since I was the one who traded eyesight in order to read more books.

This is almost as cute as the Gift of the Magi.

My parents didn't let us take our library books to Grandma's house. Something about play with your sisters and spend time with Grandma was important to them. It was a forced wait to endure before indulging in literary treasures. Once my parents came for pick up, I would snatch my books as soon as inhumanely possible and devour them. Once I was sent to bed, I used a flashlight to keep on with Nancy Drew.

Eventually, the flashlight was discovered, and disbanded.

No matter, said I, for I have a gameboy. The gameboy met the same dismantling fate.

No matter! said I again with forced cheer, but admirable determination, for I have a tamagotchi. 

You can see where this is going.

Once my bedroom was properly disposed of any electronic enablers, methods were forced to consider other outlets of creativity. While pondering my dilemma, I lay in bed watching as a sliver of moonlight slowly made its arcs on the walls.


My parents could stop technology, but they couldn't stop nature from happening. The light in my room wasn't quite bright enough, so I spent many silent nights crouched on the stairway, reading by moonlight. I had outsmarted them all. Until, of course, when my mom's intuition struck a chord against me and I was sent to bed without my Nancy Drew fix.

(Grandma once caught me reading by moonlight and defeatedly surrendered a lamp.)

At the start of this post, I said that I would selfishly claim the prize for being the most dedicated reader in the family. I still hold to that claim. These are my gold and blue trophies.

-3.75 LR and a slight stigmatism never looked so good.

Thanks, Keene. :)

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