Do he scraaaaaaaaaatch? Do he biiiiiiiiiiiite?

Most children begin their reading with fluffy and adorable little books with vibrant pictures to guide their young minds to learn words like cat and turtle. Unfortunately, my story on learning how to read was just as dull. I wish I could say that my dying uncle's great aunt on his father's side taught me how to read by locking me in a cubpord with dark poetry. Alas, the way that I learned how to read was simply my parents reading a book about sea animals, which would lead me to point and ask the same question about every animal in the book, "Do he scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatch? Do he biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite?"
As I grew more into adolence, AR become maditory. Therefore, I turned against reading. The Magic Tree House Books? Disgusting. Nancy Drew? I'd rather regurgitate. The only books that I read, and actually enjoyed, during the dark days of AR were The Boxcar Children and Harry Potter. Still, I do recall my parents forcing me to read for thirty minutes a day for AR. Of course, none of those thirty minutes were spent reading, they were spent crying at my unfair life. How could they force me, a privilaged and growing child, to read a book? Even the thought of it should be a crime.
Years after these dark days, though, I finally saw the light. The golden and glorious day came where reading wasn't just a tedious thing to do anymore. It was the first time my family was meeting my baby cousin, Joey, and on the first day he was off to take a nap, and I was stuck with the old folks. After a few minutes of heavy sighing and asking my cousin Ronda when Joey was to wake, my mom told me that she had brought me a book that I could read. Boredom had sunk in me already, so I decided, what the hay? Why not? I went into the back room and started on the book The Dairy Queen. It was a book about a teenage girl who loved football and wanted to play on the football team. What inticed me the most was the love affair in it was the girl and the boy who was trying to train her to make the football team. I finished the book during Joey's nap breaks in the span of that week.
After that, I was hooked on reading. Instead of asking for a Barbie for Christmas, I would give my mom a list of forty books with stars by the ones I wanted the most. Of course, she wouldn't buy all of the books on the list, but I'd still get a few.
Books let me escape from reality, therefore I love them so. Unfortunately, with school and wasting my time not studying for that test on Thursday, I haven't been able to read as much as I used to. I miss it so much, but now I don't have time to wait until page sixty to get past the boring explanation they always do at the beginning. Now, I have to get captivated by the book on the first page.All in all, reading is therapeutic for me. Everyone needs an escape from reality. While reading, I can go through a metamorphosis. I can change from being a sardonic, and giggly teenage girl to a psychopath who lives in an insane asylum. I can be anyone who I want to be through reading books. 

The question is, though, who do I want to be next?